The domestic version of this kick ass Boredoms album finally sees the light of day! Far less manic than their previous spazzcore albums you loved in the past, the Boredoms' new focus on studio manipulations is intense and artistically successful. Layers of bombastic guitar noises swell and give way to insane bursts of tape manipulation along with the wax and wane of desperate screams and urgent percussion. Super AE is a rancid psychedelic experience that could be a chance meeting on the dissecting table between Amon Duul and Nurse With Wound.
f you've seen the Boredoms live and don't think you could sit through a disc of it, know that this album builds on the studio experiments of their recent SuperRoots series; it's not Yamantaka Eye jumping around anymore -- he's sitting in the cock-pit, entering your earholes with intents to purple-shag-carpet-bomb your sense of reality. Mad Jack became mad scientist.
Although Japanese import version came packaged in an elaborate day-glo oversized plastic box, don't worry: the artwork on this domestic cd is pretty damn cool complete with nifty Eye Yamantaka magic marker art!
A few lists back, we reviewed a cd from this German 'techno-kraut' duo, who as we mentioned in that review, we first heard remixing Conrad Schnitzler. That disc gathered togther two of B&G's recent 12"s, and was a perfect introduction to their strange string laden, motorik electronica, hypnotic and tranced out electro-kraut minimalism, that deftly fused techno, and dark hypno-jazz, pop ambience, and all sorts of disparate elements.
Clouds is something else altogether, but equally appealing. No beats to be found here, the vibe is about as far removed from krautrock as can be, or dark jazz, or any of the other sonic elements that made up those 12"s. Instead, Clouds finds the duo creating super abstract modern twenty first century classical minimalism, and experimental ambience. The opener reminds us of WIlliam Basinski, or maybe Philip Jeck, a gorgeous fragment of swoonsome melancholic symphonic strings, is manipulated into a hazy dreamscape of washed out loops, of blurred melodies, simple and cyclical, repetitive and gloriously hypnotic, the sound doesn't really change at all until about 5 minutes in, when haunting operatic female vocals join the strings, making it sound all the more dramatic and cinematic. And it's only briefly, soon, the voices fade, blurred into the background, and it's another gorgeous stretch of swirling strings.
The second track is similarly arranged, but much more percussive, a plucked guitar, a symphonic stab, those two elements spread out over an expanse of near silence, super dynamic, heavily reverbed, it's a strange, and strangely rhythmic composition, this track especially smacking of some super abstract Jeck experiment, two turntables set up in a huge empty room, one spinning a single orchestral burst, the other that guitar pluck, the speed constantly shifting, very weird, and very mesmerizing stuff.
"Secret Bells" is not bells at all, but instead, dark languorous piano, drifting in a sea of rumble and buzz, flecked with what sounds like mysterious field recordings, static and crackle, it's very hazy and dreamlike, a warm swirl of otherworldly chamber music.
The record finishes off with the three part, 14+ minute title suite, and begins as stately piano, wreathed in natural reverb, soon joined by woodwinds, the sound growing blurrier, and more dissonant, building to a strangely atonal crescendo, before easing back into the more tranquil drift of the opening, and so it goes back and forth, lush and hushed and delicate, dark and brooding and almost bombastic, before blossoming into the second movement, which is more driving and discordant, horns, piano, buzzing strings, locked into stuttering rhythms, darkly dramatic, and very cinematic, again very dynamic, and very hypnotic, before finally finishing off with a stretch of long tones, a more mournful dirge, the horns moaning, the strings keening, the vibe almost like some ancient court music, majestic and melancholy, finishing off with a final flurry of tangled melodies.
Quite cool, and yet so entirely unlike anything we were expecting from these two, which might be why we're digging it so much!
FYI there's an lp version too, with download code, but we only were able to get a few, not really enough to list, but you can ask...
We're really not sure how we managed to miss this one. Especially with us always dying for more grime. More blissed out dark and doomy dubstep. Well, this is IT!!! This 'it' actually came out almost a year ago! But so what! We just discovered it, and maybe you missed it as well. Boxcutter is everything we've been hankering for. And digging elsewhere. Milanese (a past AQ record of the week), Kode9, Virus Syndicate, that Mary Anne Hobbs comp, the Science Faction: Grime comp, Boxcutter fits right in amongst those killers. And is totally kicking our ass. Maybe more dubstep than grime (although it sounds pretty grimey to us, and we're not even really sure of the difference), this is dense and skittery, blown out dub drenched grimey and and filthy dark-as-fuck electronica. The rhythms throb and shuffle, a hiccuping stutter, that is not so much funky as fucked up and hypnotic, occasional beats get all gnarled up, glitching and buzzing before falling back into line. All around the beats, thick clouds of strange synths and spaced out FX hover and swirl, peppered with melodic fragments, and thick rib cage rattling bass lines.
Some of the tracks are WAY laid back, dubbed out to the extreme, a sort of late night / early morning chill out sound. All dark and druggy, heavy lidded and sort of shuffling drowsily. But other tracks are HUGE and bumping. Bursts of blown out synth fuzz, massive rolling bass lines, streaks of sizzling sound that careen from speaker to speaker, bits of fluttering flute suspended over dense rhythmic tangles, huge smears of undulating low end, kick drums that punch right through your sternum, sounding almost like some killer dancefloor destroying jungle dubplate played at 16 rpm.
Heavy and thick and dark and fuzzed out and spacey and groovy and so fucking great!!
When this came out as a vinyl-only release earlier this year, back in May, we made it our very rockin' Record Of The Week. Now, we're happy to report that the band also has done a limited run of pro-printed cd-rs, for those of you lacking in turntable technology!
Boyjazz? Boyjazz! The name should strike fear into the heart of all posers. Not because they weren't a joke band, cuz of course they were... but in spite of that, they kicked ass on most quote-unquote real metal/hard rock bands out there. Silly name, funny lyrics, tongue-in-cheek attitude and all, damn they rocked. Great songs, super showmanship, part wiseass LA hair metal parody, part party time garage glam rock ravers in their own right, the bombastic Boyjazz couldn't be denied. The musicians in Boyjazz were tight all right, virtuoso nerds in cock rock spandex disguise, but the band's not so secret weapon was charismatic frontman Adam "Sexmouth" Hobbs, who had few peers and less shame in the live arena - and acted as if arenas were indeed where they belonged!
Or maybe you're too young to remember their 2004 album In The City Tonight? Or their US tour opening for The Fucking Champs and Zombi? Well, you're in luck, they're baaaack... sort of... with, at long last, the posthumous release of their final all analog studio recording, tracked back in 2006 but shelved 'til now. Maybe the world is finally ready. We are!
It's clear from the title Unlimited Nights & Weekends that Boyjazz didn't get much more "serious" on their long lost sophomore outing, not that they needed to, or we expected 'em to. Though, they did do it with their five member full band lineup, not as duo-with-drum-machine like on In The City Tonight. So it's more what Boyjazz were like at their peak live, including the six string shred of geeky guitar hero Eric Murriguez, and the actual drumming of Aaron "Supertouch" Levin, with songs just as instantly catchy and kick ass as any on that earlier album. So many infectious riffs and great songs here, straight up. Tracks like "Woman Come To Man", "Woman In Love", "She's Got Gold", "Danger Danger", "Pocket Unicorn", heck ALL of 'em, are gonna be stuck in our heads for the foreseeable future, and that's just after a few spins, the almost-overly-enthusiastic backing vocal choruses generally sealing the deal. Turns out, a bunch actually were already stuck in our heads somewhere, as we immediately recognized several as longtime live faves from the band, so glad they got properly recorded for posterity! Like sleazy side 2 album-ender "Booze", usually their encore as we recall... Armed with these songs, Boyjazz could time travel back to the '80s and take on all comers on the Sunset Strip for sure, though some of the jokes in the lyrics might go over the heads of those in the audience.
'Tis totally over the top boogie rawk action, with wailing vox, clever lyrix, '70s glam riffrock stomp... Boyjazz has tongues firmly in cheek, yes, but they're nonetheless doing it right, asking no quarter and none given, willing to put up or shut up (they choose the former), their goofing and spoofing dangerously close to blowing doors on the real thing, like when they make Led Zeppelin their bitch on "Treat Steamin'" or send Judas Priest running hellbent for cover when they belt out "The Monsters Are Smarter". Even power pop new wave like The Knack gets the Boyjazz treatment via "Hot On The Phone".
It's not rocket science, or maybe it is... Part T-Rex, part Tenacious D, part Turbonego; a little White Stripes, a lotta Whitesnake, Boyjazz almost make even Van Halen seem stiff & serious, uptight with stagefright. To sum up, we've got one word for you: Wooooah-whoooah-whooooah-oh-yeah!
Super limited cd-r edition, in jewel case with full color art, professionally printed. They only only brought us a handful, though if we run out we might be able to get more from 'em in after the holidays.
If Jim O'Rourke wasn't so afflicted with attention deficit disorder, if Boards of Canada weren't so s-l-o-w in making new records, if the Champs weren't on tour all the time -- maybe they all coulda gotten together and made a record as pretty as this one. Brian and Chris are a coolly eclectic local duo whose record is so fresh, gentle, accomplished and unhurried that it's taken us by surprise. When an album is this eclectic we are usually a little suspicious -- but Brian & Chris' "Vectors" album totally works. Bravo.
Starting with a shuffling bass groove layered over with atmospherics full of texture and grit, the record would at first seem to be yet more popular electronics in the vein of Mouse on Mars or Boards of Canada. But before you know it the electronics have been replaced by echoing acoustic blues guitar that's foregrounded right in your eardrum, while tinny jungle beats cavort way in the background, used more as texture than as booty movers. It's a nice combination you'd like to hear longer, but before long chiming, fingerpicked guitars accompany a lilting, ethereal female voice, soon to be followed by angular shards of art-post-rock very similar to Gastr del Sol (in a good way, not pretentious at all). And as if that weren't fun enough, by the end of the album the perfectly seamless segueways between the genre-bending tracks have placed you squarely in the middle of a Champs-style rock guitar workout. Wow. Highly recommended!
Click. Pop. Buzz. Fuzz. Whir. We are suckers for all the sounds that most other folks hate. So much care is spent mastering records perfectly, desperately trying to keep lps from getting dusty or scratched. When most of the time we hear a record and think how much better it would sound with some record crackle, or pops and clicks. We could literally hear the same record, recorded in a state of the art studio, and then on a handheld tape recorder in the forest during a thunderstorm, and we're pretty sure you can guess which one would have us flipping out.
In the past we've discovered dreamy drone records just drenched in fuzz and record static, L. Chasse even recorded a record dedicated to our very own Allan, that emulated the sound or record crackle. You could say we're obsessed. There's something about that sound, it's so raw and pure and beautiful sounding. It may be an unwanted byproduct to most, but to us it's one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.
This new record from Thomas Brinkmann, Klick Revolution, is an entire record of super minimal, skeletal techno, constructed completely from the static and buzz of needle on vinyl. At least it sounds like it. And the sleeve is adorned with the garage sale center labels of all the lps ostensibly used in the making of this record. The strange thing is, Brinkmann has always seemed very clinical, his sounds dry and clipped, as if his records were made in a lab, so it's exciting to hear, a very crisp, clipped sounding record made out of the very opposite sort of elements. Organic analog distortion and inconsistencies transformed into cool digital clickery. The other strange thing is that Klick Revolution seems to be Brinkmann's tribute, or homage to the pinball machine, a very convoluted concept concerning the inclined plane in a locked box and Sisyphus playing pinball with a rolling stone... Not sure we get it, but we do LOVE pinball, and by now it should be obvious how much we love record crackle, so needless to say THIS RECORD RULES.
Based on live performances utilizing turntables and locked groove records, these pieces are definitely reminiscent of Pierre Bastien, Strotter Inst. and other modern avant turntablists, but the sound is definitely all Brinkmann. Hypnotic rhythms, a super skeletal techno, a symphony of Geiger counters, the kick drum is a pop, the shuffling snare is a tiny clipped burst of static. So completely hypnotic. He incorporates longer snippets from the records too but only briefly, introducing bits of melody, weird textured sounds, creepy cinematic elements, each surfacing for a moment before fading out.
Strangely impossibly gorgeous and lush considering how barebones and skeletal this is. Somewhere between heroin house, Pop Ambient and maybe even haunted house, a strange and wonderful world where sound is measured in clicks and skips, buzz and fuzz, snap, crackle, pop and very little else. Click. Pop. Buzz. Fuzz. Whir. Click. Pop. Buzz. Fuzz. Whir. Click. Pop. Buzz. Fuzz. Whir...
Crystal balls, dark mirrors, Ouija boards, seances, creepy knocking, music boxes that play themselves, creaking doors, and distorted kaleidoscopes are just a few of the fascinating hauntological associations mined in the latest collaborative effort by long time aQ faves, Broadcast, and new to us electronic outfit, The Focus Group, run by Ghost Box label head Julian House (who also designed all of Broadcast's record covers). We've been trying to carry the Ghost Box label stuff for years but haven't found a feasible distributor, and with this release, it has become quite clear what we've been missing out on.
Billed as a mini-album (23 tracks across 50 minutes), Broadcast and The Focus Group Investigate Witch Cults of The Radio Age is all at once a mesmerizing sound collage, a mind-warping concept album, a reimagined soundtrack to some chilling psychological cinema (we're thinking of films like Dead of Night, Secret Ceremony, The Ballad of Tam Lin, Persona, Angel, Angel Down We Go, or Simon, King of The Witches), as well as an homage to the obscure left-field psychedelic electronic music and sounds of the sixties and seventies that have influenced Broadcast over the years. Bands like White Noise, The Animated Egg, Basil Kirchin, United States of America, British Library Music and of course the BBC Radiophonic Workshop.
So as you probably guessed from the description above, this is not a typical Broadcast release, but a experimental detour while we await for their next official full length. Fans of their full lengths may be less immediately satisfied by this, as it's not designed to be enjoyed as a pop record. It often requires either deep listening, or having it on while working on a solitary activity, such as painting or knitting, or better yet tarot card reading. While Trish Keenan's lush and dreamy singing is heard through out, there is only one typical Broadcast song, opener "The Be Colony", a woozy lullaby that hearkens back to the dreamy melodies from the HaHa Sound album, and even that is thrown in the delirious blender of The Focus Group, who took recordings made by Broadcast for this project and cut them up in a method to suggest automatic writing under a deep hypnosis. Disembodied voices, blowing wind, flashes of jazz drumming, eerie squeeches and electronic bloops, radio dials shifting, whining puppies, crows cawing, mysterious choirs and echo-y playground rhymes. Very ghostly, and sometimes beautifully creepy. It's the kind of strategy that may sound like it could get tedious after awhile, but the collage is so delicately and carefully constructed with just enough structured melodies that it wonderfully forms an intriguing narrative, of course aided by suggestive song titles like "Reception/ Group Therapy" , "Ritual/ Looking In", "Libra, The Mirror's Minor Self..." and "Drug Party". We think that people who are less inclined towards Broadcast's pop albums and into spectral sounds, occult music compilations, electric voice phenomenon, experimental electronic music or music on the Type or Miasmah labels should definitely give this a listen. We haven't been so spellbound by a record in quite a while. Fantastic!
If we had to pick a single grindcore record, as our all time favorite, it would most likely have to be this one right here, the second record from NY weed fueled grinders Brutal Truth, 1994's Need To Control, but this is no ordinary grind record, instead this is a sprawling, epic, convoluted, complicated, ambitious masterpiece. By the time Need To Control was released, the band were already pretty legendary, masters of gnarled grinding heaviness, but Need To Control was the band's first record with a serious budget behind it, their label Earache had just inked a distribution deal with Columbia, which meant the band had time, and money, which translated into a chance to stretch the boundaries of grindcore, and stretch they did, infusing their chaotic fury with lumbering downtuned doom, super complex arrangements, even didgeridoo(!)...
The record opens with the very UNgrind "Collapse", a lurching, churning slab of doomic crush, laced with the sounds of bubbling bongs, all manner of industrial clatter, laced over the mesmerizing almost looped sounding riffage, and then to top it off, a ridiculously catchy, almost poppy chorus, the soaring melody, and shrieked vokills unable to disguise the crazy hookiness. A bold way to begin a record for sure, but Brutal Truth never really shied away from the unexpected, especially here. Hot on the heels of that sludgey sprawl comes the furious freakout of "Black Door Mine", a blast of super intense, ultra complex avant grind a la Discordance Axis, impossibly tangled riffage, insane drumming, all wound into buzzing blasting impossibly dense and mathy grind metal workouts. "Turn Face" is more of the same, after a low slung gloomy bass buzz intro, the track explodes into another flurry of face melting freakage, but somehow this one manages to be crazy catchy as well, winding in weird little hooks, turning it into one of the rare blasts of grind that you'll find permanently stuck in your head, not to mention more ridiculously frantic drumming.
Then comes "Godplayer", notable for its didgeridoo, which more often than not is a BIG didgeri-DON'T, but for these guys it's the perfect sound, a low buzzing rumble, that not only compliments their already low buzzing sound, but also sounds a little bit like the musical version of a bong (which we can't imagine was lost on these guys). And from there on out, the band continue to craft a seriously twisted bit of avant grind, mixing in long stretches of strange industrial noise, effects drenched drones, bits of doomy plod, often slipping in whole tracks of lurch and lumber, like the opener, and the equally crushing, slow and heavy "Ordinary Madness", which on most grind record would stick out, but here, manage to merge seamlessly with the blaze and buzz that comes before and after, they even do a killer Germs cover, clocking in at less than a minute, but fitting into rest of the record pretty much perfectly, and the whole record is just fucking genius, heavy, complex, catchy, proggy, mathy, metal, we mentioned it might be our favorite grind record ever, well, it's also one of our favorite metal records ever, PERIOD.
When Need To Control was originally released, there was also a 5 record vinyl boxset, that contained the whole record spread out over 5 pieces of wax, a 5", 6", 7", 8" and a 9", besides the cool concept, that vinyl version also included a bunch of bonus tracks, including some killer covers, most of which are included here (sorry completists, there are still a couple tracks on the vinyl box that got left off the reissue, grrr). They do Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here" as "Wish You Were Here... Wish You'd Go Away", starting it off almost straight, in fact, covering almost the whole track, complete with clean vocals and everything, before turning it inside out for the second half, a garbled lo-fi grind freakout mess. They also do a pretty bad ass cover of Celtic Frost's "Dethroned Emperor", plus there's a couple jams that sound like they could have been part of the record proper, before finishing off with the twisted deconstructed grind noise freakout of "Head Cheese". Which again, really hammers home what it is that makes these guys, and this record in particular, so special, sure they were grind masters, but they also obviously loved classic metal, and doom, and noise, and punk rock, and avant garde weirdness, all of which found their way into the Brutal Truth sound, not just in the specifically bizarre and UNgrind tracks, but in their blasting grinding heaviness as well, the riffs, and arrangements, and vocals, and everything, infused with some twisted idea of what their music should sound like, which is why it sounds like nothing else. A classic... if you, say, are a fan of avant-heavy faves The Body or other similarly boundary-pushing metal acts today, and you don't already have this, get it!!
We gotta hand it to Tigerbeat6 head honcho Miguel for giving this disc a domestic release and price. Released in the U.K. by Rephlex, "Pressure" is the second outing by Kevin Martin under the moniker of The Bug. While this guise may be a recent one for Mr. Martin, he's not a newcomer to the scene. You may already be familiar with his previous projects Techno Animal, Curse of the Golden Vampire, God and Ice (certainly not a curriculum vitae to be sneezed at). With The Bug though, Kevin attacks our lower intestinal tracts with some of the best hardcore dancehall we've heard in a long time. Residing somewhere between DJ Scud's pummelling gabber style Ambush! material and Timeblind's Three-Foot-Long Bong-Hit of a track "Rastabomba". It's exactly the dancehall cuts that what we here at Aquarius have been thirsting for. Whereas Scud's tracks, being instrumental, were totally insane over-the-top panacea style gabber, "Pressure" is primarily a true dancehall record, with toasting on every track. As such, Martin's rhythms tend to be stripped down more than Scud's. Which isn't to say they ain't hard. Under Wayne Lonesome's damaged toasting for "Fuck Y~Self" for instance is some busy as hell, noisy-assed rhythm that battles 10 rounds with Lonesome's growling. Along with Lonesome, toasters on this record include Daddy Freddy, Roger Robinson, Paul St. Hilaire, The Rootsman and more. A definite must for fans of Ward 21 and sundry other demented dancehall. Absolutely sick, absolutely essential!
We can only listen to so much music in our lifetimes. That's a sad fact, one we all have to come to terms with. Or not. But if you're like us, and if you're reading this, you probably are, then much of your life is spent trying to do just that. Listen to as much amazing music as possible. And at some point, like us, you realize that your biggest fear about dying, is that there will be so much music you won't get to hear, well then, that's when you up your game, and decide to make every moment count, and listen to music ALL THE TIME. But even then, there's only so much time in the day, and the night, and you have to eat, and work, and maybe watch TV, hang out with your significant other, and yeah, most of that stuff you can do WHILE you listen to music, but odds are some music is gonna slip by you, no matter how insanely obsessive you are. So now, take the music you already own and want to listen to, and add to that a constant influx of new music to check out, which is what happens here, and while we LOVE that, so much amazing new music and so many fantastic discoveries, it really can end up being too much. We get overwhelmed, and well, we miss out on some stuff, which is exactly what happened with World, by Aussie shoegaze noise rockers the Bunyip Moon. We were cleaning up, and organizing, and going through boxes and drawers, and discovered this cd, and threw it on, and were immediately blown the fuck away. Struck by all sorts of feelings, feeling bad for taking so long to give it a listen, feeling like we COULD have been listening to this already for ages, but mostly feeling like we had to get this reviewed so all you folks out there could add one more amazing record to the stack of music already waiting to be listened to. But here's where we suggest you bump the Bunyip Moon to the front of the queue, cuz holy shit is this great.
And great in that way that makes what it sounds like actually pretty tough to describe. The vibe is sorts of nineties, shoegaze-y for sure, but with a bit of a gloomy feel, deep dramatic vocals buried in the mix to the point of being nearly inaudible, everything buried beneath super distorted and blown out, crumbling and hiss drenched fuzz and buzz and thrum, total blissed out heart-of-the-sun noise-gaze dreaminess, and the drums, wow, the drums are super distorted too, bursts of wild tribal rhythms that almost sounds like swarms of bees, each song a churning jangle flecked squall of noise drenched indie rock / noise rock, at times we hear Crystal Stilts, at times Loop, at others Bailter Space, even a little Dinosaur Jr., lots of NZ Flying Nun, at least the weirder, heavier stuff, and of course all the Australian bands we love, Celibate Rifles, the Scientists, Lubricated Goat, etc, but here those influences are blurred into something fuzzy and washed out and gloriously and blissfully noisy, this IS one of those records, where we're tempted to just have a single sentence review that says "BUY THIS! It's so great, it's all we want to listen to, it's fuzzy and poppy and noisy and psychedelic, and it's one of the best things we've heard in ages, and we've been listening to it non-stop to make up for all the time it languished unlistened to." And we definitely traffic in hyperbole in our reviews, but believe us that nothing in this review is hyperbolic, this band, and this record is so goddamn good, their sound is exactly what we want to listen to, it's the sort of band we wish we played in, it's damn near perfect, warm and fuzzy, noisy and dreamy, the production is bizarre, but bizarrely perfect, it's druggy and psychedelic, and seriously heavy, twisted and experimental, laced with loops and bizarre effects, for every bit of distorto crunch, there's some super melodic jangle, more often then not, the two mashed together, there are long stretches of brooding moodiness, extended hypno-rock epics, short bursts of furious noise pop, and sprawling near-Godspeed slow builds, and even some gloomy almost new wave, and it all sounds so goddamn good. If these guys had popped up on Slumberland they'd be HUGE right now. They should be, and if all is right in the universe, WILL be, cuz really, this is easily some of the best jangle pop / noise rock / shoegaze we've ever heard.
This record has totally knocked us for a loop. An impossible mix of grimy dubstep, murky triphop, and minimal spaced out dub. When we first threw this on we were immediately transported back to when we first heard Massive Attack, or Portishead, and a whole new world suddenly opened up to us. A creepy, muted world of barebones beats and haunting atmospheres that would go on to inform our musical tastes forever.
This is the first release on Hyperdub, a label run by grime/dubstep DJ Kode9, and we expected a blasting barrage of grimy beats, but instead, were sucked into a swirling vortex of late night groove and midnight stutter. Think those Rhythm And Sound Burial Mix eps, mixed with some Pole-like glitched out dub, and some slow burning Portishead smolder. Creepy and crawly, mysterious and moody. Beats suspended in a black shimmering fog, snippets of vocals, crooning, toasting, drenched in reverb, chopped up and let loose to drift over super dark, muffled dubscapes. Huge rumbling bass lines, like distant foghorns, dreamy ambience sort of drifting and ethereal but so so ominous. Tiny sonic sparkles glimmer like some alien sonar, drifting dreamily through fuzzy darkness. Drowned and submerged grooves, all muffled muted melody and shuffling minimal beats. Suffocating atmospheres of low end thrum, record crackle and shortwave interference. Some sort of slithering slinky dubstep shuffle slowed waaaaaaaaay down, into a blackened glacial dub jam. So fucking awesome. Our newest every night late night listen. A record of perfect dark and damaged dubbed out lullabies.
Gritty and unkempt garage/sludge from Philadelphia. Noisey and sloppy and super great. Sounding quite a bit like the Stooges or the MC5 (and not the way the Hellacopters turn Stooges/MC5 worship into catchy cock rock) all drunken swagger and snotty attitude.
The violin is probably the last instrument you think of when you think of underground cd-r noise drone music. Okay, maybe not the last, but it's pretty far down the list for sure. Yet Mr. C. Spencer Yeh has forged a career with his trusty violin, creating a sizable body of work, ranging from full on blown out noise assault, to breathless delicate beauty, to propulsive krautrock infused space rock, and various mixes of all three. We even Record Of The Week-ed his Operator Dead album a while back. But where that record was more of a group effort, this latest disc, Challenger, finds Yeh returning to his solo roots, getting a minimal amount of assistance on just a couple of tracks, but handling the bulk of the soundmaking himself. And while there is no list of instrumentation, we have to assume that violin is not the only instrument present. NOBODY is that good. But even so, Yeh is really really good, and with a violin and whatever else he has in his soundmaking arsenal, he has once again conceived something of great beauty and import, a collection of sounds, of SONGS, an album that is cohesive yet varied, personal and introspective, yet somehow epic and expansive. If anything, this new disc finds Yeh moving his BSC into the rarefied world of spaced out Krautrock. Neu!, Popol Vuh, Tangerine Dream, Ash Ra Tempel, A.R. & The Machines, Brian Eno. Much in the same way aQ faves Expo '70, channel seventies space kraut, so does Yeh, but where Expo '70 create thick heavy spaced out dronescapes, the sounds on Challenger are much more melodic, and drifty, dreamy and mesmerizing. There is plenty of noise to be found, but it's doled out sparingly, melodies are sometimes halo-ed in buzz, or delicate rhythms wreathed in feedback, but it's always muted and minimal, allowing the melody and arrangement to shine, and shine they do, each track, a gorgeously repetitive stretch of space-y abstract groove, looped, but slowly shifting and changing shape, propulsive but subtly so.
The opening two track salvo is some of the most blissfully beautiful soft noise we've heard. In fact, even calling it noise might be doing it a disservice. The opener is a slow burning slab of minimal murmur, laced with soft tinkling chimes, an abstract ghostly melody over a softly pulsing drone, eventually augmented by some shimmery hiss and random sampled ambience, but instead of distracting, these sonic events, cars driving past, wind, tape hiss, they only add texture to the glimmering drift beneath.
The second track begins with a riff (played on a violin?) that is quickly wrapped up in corrosive swaths of warbly effected buzz, the two elements twisting around one another, creating a strange churning soundscape of stretched out space rock riffage and crumbling distorted drone, that manages to be absolutely riveting.
The next few tracks offer up some more experimental fare, brief chunks of ambient weirdness, one of plastic cup percussion, heavily reverbed, in a wide open stretch of distant whir and tangled electronics, another a symphony of processed vocals, looped and chopped into a hiccupping stuttering soundscape, eventually joined by soft shimmery chords and warm chordal buzz, yet another a collection of crinkles and crackles, like someone stepping on bubble wrap, balling up wrapping paper and a campfire, all draped over the sounds of children laughing and playing.
All before returning to the blissed out dronedrift of the opening few tracks. Reverbed jaw harp floats in a field of static hum and twinkling fragmented melody, deep tones are woven into gentle lilting melodies, symphonic snippets are looped and assembled into a slow building drone, underpinned by fuzzy droney melodies, totally stirring and epic, haunting and mysterious, a bit of Jeck mixed in with BSC's usual glorious buzz, maybe one of the most moving (and possibly one of the best) tracks we've ever heard from Yeh and his 'Core. The final track is an Avarus like coda, sheets of hiss like rainfall (might very well be), bits of percussive chime and clank, plenty of hiss and whir, over the top, a shimmering high end electric melody, that drifts and stutters dreamily, like some alien lullaby.
Absolutely stunning. And thus, entirely and unequivocally recommended.
Normally the solo project of 'noise violinist' C. Spencer Yeh, on Operator Dead... Post Abandoned, Burning Star Core has been expanded to a four piece, with Yeh on violin, voice, electronics, junkbox and trumpet, Trevor Tremaine on drums, percussion and objects, AQ fave Mike Shiflet on computer, electronics and voice, and Robert Beatty on electronics, who is also credited with being "acoustic appraiser."
As much as we've dug past BSC records, this one is definitely shaping up to be our favorite. This Burning Star Core Quartet thing really suits them. The opening track alone, "When The Tripods Came" is a serious contender for best 'noise rock' track of the year. Maybe ever. Calling it noise rock is hardly fair though. It's a rambling sprawling slow moving driftscape of buzz and distortion. It's almost how you might imagine a modern, noisier Taj Mahal Travellers to sound. In fact the whole record sort of has that same sort of spiritual organic vibe. Taking bits and pieces from other purveyors of longform drone noise, Vibracathedral Orchestra, Total, Sunroof!, mixing in some ultra-free jazz, some raga like buzz, some old school improvised ambience, then running it all through a battery of modern effects and unleashing this thick viscous, incredibly heavy, yet impossibly beautiful (especially for a 'noise' record) sound.
A lot of it has to do with the drums, a relentless chaotic octopoidal rhythmic frenzy, skittering as often as pounding, giving the thick snarling ambience direction and propulsion. Turning a record of drifts and shimmers, into something aggressive, something fierce... but the drums are just the framework, supporting the massive sonic weight of the swirling, churning lush noisiness above, beneath and around them.
The first two tracks, nearly 40 minutes, are some of the finest drone-dirge-space-improv EVER. Some impossible dream jam, The Taj Mahal Travellers vs. Crystal Fist vs. Wolf Eyes, mix in some strange disembodied horns, some Tim Hecker like blurred melancholia, add copious amounts of extra buzz and distorted crumble, wrap everything in a bleary eyed crystalline shimmer, and let the whole thing just ooze out of the speakers.
The third and fourth tracks are much more brief and less dense, balancing the bristling buzz of the first two, in the third, a muted warble underpins shimmering high end harmonics, strange muted mechanical whirs and creaks underneath, as well as burbling underwater bass, random bits of percussion, metallic thrum and long streaks of feedback, eventually building into a sort of an abstract tribal space drift, like the members of No Neck and Sunburned Hand jettisoned from the airlock into deep space mid-jam. The fourth is a rhythmic free for all, the drums a constant splatter and shimmer, spreading out like percussive ripples, the cymbals sizzling out a thick layer of constant buzzing whir to compliment the groaning blown out shimmer and reverb drenched washes of sound, everything growing gradually more distorted until it reaches a fever pitch, a lumbering swirl of crumbling low end and pounding drum damage.
Finally! A new full length from these psychedelic sixties style garage murk masters, the first in fact we've actually managed to get (it's their third apparently), and it's a doozy, washed out and warped, drowsy and druggy, but super catchy, and impossibly lush and psychedelic. The opener "Pulse" sounds like the Kinks, albeit a way more wasted version, the sound fabulously muddy and murky, melodic and catchy as all get out.
We first discovered these guys on the second Group Flex flexi-book on Castle Face, then on the Castle Face Velvet Underground tribute, and most recently, on the I Need You Bad comp on Polyvinyl. In each case, we inevitably found ourselves going straight to the Burnt Ones' tracks, and then playing them over and over. So, Gift is totally hitting the spot, a gloriously prismatic and cracked collection of paisley pop doused in LSD and sent sprawling through fields of slow motion motorik marches, hazy organ wheeze whirls, and blurred guitar shimmer, the sound super amorphous and abstract, and then without warning, the sound will suddenly come together into a blast of practically perfect baroque pop, albeit still swaddled in fuzz and buzz and hiss, in fact "Money Man" does just that, spending its first two minutes in a sort of bleary suspended animation, before erupting into a riffy, psychedelic stomp, equal parts Kinks, Beatles and Bee Gees, but then roughed up and sent careening wildly into the fray, replete with a final burst of falsetto crooning. And so it goes, the whole record lurching druggily from woozy psychedelic gem to warped dirge pop ditty, every song blossoming like some prismatic sonic flower, revealing more and more as the sounds unfurl and unwind, melodies swoop in from nowhere, hooks hover, fade out, and then suddenly pop up minutes later, lilting, chiming loveliness wrapped in grunge and gristle, there's some crazy primitive drum machine weirdness, some glammy swagger, some 8-bit bleep bloop, plenty of fuzzy synth swirl, FX all over the place, but none of the noisiness or damaged sonic weirdness can disguise the perfect poppiness lurking within pretty much every single of of these twisted psych-garage gems.
Busta Rhymes has always been a sort of guilty pleasure...well, not really a guilty pleasure, since I've never really felt at all guilty for digging this stuff, but more like a pleasure that's tough to explain. People have a hard time believing (and rightfully
Let's get the negative stuff out of the way first. The Butthole Surfers suck. Not in the 'Primus sucks' self deprecating ironic sort of way, they really do suck. They have for years now. Everything post 'Hairway To Steven' has been total dreck. And those of you unfortunate enough to have heard their most recent record thus bore witness to the saddest beck-meets-eminem-meets-land-of-the-loops-meets-king-missile bid for MTV stardom. And on top of that, they are total assholes, as evidenced by their greed-not-common-sense based lawsuit against Touch and Go records, who were basically responsible for their popularity, and who were already paying them probably the best royalty rate in the industry. But apparently that wasn't enough. So it's with a little bit of trepidation that we recommend you buy anything on the Butthole's label Latino Bugger Veil, but RECOMMEND WE MUST! 'Cause this collection of live tracks and outtakes is vintage Butthole Surfers, at their drug-addled, tribal-drumming, chaos-causing, club-crushing, strobe-lighted, naked-dancing, on-stage puking, audience-pulverising BEST! Lots of rare compilation tracks (from P.E.A.C.E., God's Favorite Dog, Cottage Cheese From The Lips Of Death, A Texas Trip, the Roky Erickson tribute), 4 track and 8 track home recordings, practice tapes, outtakes from the Rembrandt Pussyhorse sessions, alternate versions of album tracks, and more. Weird sickly sweet warbly ballads to full on tribal drug stomps, with war whoops and processed vocals careening all over the place. Supposedly culled from close to 300 tapes. Hope there's more on the way!
More music needs to be like this! Open and unfettered yet baroquely mysterious and cryptic; taking strange careening detours that cast endlessly distorting sonic reflections. Minimal but complex, driving and repetitive, yet sloppily unraveling with a ponderous noisy pop undercurrent that is both reverent and perverse. Is this a rock record led by a chamber ensemble? Or an avant-garde composition ambushed by lurching bass and drums? Or both? Makes sense that this album is called Church of Anthrax and both of its high priests are one time Velvet Underground and Dream Syndicate members John Cale and the guru of minimalism Terry Riley.
This one time collaboration from 1971 has just been re-issued and it's never sounded better! Touching on experimental jazz, minimalist composition, free rock and baroque pop yet remaining elusive and restless, never settling neatly into any one genre. It was recorded at a time when such cross-pollination of sounds was not only new but very necessary. John Cale plays all sides of his musical personae returning to his avant-garde roots with LaMonte Young in the Theater of Eternal Music but infusing it with the noisy economy of The Velvet Underground and the poetic pop of his subsequent output. While Terry Riley allows his more purist minimal aesthetic to become looser and emotive, paving the way towards his soundtrack works a few years later. Add to it the shambling drums of Bobby Columby from Blood Sweat and Tears (uncredited here) and the strange guest appearance of little known singer, Adam Miller (probably best known for the sesame street song, "We all Live in the Capital I") and what we have is this truly odd and hypnotically amazing document. Something that sounds more Germany than New York, like a collaboration between Can and Ralf and Florian of Kraftwerk or between Faust and Cluster. Or more contemporarily and unlikely, say between Wooden Shjips and Shogun Kunitoki with a guest vocal appearance by Thom Yorke of Radiohead!
The title track opens with a deep low multi-horned drone before the bass and drums kick into what begins to sound like a more driving version of The Kinks'"Powerman". But instead of going into a formal song structure, the riff repeats with Riley's pipe organ laying circular filigree riffs over the top, maintaining a constant lurch forward, and glassy saxophone stabs and atonal guitar rising from underneath creating an uneasy rhythm that slowly unravels into a propulsively droney stew. The air clears for the beautiful "Hall of Mirrors in The Palace of Versailles" with Cale on piano and Riley on solo saxophone trading off building and lilting riffs that rise and coalesce into shimmering tones. It's the moment that feels unique to each of them: the melodic minimalism of Cale's Dream syndicate days, and the all night time-delayed sax pieces of Riley's "Poppy Nogood and The Phantom Band". But with its mirror imagery and gorgeous repetitions, it feels wonderfully cinematic like a lost score for Alain Resnais' "Last Year at Marienbad". The next track, "The Soul of Patrick Lee" is perhaps the strangest because it's the only one with vocals, which wouldn't be unusual for John Cale as he wrote it and it sounds like him, but oddly he relegates the singing duties to his friend Adam Miller, an obscure singer-songwriter who wrote a Partridge Family tune and sang the above mentioned Sesame Street song. This track provides a breather of sorts, a short baroque folk ballad interlude between the other longform pieces, but it's like a haunting theme that adds to the mysterious soundtrack feel of the whole record. "Ides of March", the longest piece, features chugging piano riffs and skittering drums over a looped but drunkenly lopsided groove that wavers in and out of sync, building in a weird way where all the notes that seem off finally becoming locked in and right. Closing the record is the short "Protege" which ups the vampy piano riffs and Moe Tucker like drums before careening into a swift blast of noisy distortion. A sudden ending to this curious record that leaves us wanting more. Thankfully there's the repeat button!
John Convertino and Joey Burns named their band Calexico after a town near the Mexican border, and "Hot Rail," their third album certainly lives up to their name more than ever. Romantic Mexican-style cornet and trumpet alongside low-rider bass (not to mention the homie on the back cover) and super atmospheric reverbed guitar (y'know, the type Chris Isaak overuses). Plus lots of excellent instrumentals where you can hear the band really expanding and maturing their trademark sunbaked sound. They just keep getting better and better! Recommended!
While they last, which won't be long, we have a few of the special limited-to-200-copies-only GOLD VINYL edition of this, the latest glorious solo outing from the sound-sculpting Mr. Caminiti, whom you probably know as being one half of the aQ fave duo Barn Owl, who on their last album V, had really begun to morph from making dusty guitar-based doom drone und twang into something whose shimmering psychedelic sonics were ever more reliant on synthesizers, electronics, machines...
Further electronic exploration continues on Meridian, wherein Caminiti conjures a mysterious, mostly electronic soundscape, having set his guitar aside to deftly orchestrate droning synths and processed field recordings in a densely detailed, actively ambient, Tangerine-Dream-y production. Cinematic and somber, and still very organic-sounding despite its electronic origins, Meridian is a gorgeous all-instrumental set of one-word-titled tracks ("Signal", "Arc", "Mercury", etc.), somehow both intimate and spacious, that should still very much appeal to Barn Owl fans despite the lack of ye olde guitar.
Caminiti's somnolent, sometimes sinister synth drones tend to be all frayed and glitchy around the edges, the listener slowly swimming/sinking through static buzzings. echoing tones and submerged hum. At times, suggestions of percussive beat-skitter comes to the surface, driving these darkling mood pieces forward into more rhythmic territory, drifting and pulsing and crackling with latent energies. Deep and lovely this is. Truly, we can understand being jaded about the glut of droney electronic music these days, but trust us, as you should expect from either of the Barn Owl boys, this is really good and worthy!
As mentioned, Thrill Jockey were nice enough to provide us with copies of the limited gold-colored vinyl version, meant for their mailorder, when they're gone we'll get the regular black vinyl. Includes digital download. Note: this is also available as a cd release, we'll have some next time...
Plux Quba is a record that after the nearly 30 years of its existence remains impossible to categorize. It's almost as if it was an alien broadcast beamed in from another planet. Little is known about its creator, Nuno Canavarro, outside of his native Portugal, and its discovery is so unbelievably legendary and riddled with hearsay that it's easy to dismiss this as a probable hoax.
Recorded in 1988 and released on a private label, it was believed to be discovered in 1991 by Jim O'Rourke while traveling through Europe with Jan St. Werner (Microstoria, Mouse On Mars) and Carsten Schulz (C-Shultz and Hajsch). Liking what he heard, Rourke eventually started a label call Moikai in 1998 and the first release was Plux Quba remastered by Portuguese guitarist and composer Rafael Toral. That the sounds contained on Plux Quba would go on to heavily influence the sound of all three artists' later output (not to mention bearing a strong sonic resemblance to Aphex Twin's early ambient pieces, Boards of Canada's nostalgic filmstrip melodies, Prefuse 73's glitch-hop, and Christian Fennesz's sublime Endless Summer) is a bizarre case of cosmic synchronicity. Rumors that this was an elaborate prank by the three electronic artists have since been quelled by enough evidence of Canavarro's existence as an architectural student, a member of semi-popular Portuguese new wave bands, and his subsequent compositional work in Portuguese cinema.
Indeed, the 15 tracks (8 of which are untitled - many clock in just over a minute) of Plux Quba can be seen as a bridge between the electro-acoustic computer-processing works of Robert Ashley (1979's Automatic Writing) and David Behrman (1984's Leapday Night) on the Lovely music label, and the advent of laptop-based electronica of the nineties. Yet Plux Quba seems less aware than that, as if created in a total vacuum. Its mystery remains one of its key attractions.
I (Scott) was turned on to this by friend and Alps band-mate Jefre Cantu-Ledesma in the nineties when he dubbed it to cassette for me, after raving about it endlessly. At first, I didn't understand the appeal. It doesn't endear itself to the listener right away. Each track is its own micro-universe of texture and mood. The first bursts of high piercing squelches, random cluster tones, bell drones and squeals, come off as abrasive and abstract, appear than disappear. Its soft-volume minimal experiments are heightened by pauses of pregnant silence that are not easy on casual listeners. It's not until about five short tracks in that processed disembodied voices, bird-like chirps and chord washes begin to emote a tangible melancholy melody, and that's when Plux Quba begins to work its magic. It took so many concentrated listens to that tape before I was finally under its spell.
Made with electronics, melodica, and pre-recorded tapes of acoustic instruments such as harp, flute, bells, marimbas, organ, an out of tune toy piano, and accordion, the overall sound is augmented by whispered transmitted voices, abstracted squeals, glitchy computerized electronics, toy instruments, crying children, animal noises, Conet Project style shortwave babble, and off-kilter hand percussion. It's almost as if a computer was fed some primitive bedroom recordings performed by children and asked to mimic the results. The cover art with its childlike drawing and strange font layouts doesn't offer any clues either, unless one is versed in Portuguese perhaps. But even then, Plux Quba seems to be mining a territory where language is useless as an orienting factor, but trades on a highly prevalent universality of emotion. It remains a singular and beguiling artifact that won't appeal to everybody, but offers massive rewards to the curious, adventurous and patient.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Repressed and back in print.
Record number two from Leyland Kirby's Caretaker project, whose last record, Persistent Repetition Of Phrases, was a unanimous aQ fave, and was of course one of Wire magazine's top 10 albums of 2008, and was, and still is, one of our best sellers, and it looks like this one is likely to follow suit.
A sonic meditation on memory and loss, The Caretaker, takes old jazz records, various effects, and what sounds like a battery of old beat up Victrolas, and weaves Philip Jeck like soundscapes, but unlike Jeck, the source sounds here are not obfuscated, in fact, in some respects, The Caretaker records are almost like spectral spiritual otherworldly mix tapes, especially on this new one, which sounds like old 78s left to play in a big old auditorium, the room's reverb lovingly wreathing the music in a gauzy old timey haze, the surface noise, hiss and crackle and pop, somehow accentuated by the cavernous space. Better yet, replace the auditorium with an old abandoned mansion. Imagine the great room, animal heads on the walls, old oil paintings, a massive fireplace, charred black, old decaying rugs, all the furniture covered in white cloths, looking like ghosts, cobwebs in all the corners, the floor beneath a layer of dust, and in the corner, an old record player, lit up, its turntable spinning slowly, some old dusty record, to a room full of spirits, a sonic requiem for a time that once was, the music seeming to reflect the ever fading memories, and that's what these songs sound like, some sort of haunted house jazz, old timey seance blues, mournful melodies played on an old piano, muted trumpet, swoonsome strings, shuffling drums, a slow motion big band performing live in the ether, a spectral band playing lament after lament, dedicating it to their lost loves, and loves lost.
An Empty Bliss Beyond This World plays like some archival collection of lost 78's, but where the records' provenance is unknown, timeless music that could have come from anytime, and anywhere, the imperfections and inconsistencies as much a part of the sound as the music itself, all of that hiss and crackle a warm wreath of time-transformed-into-sound detritus, the passing of time mad physical, a sonic memorial to the past. So utterly gorgeous.
One of Wire magazine's records of 2008, the Caretaker's Persistent Repetition Of Phrases was in fact, when we finally got to hear it, incredible. Gorgeous, hazy, mysterious, destined to be one of OUR favorites as well. Unfortunately, when we tried to order it, intending to feature it prominently on the list, we discovered that it was in fact so limited that it was already out of print, not to be repressed. Argghhh.
Thankfully, the vinyl version showed up recently, so we grabbed as many as we could, so we could shower it with the praise it most definitely deserves. CD only folks are shit out of luck, but for now (and we mean NOW, these are crazy limited too) we have the vinyl, so grab one before they disappear.
The Caretaker has two modes, slow shimmery gauzy ambience, and slowed down warped and blurred big band and jazz. Often combing the two into some sort of otherworldly slow motion spectral dream jazz. We've been joking that the Caretaker is sort of like the DJ Screw of the avant underground, seeing as he takes scratchy old jazz records and reworks them Philip Jeck style into, woozy buried drifts of jazz shadows and haunting otherworldly vocals. Most of the jazzier tracks, sound like the soundtrack to some super creepy dream sequence, a la the Shining, like when Nicholson finds himself in that bar filled with ghosts, you can almost imagine, a dusty old saloon, broken mirrors, cigarette burned tables, sawdust floors, a lone figure sitting alone, hunched over in a dark corner, while all around him, nearly transparent figures move about as if still alive, a ballet of phantom familiarity, spirits unaware that they've moved on, going on with the machinations of daily life, their essence flickery and indistinct, like an old filmstrip. And a filmstrip soundtrack is exactly what the music of the Caretaker evokes, warm, effusive, burnished, old timey, antiquated, the sounds are dark and woozy and and bleed together, blurring into fuzzy stretches of lost memory, of suspended time. The music here is the sound of faded old photographs, of old super 8 movies projected on a wall in a dark and dusty old room, of abandoned skating rinks, of boarded up windows, of black clouds filling a slate grey sky, of life slowing to a crawl, before ven more slowly fading away. Absolutely and utterly breathtaking.
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES.
Another killer batch of music from the dome! The dome being the home base of local space drone psychonauts Carlton Melton whose MO is holing up at said geodesic dome and spending marathon sessions recording endless, heart-of-the-sun jams, that they somehow later work into proper records. This latest might be the heaviest yet, opening with the seriously bombastic "Peaking Duck", which starts with some kosmische synth shimmer, which is soon joined by some Bonham-esque drum crush, then some hazy psychedelic swirl, laced with squiggly, pulsating FX, wild wah wah guitar freakout, the whole thing wound up into a brooding, hypno-psych churn. The sound is almost doom, especially when the low end come swooping in, not sure if it's synth or distorted bass, but it's thick, and dense, droned out and mesmeric, a tranced out, throbbing groove that oozes right into "Wheel And Deal" which is blown out, sun baked and stonery, a serious Kyuss vibe going on, but a sort of more minimal mesmeric take on that group's desert rock. "The Barrier" too is a seriously sinister sprawl of zoner-psych space doom, that never really coalesces into a song proper but instead, loops cyclically into a hazy hypnotic mesmer, while the title track is equally, if not more abstractly heavy, ditching the drums, and unfurling thick undulating layers of processed guitars and sheets of shimmering feedback.
In between all this heaviness, there's plenty of grooviness and more laid back jammage, some of it, softly strummed, almost pastoral psychedelic folkiness ("Diamond In The Rough", "Similarities", "It's Been Summer All Winter"), some of it almost funky, lurching and lumbering ("Amfmpm", "Perdiddle"), and some of it super abstract, slow motion, brooding drift and thrum, laced with spidery melodies, swirling synths, and subtle tribal rhythms ("Too Close To Home").
Once again, these aQ beloved, psychedelic spacelords push all our psych/kraut/space/drone/cosmic/stoner rock buttons, delivering on a sound we already love, but giving us something just different enough to keep things interesting: plenty of extra heft, alongside more tripped out introspection. We've already been playing this to death, and anxiously await CM's next transmission of lysergic dome-doom dreaminess and zoner-drone riffiness...
Available on cd, or double lp (blue vinyl, while they last) with a cd of the album included too!
We can't be sure if this is something we actually heard from the band, or if we're just making it up, but really either way, true or not, it does paint a pretty good picture of the sprawling druggy psychedelic jamscapes of local space psych cosmonauts Carlton Melton - and it's that CM records are basically the product of a copious intake of various substances, before holing up in their geodesic dome / recording studio, to jam epically for hours on end, days sometimes, only later sifting through the reels of tape, and hours of bong-ed out headtrip cosmic heaviness. Could be true, should be true, probably is really, cuz how could sane and sober minds produce this sort of psych-bliss space-drone nirvana!?! Regardless of its provenance, we're just glad we're privy to another chunk of CM's heady heavy psychedelia.
This new record finds previous CM special guest John McBain, of the mighty Monster Magnet, seemingly signed on as a full on Melton (even though he's still listed as a special guest), as he's on every track here, and can only imagine that he helped push CM's sound into realms heavier and spacier. And indeed, that's what's going on here. Opener "Nor' Easter" is a brooding sprawl of lumbering dirgey dreamy heaviness, all thick swirls of tripped out shimmer, softly roiling riffage, lazy loping motorik krautrock-ish beat buried in the mix, spidery melodies and woozy washed out shred, woven into the heaving swells of warm lugubrious thrum and churning soft focus space rock crush.
The title track finds the band getting all new age-y, ditching drums, riffs, pretty much everything except warm woozy swirls of shimmery melody, slow shifting layered pulses, whirling, whooshing synths and sparkling glimmering FX, maybe the prettiest thing we've heard from these guys, all dreamlike and kosmische, a little soundtracky, lush and layered, total trip out bliss out.
"Space Treader" is another slow builder, all brooding and moody, thick swaths of buzz and fuzz, a slowly developing propulsive heft, and some Queen like (!) melodies/leads that infuse the track with a gorgeously super melodic vibe, those melodies soon mirrored by synth melodies, that push this track too in a much more kosmische direction, before devolving into a murkier bit of deconstructed riffing, and droned out slow fading FX flecked drift. The record proper finishes off with "Wingspan", which sonically sounds like the title track part two, a symphony of synths, all blurred and smeared over a barely there rhythm, and a loose framework of soft psychedelic grooves, more spidery melodies, and chiming harmonics, drifting in a starfield of synth swirl and bleary jangle, woozy and wonderfully tranced out.
The cd (and the download that accompanies the vinyl) includes two bonus tracks, two of the three tracks from the recent Smoke Drip 12" (good news for you cd nerds who missed out). The first track is the sprawling 22+ minute, originally side-long epic "Adrift", and the band spend the first few minutes just sort of, well, adrift, a simple motorik drumbeat, spidery tendrils of electric guitar, some sitar-like buzz, all wreathed in a swirling cloud of synth shimmer, it's the sort of hazy zoned out psych-drone mesmer that we can't get enough of, and we like to think the original was closer to 3 or 4 hours long, this being just the best 20 minutes, a totally tranced out hypnorock groove, that's druggy and dreamy, a slo-mo swagger that sounds like Hawkwind on tranquilizers, there doesn't even need to be any sort of build or explosive blown out climax, cuz once you're lost in these sounds, you're a willing celestial traveller, drifting on CM's beams of sonic light, headed for the heart of some black sun. But the band do crank it up, the guitars growing wilder near the end, and louder, but never letting totally loose, instead just slipping right back into the same mesmeric groove, and playing us out to the very end.
And then the second, "Smoke Drip" itself, which like much of Photos, ditches drums completely for a heady sprawl of psychedelic ambience, multiple guitars, synths and manipulated tapes, are let loose in a sun dappled spray of softly tangled melodies and smoldering buzz, abstract riffage and swoonsome swells of FX drenched thrum unwind into slithering sonic tendrils and lush layered psychdrone shimmer.
Ok, this is where cd people can stop reading, cuz that's all you get. But for you vinyl folks, at least for this first pressing, while they last, the record proper comes bundled with a whole bonus 12", with two extra tracks (30+ minutes total). The first is a remix from John McBain, of CM's "The One That Got Away", which strips down CM's sound, adds some programmed percussion, and over the course of 14 minutes, transforms the original into something WAY more druggy and trippy, the first few minutes, a lazy meander through a hazy landscape of melody and slowburn psych thrum, before the sound grows a bit more ominous, the buzz cranked up, the sounds smeared and blurry, the Spacemen 3 vibe HUGE, plenty of warped effects, swooping backwards melodies, processed stuttering melodies, muted murky riffage, all wreathed in a warm sun dappled gauze, the whole thing deliriously dreamy and druggy, and sorta makes us wish McBain would remix CM's whole catalog! The bonus 12"s finishes off with a live track from CM's recent trip to Roadburn in Holland, a 16 minute blowout of heavy, churning, retro-riffing, hard rocking, shred laced, bombastic bloozy hard psych, that KILLS.
The vinyl version with the bonus 12" is most definitely EXTREMELY limited, we're getting a bunch, but odds are those will fly out of here, so be prepared to settle for the single lp version when that time comes...
aQ Hits is a new collection from beloved SF psychedelic space rock minimalists Carlton Melton, and is our second annual official aQuarius recOrds Record Store Day release. Last year's was a live disc called Black Valleys, a document of a killer aQuarius instore by NY psych rockers White Hills, and that one sold out in a flash. This year's looks to do the same - if you like White Hills, you like Carlton Melton, right?!
It's a super limited (just 300 copies) compact disc, collecting a handful of rare, and now out of print vinyl tracks, from various singles and split lps from the last couple years, including one super extended version.
Let's run through the various tracks... "Bottle Of Heat [Extended Version]", is, as you can probably tell from the title, the aforementioned alternate cut, which takes "Bottle Of Heat", originally released on the 2011 Agitated Records 12" comp I'm So Convoluted!, and offers up the unedited full-sprawl recording, stretching out to more than 19 minutes, thick smoldering clouds of soft focus psychedelia, drifting and blissed out, free form and abstract, a meandering epic of lush chordal swell and shimmery FX drenched swirl, all over a shuffling hypnotic and motorik kraut-psych beat. "Handling Snakes" is the A side from the group's Valley King 7" single, and is a jolt of heavy hypno-blues a la Wooden Shjips, but in the hands of Carlton Melton, somehow even heavier with wailing riffs and pummeling drums.
The next two tracks are from Carlton Melton's split 12" with Empty Shapes, originally released on Mid-To-Late Records in 2010: "Call and Response" is an epic (and originally nearly side-loooong) blowout, beginning with a heavy rumble of monolithic sludge eventually progressing into a slow wave of burnt-out blues riffage a la early Comets on Fire, that churns and steeps into a gnarly brew of molten fuzz. While "Purer", is more cosmic and dreamy, built on a layer of percolating synth drones that give way to a more uplifting space rock jam trajectory, total heart-of-the-sun zoner blissout.
And finally, the last two tracks are from CM's split 12" with Qumran Orphics, also originally released on Mid-To-Late Records, that one in the beginning of 2011. "March Of The Cicadas" is a glorious ten minute slab of psychedelic heaviness, that sounds exactly like the title implies, a slowmotion dirge over martial rhythms with buzzing electronic hisses and stratospheric guitar leads. And things finish off with "Murder Ridge", a noirish Bardo Pond-like spiral of burning sonic embers and sustained decay, a gorgeous hazy stretch of blurred lysergic drift, the perfect final movement, psych-drone comedown.
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES, each one hand numbered, the artwork is printed on metallic silver cardstock, everything housed in a slim dvd style case, only available here!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
To say this record is the most amazing thing I have ever heard wouldn't be all that far from the mark. But at the same time it would be fairly accurate to say that this record is one of the stupidest things I have ever heard.
This French duo is definitely metal, definitely on the black side of metal; raspy evil vocals, crazy leads, pounding programmed drums, but with healthy doses of electronics, crazy sound effects, some bizarre lounge style vocals, and some truly questionable cover songs. The record starts off with a fairly straight cover of Ozzy's 'Bark at the Moon', albeit with weird electronic warbles and silly over the top vocals. But then it gets really weird. They tackle the eighties classic 'Maniac' (the theme from Flashdance) and it's nothing short of baffling. So baffling in fact, that I can't even explain it. Then comes a cover of the fm radio classic 'Baker Street' by Gerry Rafferty, the infamous sax melody played by blazing electric guitars. So stupid , but so so great. Seriously. And to finish it all up, they do a truly inspired version of Pantera's 'Fucking Hostile', Phil Anselmo's shouted '1,2,3,4,' segues into a calypso cabaret that has to be heard to be believed, with a lisping chorus '....definitlely hostile...'. Andee recommends this. Above all other things on this weeks list. Everytime we play this in the store, someone laughs hysterically, someone looks perplexed, and someone buys it. You could be one of those people. Or probably all of those people.
Buy it.
This really kind of had to be Record Of The Week. We're darn excited about it, and we're sure as heck not the only ones. John Carpenter, as you probably know, is a director of horror films and sci-fi thrillers, who also composes the soundtracks - suspenseful, powerful, pulsating - for many of his movies (often with collaborator Alan Howarth). We've reviewed reissues of many of our favorites: Halloween, The Fog, Assault On Precinct 13, Escape From New York� classics, all.
In recent years, as you probably also are away, there have been many, many, MANY artists who are hugely, obviously, inspired by the film music of John Carpenter. We're talking artists like Zombi, Umberto, The Night Terrors, Majeure, Nightsatan, Steve Moore, Roll The Dice, Zombie Zombie (who did a whole disc of Carpenter covers), Crypt Vapor, and quite a few others. So, in our reviews, we're constantly saying stuff sounds "Carpenter-y", "Carpenter-esque", referring to "John Carpenter worship", and in general using the soundtracks of John Carpenter as a necessary reference point for all these bands who indeed do worship him. (Italian giallo soundtrack greats Goblin, of course, are also another big influence on this crowd, but the synth-ier side of things is especially Carpenter-y.)
So it's about time John Carpenter himself got in on the act, and put out an album of his own, of music for the music's sake, not associated with any particular, actual film. Sacred Bones has scooped everybody with this brand new album of non-soundtrack music by John Carpenter. Carpenter recently formed a trio with his son (who is in a rock band) and godson (a film composer) and they jammed in his home studio until they came up with these pieces, freed entirely from the constraints of scoring specific scenes in a film. Instead, YOU provide the mental images� Despite the title, these tracks weren't ever meant for any of his films - it's not like they're from the cutting room floor, or were intended for movies that never got made - although, he could always use some of these themes in something in the future, we suppose.
In light of what we said above, you know it's tough for us to review this without quite tautologically saying it sounds very John Carpenter-y!! Which is EXACTLY what we all want it to sound like, obviously. Heavy on the spooky '80s sounding synths, and propulsive chase-sequence grooves. The nine tracks here are each given a simple but evocative title, almost like this is Carpenter's own collection of "library music". There's thumping opener "Vortex", urgent and ominous, haunted by a repeated piano motif, followed by the melodic nightmare romance of "Obsidian", its powerful throb taking on epic proportions. Next, "Fallen" is another suspenseful transmission from the horror-zone. Then, side one (on the vinyl) closer "Domain" takes on some more uplifting qualities, but evokes many moods, propelled by Euro-disco beats and colored by heavy synth and organ flourishes. Powerful stuff, big grooves, stirring melodies, lots of atmosphere, and a bit of that "training montage" vibe we love.
And so it goes, the remaining tracks ("Mystery", "Abyss", "Wraith", "Purgatory", "Night") replete with eerie tinkling synths, creepy organ, soaring guitar soloing, minimal percussive skitter, hypnotically repetitive rhythms, thick synth bass, and the miasma of droning electronics.
Very, very satisfying; recommended to all fans of Carpenter and his acolytes! While we won't say "accept no imitations" (we LOVE the imitations), it is nice to get the real deal from the maestro.
Now if only they'd go on tour... and if SB would reissue the rare record JC made in 1985 with his band The Coupe De Villes, pressed only for friends...
Note: there is vinyl of this too, but we didn't get as many copies as we'd ordered, and have already run out - but, we're told a repress is on the way, possibly around the end of March.
Watch her legion of admirers increase tenfold with every passing moment! Will you join them/us? On this, her third full length, Neko Case's voice pours forth in such an untethered and unaffected manner, yet with such power and control. It's truly something to behold. Through seemingly endless touring since Furnace Room Lullaby (on her own, as well as with the New Pornographers) she's honed her voice into an incredibly dynamic instrument. She delivers old classics like "Runnin' Out of Fools" or "Look For Me (I'll Be Around)" with such ease and conviction so seamlessly amid her own splendid songs like "Deep Red Bells" and "I Wish I Was The Moon" as well as "Pretty Girls" from The Gift soundtrack. On much of Blacklisted, her delivery is not unlike that of a lone, world-weary torch singer. Quite simply, her performance is arresting - deeply dramatic and haunting. Perhaps this may be attributed, in part or in whole, to the fact that these days she's holding all the reins. She co-released this album on her own label Lady Pilot with Bloodshot Records, and produced and mixed it with Darryl Neudorf and Craig Schumacher. Also noteworthy is the absence of "and the Boyfriends" from her name, but she's by no means flying solo - although she did play a greater number of the instruments this time around (various guitars, saw, piano). Speaking of which, the accompanying music is a perfect, richly hued match that warmly envelops and lingers around her every word. She's surrounded by an impressive group of musical friends including Joey Burns and John Convertino of Calexico, Giant Sand's Howe Gelb, Kelly Hogan, Brian Connelly of Shadowy Men On A Shadowy Planet, Dallas Good of the Sadies, John Rauhouse, Tom Ray, and Mary Margaret O'Hara. A stunning album that glistens and glows from start to finish. Highly recommended.
What can we say about Neko Case that we haven't already? And what else can we add to the crazy amount of press and publicity surrounding the release of here latest record Middle Cyclone? Maybe nothing. But what the heck, we love Neko Case, we have for years. From The Virginian to Furnace Room Lullaby to Blacklisted to Canadian Amp, and of course we were early champions of the New Pornographers, especially the Neko fronted Mass Romantic. Hell, way back in the day, she even played in the band Cub with our very own Cup!!
But by now, you've probably been inundated by images of Ms. Case, interviews, magazine covers, there was even a mini documentary on the front page of Amazon, this record is getting one heck of a push, the weird thing is it doesn't really need it. On its own, minus the publicity and all the various other efforts to promote the woman and her album, the music itself speaks for itself. Lush but obviously hand crafted, the lyrics as ever are smart and wry and funny and bittersweet, the songs are fantastic, varied, played by a crack back up band, and then there's Case's voice, which as many others have stated before us is truly a force of nature. One of those once in an era voices. Dark and sultry and sonorous, but so strong and powerful, the old adage about singing the phone book, can now be applied to anything, programming code, microwave instructions, with Case, whatever it is becomes a gorgeous sweetly sour heartbreaker.
Plenty has been written about the making of Middle Cyclone too, but for those who don't have TV or radio or internet, we'll tell you much of this record was recorded using a handful of pianos Case got for free on Craig's List, set up in her drafty old barn, on the Vermont farm she now calls home. And that 'piano orchestra' is a wonder, each piano's inconsistencies blending with the other pianos, all blending together into a sound impossibly lush and totally unique. The various parts recorded in the barn also peppered with the sound of crickets and frogs outside, wind whipping through the eaves, all adding to the personal and intimate vibe that the record already had in spades.
From brooding ballad, to country rocker, to epic slow burner, every song here is a gem. After a few listens we're liking it way more than Fox Confessor Brings The Flood. There's even a Sparks cover! And a Nilssen cover! Both easily and fully transformed into what are essentially Case originals.
And if it wasn't already a stone cold classic, the 31 minute bonus track pushes Middle Cyclone into utter aQ obsession territory, with what is essentially a half hour long field recording of crickets! So great!
The newest exercise in plunderphonia comes from merry old England in the form of Cassetteboy! Taking cues from People Like Us, Negativland, Tape-beatles, and John Oswald, Cassetteboy excel in the art of making people say naughty things. As such The Parker Tapes is probably not the best disc for those who don't enjoy the baser and more puerile forms of humor (or channel surfing style editing.) But for those who do revel in such things, Cassetteboy is the best source for your plunderfix. Unlike most of the artists who work in the realm of media reappropriation, Cassetteboy is decidedly un-musical. Which isn't a rib against them. Though there are bits of music sampled in the course of events, it's the narrative of television and radio voices that are the primary focus of Cassetteboy's wrath. The 98 tracks crammed onto this disc don't lend themselves to much in the way of instrumental interludes. But goddamn is this stuff funny, from subtly changing Bowie's lyrics to "here I am shitting in a tin can.... and farting in a most peculiar way...." to Bill Gates admitting that Microsoft gets in to schools to control our kids... to an awesome monkey themed montage to... well, you get the idea. Relentless and stupidly brilliant. EVERYTIME this is played in the store, customers are either silently chuckling, laughing uproariously or coming up to find out what the hell we're listening to! This is the party cd/mix tape/answering machine message record of the year!!
At first glance, it might be difficult to know what this record it all about. The sleeve is just a photo of trees and leaves, a dense overgrown forest. Pull out the cd, that too is cryptic, just some random letters on the disc, the sleeve, an old crinkled photo from some seventies porn mag of a topless cowgirl with a gun in her mouth. There's an insert, with a bunch of strange shapes, the word CAVE right at the top. But we know what it is. We've been waiting for this disc for ages. The debut recording from, wait for it� CAVE! Who just so happen to be the spacerock krautrock dronerock riff heavy jam band side project of one Warhammer 48K, who were already spacey and krauty and droney to begin with, so needless to say this is some seriously kick ass, aQ freakout worthy shit.
For the attention span impaired, howabout some Hawkwind, Can, Circle, Lightning Bolt, Pharaoh Overlord? Sounds good huh? Well, it's easy to hear bits and pieces of all of those bands in the sound of Cave, a dual drummer-ed riff heavy psych rock, that takes single riffs and hammers at them, pounding and pummeling, repetitive and mesmerizing, a sort of kraut flecked hypnorock, but with all sorts of strange twists and turns, bizarre arrangements, baffling breakdowns, but woven into longform jams that should have anyone into the above mentioned bands frothing at the mouth.
The opening track is a gorgeous little tangle of minor key melodies, looped and repeated, over a tense distant drone, thick swaths of keyboard whir over soft tangles of acoustic guitar and space-y backwards guitar swoops, but then the opening riff of the second track kicks in, and it's all fuzzy and feral, the greatest riff Pharoah Overlord never wrote, and they just hang on it, way longer than any normal band would, FOREVER, before the drums kick in, and they're off, a relentless and hooky groove, with brief blasts of super dynamic chaos, before slipping right back into it. Keyboards lay still more hypnotic melodies over the top, vocals, when there are any, are shouted way down in the mix, or are wordless falsetto la-la-la's, adding more texture and sonic complexity than anything. The dual drummers mix it up spitting out occasional tribal squalls, sometimes thick swirls of staticky fuzz wash over the proceedings, but their propulsive fortitude never falters. The first two tracks would almost be enough. Nearly 12 minutes of heavy freaked out space jam nirvana. You can practically feel the walls heaving and the sweat dripping through the speakers. You'll probably need a lie down afterwards. But there's no time, cuz hell, there's 6 more tracks to dig through. The sound is punk rock, lo-fi, but lush and epic, damaged and delirious, like garage rockers raised on Magma and Faust, there's plenty of Neu! in there, Stereolab too then, but it's way heavier than that, the guitars crunchy and thick, occasionally opening up into wailing psychrock blowouts, the drums getting more and more distorted and frenzied. Imagine an amphetamine fueled Circle or Can, but via the basement, the sound a sweat soaked drug drenched mostly instrumental kraut groove
Mathy, murky, like the fucked up younger brother of Yes, a Neanderthal krautrock, laced with awesome grinding space rock riffage, blown out squalls of ur-psych, flurries of percussive splatter, chanting cult vocals, bits of what the fuck vocoder (!), but for all the weirdness, the core sound of Cave is THE RIFF. Whether it's a warbly synth, or a superdistorted guitar, or tra-la-la vocals, they all align themselves with that riff, the mission, to entrance, to ensorcel, a heaving, pulsing, throbbing mass, the sound magnetic and irresistible. Endless jams that aren't really, but feel like they should be. Like they are anyway. Transcending the laws of time and space, dragging us kicking and screaming, bouncing and bobbing, into some blissed out basement at the end of the universe, where we subsist of nothing but riffs, drums and FX. We never want to leave.
Killer packaging, it's an lp AND a cd, same music on both, fold over full color sleeve, full color one sided cd sleeve (all described above) and a full color thick cardstock insert. And of course, limited, only 500 copies!
The return of our favorite crew of psychedelic hypno krautrock worshippers, with another disc of cyclical, spaced out mesmer, a heady blend of Circle style single riff mantra-rock, classic krautrock stylings and modern minimal psychedelia, all woven into a sound that while reminiscent of much of what came before has definitely been fashioned over the last few records into something distinctly Cave-like.
We were actually immediately struck by how 'clean' this new record sound. Polished, produced, whatever you want to call it, these guys have come a long way from their ramshackle DIY beginnings, opener "WUJ" might be the best Cave jam yet, sounding at the outset almost like Stereolab, that same sort of clipped guitars, measured minimal drumming, all amidst soft swirls of faded effects and synthy shimmer, but the band add all sorts of killer melodies, and extra parts, the song overflowing with hooks, slipping from that chugging propulsive churn, to full on soaring pop majesty and back again. The song does eventually crank things up, the guitars distorted, the bass thick and driving, synths everywhere (maybe dragged over to Cave from frontman Cooper Crain's Bitchin Bajas side project) adding a sort of sun dappled new age shimmer, but the final chunk of the song is raw and urgent, the sound getting way more blown out and distorted, totally in-the-red, wild squalls of psychedelic leads, definitely slipping into White Hills, Heads, Hawkwind style heart of the sun space rock territory. The second track "This Is The Best" offers up the other side of Cave, a sprawling chunk of mellow krautrock rhythms, and hazy smoldering synth drones, sounding like some lost Faust jam (maybe from those sessions with Tony Conrad) or maybe Tortoise at their most abstract and tripped out. The Bitchin Bajas vibe is huge here too, when the synths swoop in, they spread out a skyful of kosmische thrum over that motorik beat, and the low slung bass line, which relentlessly drives the track, but c'mon, this is Cave, so about 4 minutes in, the song splinters and transforms into something else entirely, another chugging guitar heavy groove, this one cranking the tempo way up, easy to imagine the live shows, this must be where the crowd starts bouncing wildly and going nuts, cuz even listening to it on record, it's hard to resist the urge. The song explodes in a wild psychedelic climax, before winding down (for about 5 minutes), with a killer drum / synth mathkraut workout, that is one of the coolest jams we've ever heard.
And on it goes, the band unfurling epic swaths of looped rhythms, of swirling distorted keyboards, crunchy riffs, pounding drums, all woven into long stretches of hypno kraut bliss, culminating in the closer, "OJ", which almost sounds like a Moon Duo track gone haywire, the bass blown out and crumbling, the synths wildly fluctuating, all of the sounds swirling and shifting, while that main rhythm/groove remains locked tight, and the band chug and churn to the very end, finishing off in a blaze of twisted FX-ed psychguitar swirl.
Needless to say, this rules, and is absolutely essential listening!
Not one but TWO repeat Record Of The Week honorees, elsewhere, the latest from French alchemical post rockers Aluk Todolo, and this, the latest from Cave, whose recent instore performance totally blew us away. It says a lot about a band that can put together a totally improvised set, with limited gear and various members changing up instruments, and still sound better and tighter and catchier and more rocking than most bands playing their own songs on their proper gear NOT in a record store.
Born from the space drone psych outfit Warhammer 48K, these guys left Missouri, ended up in Chicago, added a whole bunch of new members and became Cave, a kick ass spaced out kraut-drone hypno rock collective, equal parts Circle, Can, Lightning Bolt, Wooden Shjips, and Hawkwind, but so much more. Their first record, Hunt Like Devil, was a glorious cacophony of circular riffage, frenetic drumming, woozy basslines, wild synths, and killer hooks, groovy, hypnotic, space-y, and while this record is more of the same, it's somehow transcends, taking everything we loved about the first record, and making it, well, MORE. We'd have probably loved it even if it was Hunt Like Devil part 2, but thankfully, Psychic Summer finds the band exploring some new territory, but dragging that old sound with them.
The opener begins with just a stripped down guitar, and some subtly noodly synth, before exploding in a sun dappled burst of super distorted, in-the-red psychedelia, before shifting again into a muted sunshiney krautrock groove, laced with some cool synths, and electronic filigree. The song locks into the groove and slowly builds to a triumphant climax, eventually slowing down to a sort of chiming jangly groove, which leads right into "Made In Malaysia" which might be the jam of the disc. Stuttering synths, stop start dynamics, chugging guitars, which gives way to a wild woozy twisted riffy bridge, with shouted vocals, and warble bended guitar notes, and an irresistable staccato groove, first just the synth, but then the drums, motorik and relentless, live it's not hard to imagine this track being stretched into a whole set. A single song, so hooky and loopy and mesmerizing. But it's Cave, so two seconds later, they're locked into a different kind of groove, a tribal rhythm, warm organ chords, underneath blooping effects, buried vocals, it's almost danceable, definitely groovy, like they just took one measure from some classic old school dance track and looped it into some space aged kraut disco space jam.
The other three tracks are just as mesmerizing, the muted space-y throb of "High, I Am", wrapped in a slithery bit of warped synthage, to the dense drum heavy "Requiem For John Sex", with some grinding mathy guitar and a bit of indie jangle all wound up in the tracks summery drift, before a wild super sped up free for all psych out finish, and "Machines And Muscles", which was originally released on the now out of print Butthash single, this seems to be a slightly different version, and is definitely another of the record's highlights, total hynorock bliss, little bits of keyboard pepper the stuttery rhythm, the main riff staying solid and unwavering, while all around it various other sounds swoop and shimmer, a Circle-like guitar groove, shuffling drums, very tribal and looped sounding, suspended in a field of space streakings, warm organ whir and smears of soft effects in the background, that main riff stays LOCKED in, until it begins to get a bit more tripped out, a little distorted, more effects, the synths skitter and stutter, and then finally, the song fades out in a blinding kaleidoscopic burst of warm sunshine-y synth.
And that's really the magic of Cave, we're all so partial to the dark and doomy, the buzzy and droney, that it's so exciting for a record to sound so heavy and tripped out and hypnotic, but at the same time so sunshiney, so Summery, so FUN. These guys totally rule, this record is fantastic, and if you can believe it, live they might be even better.
Boston metalcore band Cave In was once described as being a mixture of Slayer and Radiohead. And usually the Radiohead part was just 'cause of some weird proggy electronic leanings, but the Slayer tag was the more accurate one. But now, with "Jupiter", they've gone and morphed themselves into a pop band. Seriously. And they're damn good at it. Amazingly, they still tour with the likes of Neurosis and Dillinger Escape Plan, playing their new, art-pop material exclusively! And the kids like it! Ornate, lengthy songs complete with falsetto vocals, and amazingly catchy melodies. Previously, we've enthused over Muse and Justin Clayton, as Radiohead clone bands par excellance, but this might just take the cake. But unlike the Radiohead clones, Cave-In don't seem so much like they're copying Radiohead, more like they're contemporaries, albeit way heavier and way more rocking. We're just so blown away by this band's transformation and metal-forged skill at creating this stuff. Perfect proggy pop, mixed with healthy doses of Pink Floyd, Hawkwind, Yes, etc. Fans of the old Cave In might be a bit disoriented, but give it a chance. Heavy doesn't always mean distorted guitars and satanic growling.
So recommended.
Look out, Windy's got a new favorite band, and it's Cerberus Shoal. Never mind that I'm a latecomer to the group -- "Crash My Moon Yacht" is their _fifth_ album -- it's never too late to experience the crashing beauty that is Cerberus Shoal. High time, too, as this band, who live and make music together in Portland, Maine, has been grievously overlooked throughout their career.
On such Western and ethnic instruments as bowed guitar, balalaika, flute, trumpet, dholak, woodblocks, oud, quena, radios, whistles, electric bass, hammond organ, xylophone, etc, Cerberus Shoal plays a stretched out, intense yet langurous blend of mostly-instrumental drone-rock similar to many of the bands AQ knows and loves. They're equally epic and emotional as Godspeed You Black Emperor, but less weepy. They're as careful as Tarentel, yet much more complex. As for other groups who feature ethnic instrumentation, Cerberus offers a worthy challenge: far more consistent than the spotty Sun City Girls, they don't try to wrestle their ouds, djembes and congas into pop song structures like Macha does, and they're more accessible and varied than Pelt. Without meaning to slight any of those groups, hopefully comparisons will make it clear to you just how amazing and worthy of your time this group is. Live and on record, the band displays amazing restraint -- although the stage is crowded with dozens of instruments, at any one time only 3 or 4 distinct sounds will be in play, making for any number of possible sonic combinations, all the while keeping the music simple and utterly respectful of each instrument's unique timbre. There are even parts that remind us of music as disparate as Boards of Canada and prog rock, that's how evocative it is. Very late night soundscape-y. I can't say enough good things about this band. If you've got the patience and the desire for meaningful music that's as substantive as it is lovely, Cerberus Shoal will make you so happy.
Please note that we also have in stock "Homb" (on Temporary Residence), Cerberus' breathtaking fourth album and Caleb's (Cerberus' frontman) own personal favorite.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
San Francisco's Champs (or C4AM95 as they prefer to be called for silly legal reasons) are an amazing two guitars and drums no bass, sometimes three guitars no drums, very rarely any vocals, trio that on this their debut album crank out over seventy minutes of catchy, complex, mostly instrumental metal in indie/math-rock clothing. Kind of like the indie-prog of Don Caballero or Breadwinner, with touches of Trans Am (the bombast and occasional "techno electronica" interlude) ...and healthy helpings of Iron Maiden, Thin Lizzy, Metallica, Carcass, Motley Crue, Priest, etc. I could go on. Mesmerizing live, they're on tour now but will be back soon so I hope y'all went to their shows. For what it's worth, there's a former member of Nation of Ulysses in their ranks. Rec-o-f'n-mended.
The one, the only, the...fucking...Champs! After three years, finally we get their second album (called "IV" on account of the couple of cassette releases that preceded "III"). Ok. Here's the run down, for those who do and who don't know the Champs (and to know them is to love them): they're a trio, they have two guitarists very interested in harmonies, but no bassist, they have song titles like "These Glyphs Are Dusty" and "Thor Is Like Immortal", they play metal but pass it off as indie rock in order to be popular (hey, they're on Fucking Drag City), and they are primarily an instrumental band. Oh, and they have lots of self-imposed problems with their name, always worried about being confused with those "Tequila" oldsters. This time, they're the FUCKING Champs (I prefer: The C'fuckin'hamps myself), but you've probably run across that amazing "III" record by C4AMP5, it's the same band of course. So, how's the new album? Well, it rules. It's a lot shorter than "III" (which was a double LP for goshsakes) at 38 minutes, and pretty much each and every one of those minutes is packed with Thin Lizzy/Maiden/Metallica/Van Halen lovin' genius. There's a lot less of the techno keyboard interludes that they did on "III", this has its gentle moments but none of that Trans Am-ish stuff. (Although it is on current heavy rotation in Windy's 1980 Firebird Trans Am [http://aquariusrecordsSF.com/windyscar.html], hey! ) It's also a bit poppier, on the whole. And in another brilliant move the Champs make you wait until the very last song ("Extra Man") to hear vocals. Drummer Tim Soete's vocals and the catchiness of the tune are certainly manifestations of their Thin Lizzy worship, but, being the Champs, even this vocal cut has a lot of instrumental sections, including a lengthy bit in the middle that seems dropped in from a hypothetical black metal math rock record. You'll be playing it over and over again, along with the rest of the disc. The Champs are probably the best (=least boring) post-rock band in the world, 'cause they're in fact a METAL band.
(And let's face it guys, if you're not metal, then you're a novelty act...but if one indie rock kid gets into Thin Lizzy or Carcass 'cause of The Champs, then more power to 'em!) Recommended, if you hadn't guessed! The perfect back-to-school rock soundtrack.
Manu Chao, former leader of the French band Mano Negra, was born in France of Spanish parents, and in recent years has spent much of his musical career in South and Central America. And as you would expect, his music is a similar stew of sounds, all of which
Oval, Disc, Autechre... Lots of folks like that digital glitch stuff -- we do too -- but how 'bout some analog 'glitch'? Good old fashioned record crackle! AQ friend and fave sound artist Loren Chasse's new solo release, his first for Anomalous, totally delves into the realm of crackle, from records and beyond. For details, we may as well quote directly from the label's press release (since our own Allan wrote it!):
"The work of sonic artist/investigator Loren Chasse (solo, Thuja, id Battery, and various manifestations of the 'Jewelled Antler collective') usually involves the documentation and manipulation of minute sound events (rubbings, scrapings, clickings) involving found objects and natural phenomena, emphasizing unexpected perspectives and connections. Even when performing in the psychedelic improv outfit Thuja, his 'instruments' primarily consist of contact mics, a mixer, some rocks and twigs, and his imagination. Loren's processed field recordings are fragile and full of strange beauty and feeling.
"Hedge of Nerves is dedicated to a friend of Loren's who dearly loves the sound of record crackle as it mingles with the music from a record's grooves. He also enjoys the sound of record crackle alone, as when an LP cycles on its run-out groove. Compact disc reissues of early 20th century ethnic music 78s, or Portishead, or Philip Jeck: if it's got that crackle, he likes it! So, this friend asked Loren to make him a recording of vinyl surface noise only, one that he could DJ with, mixing with non-crackly musical sources, to create virtual scratchy records. For this reason, the idea was to avoid any obvious looping, but to make a continuous, unbroken and organic field of crackle. Thus inspired, however, the project soon turned into more than that, as Loren decided that it was more interesting to emulate the sound and texture of record crackle using other sources. The resulting cd indeed begins by utilizing sounds from a scratchy old 78 rpm disc (one recorded by Loren's grandfather in the 1930s at NBC Radio) but also explores more 'elemental' crackling sounds derived from fire and wind and water, from rustling branches, waves, and sand. Hedge of Nerves is dynamic, moving from loud crinkly-crackly storming sound-swarms to the sounds of a wilderness quietly bristling. It's a mesmerizing expanse of hiss and drone, buzz and click, with hints of melody (from his grandfather's 78). The originating idea of surface noise is ever-present, but upon closer examination that 'surface' proves quite deep, something within which the listener will become submerged, blissful and fascinated. Hedge of Nerves is a masterpiece -- just ask Loren's grateful crackle-loving friend, who files it with the best of Philip Jeck, Jonathan Coleclough, M. Behrens, Troum, and other masters of detailed drone constructions."
As you might have guessed, that friend of Loren's is of course our own Allan...and he really does love this disc!! (And he did manage to use an advance version of this to DJ with at the Beyond The Pale festival last year -- it goes really well with Bo Hansson, actually.) Even if you're usually wary of some avantgarde academic "experimental" sterility, try this out anyway, it's warm and organic and inviting in a way many glitchy, noisy things are not, like a bonfire on a desolate, foggy sea-shore.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Oval, Disc, Autechre... Lots of folks like that digital glitch stuff -- we do too -- but how 'bout some analog 'glitch'? Good old fashioned record crackle! AQ friend and fave sound artist Loren Chasse's new solo release, his first for Anomalous, totally delves into the realm of crackle, from records and beyond. For details, we may as well quote directly from the label's press release (since our own Allan wrote it!):
"The work of sonic artist/investigator Loren Chasse (solo, Thuja, id Battery, Coelacanth and various manifestations of the 'Jewelled Antler collective') usually involves the documentation and manipulation of minute sound events (rubbings, scrapings, clickings) involving found objects and natural phenomena, emphasizing unexpected perspectives and connections. Even when performing in the psychedelic improv outfit Thuja, his 'instruments' primarily consist of contact mics, a mixer, some rocks and twigs, and his imagination. Loren's processed field recordings are fragile and full of strange beauty and feeling.
"Hedge of Nerves is dedicated to a friend of Loren's who dearly loves the sound of record crackle as it mingles with the music from a record's grooves. He also enjoys the sound of record crackle alone, as when an LP cycles on its run-out groove. Compact disc reissues of early 20th century ethnic music 78s, or Portishead, or Philip Jeck: if it's got that crackle, he likes it! So, this friend asked Loren to make him a recording of vinyl surface noise only, one that he could DJ with, mixing with non-crackly musical sources, to create virtual scratchy records. For this reason, the idea was to avoid any obvious looping, but to make a continuous, unbroken and organic field of crackle. Thus inspired, however, the project soon turned into more than that, as Loren decided that it was more interesting to emulate the sound and texture of record crackle using other sources. The resulting cd indeed begins by utilizing sounds from a scratchy old 78 rpm disc (one recorded by Loren's grandfather in the 1930s at NBC Radio) but also explores more 'elemental' crackling sounds derived from fire and wind and water, from rustling branches, waves, and sand. Hedge of Nerves is dynamic, moving from loud crinkly-crackly storming sound-swarms to the sounds of a wilderness quietly bristling. It's a mesmerizing expanse of hiss and drone, buzz and click, with hints of melody (from his grandfather's 78). The originating idea of surface noise is ever-present, but upon closer examination that 'surface' proves quite deep, something within which the listener will become submerged, blissful and fascinated. Hedge of Nerves is a masterpiece -- just ask Loren's grateful crackle-loving friend, who files it with the best of Philip Jeck, Jonathan Coleclough, M. Behrens, Troum, and other masters of detailed drone constructions."
As you might have guessed, that friend of Loren's is of course our own Allan...and he really does love this disc!! (And he did manage to use an advance version of this to DJ with at the Beyond The Pale festival last year -- it goes really well with Bo Hansson, actually.) Even if you're usually wary of some avantgarde academic "experimental" sterility, try this out anyway, it's warm and organic and inviting in a way many glitchy, noisy things are not, like a bonfire on a desolate, foggy sea-shore.
San Francisco is a city with a populace in constant flux, with only a few that could claim to have legitimately made a mark upon this city. Loren Chasse was one such artist, who had called San Francisco home for well over a decade and a half before taking up residence in Portland a few years back. His musical explorations begin through an endless curiosity with the uncanny sounds of the environment. In his art, work, and life, Chasse's sense of wonder with with acoustic details and phenomena played out like kid with soil-stained hands searching underneath every moss-encrusted rock and rotten log for salamanders, scorpions, beetles, millipedes and other creatures of the soil. He's equally at home exploring such ideas and thoughts with school children (the day job both here in San Francisco and up north) and rummaging around vast piles of sticks in one of the many deconstructed, psychedelic happenings he released under the banner of Jewelled Antler. Thuja, The Blithe Sons, The Child Readers, and The Franciscan Hobbies were some of the Jewelled Antler projects in which Chasse participated, though Jewelled Antler was seamless and fluid in recording a 'temple music' of their own making, wherein the roughhewn interventions of guitar, piano, zither, and gong morph into the ambience of a field recording and vice versa. This dedication to these organic networks of sound and the discovery of the transcendent through these explorations are just a few of the reasons as to why aQuarius has championed Chasse's work for so many years.
And so we get to The Animals And Their Shadows, only Chasse's second album since 2008, making his return to the recorded medium all the more welcome. As in particular with Thuja and his solo Jewelled Antler recordings under the name Of, Chasse loosely locates his sound objects in acoustically rich locations and often rebroadcasts those recordings back into those spaces to further the environmental resonance. The tracing of sonic footpaths with dripped sand matches the cold spray of the surf, with Chasse imparting a dislocation of the two intertwined coastal elements, emblematic of the way that he observes, shapes, and interacts with sounds both captured in studio and in nature. Radiant drones, leaf clatter, shapeless wateriness, and even a few stains of industrial detritus populate The Animals And Their Shadows finding parallels to both the almighty Taj Mahal Travellers and Akio Suzuki at the same time. Even when the sounds are distinctly from a drum kit or from a bowed dulcimer, Chasse finds a way to tilt those sounds into an organic other. A wonder to behold.
Packaged is a slim, dvd-sized case with hand-assembled insert.
To truly understand our love of this band we have to go WAY back. Before they even existed in fact, to a time where we were all loving a band called the Replacements. Not that we don't STILL love the replacements. But back in the late eighties, the Replacements were everything we wanted in a rock band. Heavy, noisy, sloppy, drunk, wild and catchy as hell. But, then we discovered Soul Asylum, who had the same sort of raggedy rocking Midwestern charm, but who were a little more punk rock (having started out as a band called Loud Fast Rules after all) and with songs that were a little more fucked up. Sort of like a 'weirder' Replacements. But there was another step after that. One that probably only a handful of folks took. Sure we were loving Soul Asylum, but we were still longing for something a little heavier and weirder and more fucked up. Which was to be found in a little band called Skunk, who had a couple records on TwinTone near the end of the eighties, after which they disappeared without a trace.
Which is a damn shame. With all this indie rock crate digging going on lately, someone should definitely grab those two Skunk records and stick em on a single disc and reissue them RIGHT NOW! The Skunk song "(I'm Such A) Chump / (To Be The) Chump" is like the "Freebird" or "Stairway To Heaven" of indie rock. Super long, tons of parts, completely spic and packed with raging punk rock riffs, sweet indie jangle, Maiden-ish harmony guitar leads, and a super bad ass raspy vocal. But what does all this have to do with Chavez? Well, one third of the long lost Skunk eventually ended up in Chavez, and we can't help but hear some of what we loved so much in Skunk, in the much more modern and angular, but no less indie and jangly Chavez.
So here we have the ultimate, and as far as we know, absolutely comprehensive, Chavez collection, gathering up both the albums, Gone Glimmering and Ride The Fader, all the b-side tracks from every single, an unreleased studio track, two videos, and a tour documentary, TWO massive books with all the art from the albums, the singles and tons of extra liner notes and photos. We did list the two Chavez records a while back, two records we loved but that predated the AQ list, and even then we thought about making them records of the week, but they were nearly a decade old, so it seemed a little strange. But now with this deluxe double cd / dvd reissue set, the kind folks at Matador have presented us with the perfect opportunity to make -both- records record of the week AT ONCE! Which makes perfect sense really. Gone Glimmering and Ride The Fader are the perfect one-two punch. Two discs of thick angular guitars, strange start stop riffing, a sort of indie rock AC/DC. Catchy and heavy, but so subtle and jangly and pretty weird too. We love them both equally, so this set is a godsend. But let's dip into the reviews of the individual records for more on just how dang great these discs really are.
Gone Glimmering: Chavez were hardly unknown, or even underground -- this record was released on Matador after all -- but they were one of those bands that just seemed to sort of slip under everyone's radar, which is unfortunate (or perhaps for the best) as they could've easily been massively huge MTV stadium stars next to the likes of Nirvana and Soundgarden. They had the heaviness and the catchiness that came to define grunge bands of the time, but Chavez's approach to song-writing was still idiosyncratic and immediately recognizable -- they have a way of just having the guitars and drums going, the guitars playing a simple ringing repetitive not-quite harmonic, building an eerie sort of drone until the bass finally cuts in, leveling buildings and setting the groove. This unique separation of instruments on tracks like "Break Up Your Band", "The Ghost By the Sea" and the minor-epic closer "Relaxed Fit" creates the perfect counter-point of tension for the eventual explosive cohesion when the four members coalesce into an insidiously catchy chorus. And then there's "Pentagram Ring" -- the best song Nirvana never wrote and one of the all-time catchiest jump-around-and-smash-your-bedroom-to-shit teenage angst anthems ever!
Ride The Fader: This 1996 album from Chavez is a decidedly mellower affair than the noise-drenched assault of their riveting debut Gone Glimmering. Ride the Fader is a logical and dare we say more mature follow-up, with better and almost heavier production than before. Now when we say it's mellower that's not meant to imply lazier or less intense, instead, the band has loosed some of its Nirvana-inspired grunge trappings and opted for a more patient and understated tone, mixing menace and melody not unlike a heavier Slint. Not to say that the quartet can't still kick out the super whacked-out feedback fuzz on such house-levelers as "Tight Around the Jaws" and the epic harmonic heaviness of "You Must Be Stopped", once again leaving their most massive riffage for the mighty album closer. But mostly these are elegantly pretty, finely crafted and astutely affecting songs that stand alongside other practitioners of 'slow rock', from a band interested in both the subtle hook and blown amps. If mixing Floor, Low, Slint and Nirvana makes sense to you, this record has everything you want.
So there you have it. Anyone who missed out on Chavez completely are in for a big ol' treat. And fans of the band will absolutely want this too, remastered sound, tons of liner notes, all the singles tracks in one place, videos, an unreleased song, plus you won't have to feel too bad about rebuying 'em as this double cd / dvd set is priced like a single cd!
We don't believe this is a new reissue, but it's one of our favorite jazz records ever, a real classic, and this is the first time we've been able to get a bunch to list. Perhaps it's even our most favorite Don Cherry album, which is saying a lot since there are so many of his records we love (this is the third we've made a Record of the Week) and there's been much spirited discussion around here between this one and Orient, a former record of the week from, egad, eight years ago! But hell, they're both really amazing so if you dug Orient, or the collaboration with Latif Khan we made Record of the Week a year ago, you'll definitely want to get this, and if you have no Don Cherry in your collection, you might as well start right here. Why we've never been able to list this before is a huge mystery, but let's just make up for lost time and tell you why this is so great.
Released in 1975 on the A&M label, Brown Rice is just 4 songs clocking at about 39 minutes. It's as focussed as Orient was sprawling, mining the same African, Indian, and Arabic influences, but in much tighter and dynamic, almost rock-oriented arrangements. Penetratingly deep on a spiritual level but also engaging and propulsive in its accessibility, Brown Rice is a record that gets right to the point the second the opening electric piano riff and female wordless singing of the title track begin. With wah'd out guitars and electric bongos building up into a groove, this is Cherry at his funkiest with ghostly trumpet shrieks off in the background, vocalised rhythm syncopations and Charlie Haden's underscoring bass swirling around Cherry's whispered chanting. "Malkauns", the longest track at 14 minutes lays down a lackadaisical vibe with tamboura and bass slowly unfolding a wide ground for Cherry's plaintive trumpet to eventually arrive and build up momentum with Billy Higgins' drumming pushing the proceedings upward and outward, eventually floating down back to earth. The third track "Chenrezig" begins deep and solemn with bass rumbles, chimes and Cherry's low and shaman-like vocals sometimes delving into Tuvan throat level buzz and whispering, augmented by high piano tones and lilting trumpet trills before the energy unleashes, not so much in a blind fury as it is a concentrated and feverish ritual extraction of sound. The final track, "Degi-Degi" brings us back to the driving rhythms and grooves of "Brown Rice", with Cherry's whispered chants and some of his brightest and most lyrical trumpet playing really feeling the space.
We can't help but wonder how much of Cherry's soundtrack work for the film Holy Mountain had an influence on his direction for this record, as Brown Rice is that rare hybrid of jazz, rock and film score, one we could easily see visualized on film. In the same line as Bitches Brew, Herbie Hancock's Sextant, or the recent Love Cry Want reissue, but also with the same sort of deep spiritual core we treasure so much in records by Alice Coltrane, Pharoah Sanders and Sun Ra. Essential!
I (Andee) had to push really hard for this to be record of the week back in June as we seldom make LPs records of the week, but now it's been RELEASED ON CD! So all of you turntable-less folks can now also enjoy what is easily one of the most amazing records I have ever heard. We knew about this record but had never actually -heard- it until the aforementioned vinyl reissue. And we were just blown away. We were convinced that this could be the jazz record to cure Jim of his I-Hate-Jazz attitude (we'll let you know what happened with that) (umm, nope. - Jim).
Gorgeous cover art depicting a little ant on the yolk of a big fried egg! Quite striking. Recorded in 1971, 'Orient' features 2 separate live performances with Cherry in two different trios, one with Han Bennink (drums, percussion, accordian, vocals) and Mocqui (tamboura) and the other with Johnny Diani (bass) and Okay Tamiz (drums, percussion). The track 'Orient' which was a side and a half of the 2lp set is the real gem here (although all four tracks are spectacular). 'Orient' starts off with minor key piano and subtle percussion, with mumbled, chant-like vocals, slowly building, rumbling clattery percussion, not all that different from what No Neck Blues Band seems to be working towards. Ten minutes in, the track explodes into a hyper-rhythmic free-jazz frenzy with wailing trumpet and completely mad silverware-drawer-down-the-steps drumming from Bennink. The chanting vocals return, this time, much higher in the mix turning it into a musical tug of war between a somber spiritual and a crazed drum circle free-for-all. The drums prevail, beating out a tribal rhythm, with drum kit and tamboura weaving a rich rhythmic framework, that slowly winds down to dark and dreamy melancholy piano and huge gong swells, with occasional percussive clatter in the background. Suddenly the trio slips into a classic jazz groove that is perfect, but also perfectly out of place. No need to worry, as the groove quickly dissipates into a free jazz supernova of squealing horns and chaotic drumming. Track two, named for Cherry's son, starts with loping and meandering, deep dark beats, with owl-ish flutes and ghost-like horns. Some percussive clatter and an almost Roland Kirk-like breathing/singing whips up a frenzied fervor over throbbing bass, skittery percussion and wild piano (at this point it's necessary to point out the fact that Cherry is handling piano/trumpet/flute single handedly!). The trio soon click into an almost Santana-ish groove with Cherry's soaring vocals following the piano. The track winds down with Cherry going crazy on BOTH the trumpet AND the piano! Track three 'Togetherness' displays some truly breathtaking free-jazz interplay from Cherry and drummer Okay Tamiz. Cherry alternates between pocket trumpet and flute, playing complicated and unlikey melodies over the thick pulsing bass and frenzied percussion (drum kit, but also bells and shakers and gongs!) eventually finishing off with more of that Santana-ish groove and wild, free vocals! The final track, 'Si Ta Ra Ma' is the weirdest of the bunch, again reminding us sonically of No Neck and other of the more modern drone/clatter ensembles. Guttural vocalisations that vacillate from droning almost-throat singing to what sounds like speaking in tongues, with muted horn sputter, droning low-end trumpet buzz, clapping and sorrowful chanting vocals. Over the course of the last ten minutes, the vocals gradually fade into the mix as the percussion (steel drums?) build and build while Cherry solos dreamily and mournfully until the end of the track. Amazing and essential and totally timeless.
We rave about jazz legend Don Cherry as often as we can. Every reissue has us all in a tizzy. In the past we made his mind blowing Orient an aQ record Of The Week. And in retrospect, we probably should have made the Blue Lake reissue a ROTW as well. Cherry was continually pushing the boundaries of jazz, exploring and helping shape free jazz, and incorporating all manner of world music into his ever changing and expanding sound.
This disc, recorded in 1978, found Cherry once again reimagining the sound of jazz, and challenging unadventurous jazz fans, by teaming up with legendary Indian percussionist Ustad Ahmed Latif Khan. Cherry had experimented with Indian music before on past recordings, but this was the first full on collaboration. Two sides, one featuring Cherry compositions, accompanied by Khan on tablas, the other side, Khan compositions, the tablas more of the driving force, the sound distinctly more Indian classical, with Cherry accompanying Khan.
The untitled opener finds Cherry and Khan covering Ornette Coleman, Cherry's former band leader. It's a dark brooding shuffle, all warm keyboard grooves, and the tablas, how they change everything, the skittery rhythms, but also the strange rubbery low end, the song eventually morphs into a Cherry original, and gets a bit proggy with wild trumpets and thick organs, the tablas still driving the whole thing. It's the next track where it gets really interesting though. A sprawling rhythmscape, the tablas doing double time, the rhythm, and a pulsing sort-of-bass line, Cherry delivering abstract almost scat like falsetto vocals, dark and drone-y and spaced out and minimal, peppered with occasional bursts of wild horn skronk, but for the most part, a swirling tripped out stretch of throbbing subtly psychedelic jazz minimalism. The final Cherry composed track is another gem, all glistening chimes and high end tones, flurries of piano, distant horns, whooshing effects, and of course the skitter of the tablas, more melodic almost that rhythmic on this track. Cherry also introduces some flute, which gives the track a sort of freak folk vibe, really!
Khan's side is distinctly less jazz. The tablas way up in the mix, his dexterous rhythms totally spellbinding, intricate, and again melodic, Cherry offering up strange bits of percussion, muted keyboards, very abstract and so cool. The final track, a sprawling 13 minute epic begins with just organ, drifting in space, until the tablas come in, and holy shit, even more intense and intricate, wreathed in a bit of reverb, and slipping from loping grooves to wild bursts of impossibly complex rhythmatism, the organ, a constant warm whir in the background, and the timbre of the keyboards, continues to infuse the track with a distinctly prog feel. Making this some sort of abstract classical Indian jazz prog? Whatever you want to call it, these are some gorgeously hypnotic and meditative sounds. So very recommended. Fans of the Necks might get into this too, similarly dark minimal vibe, especially the Khan tracks, and well worth checking out for the rest of you, even if jazz isn't normally your thing.
Austin, Texas weirdos the Cherubs are responsible for two of our favorite early nineties noise rock classics, 1992's Icing, and 1994's Heroin Man, which was released right after they broke up. That's right, broke up. 21 years ago. But this is the age of rock and roll reunions, when it's easier to think of bands that HAVEN'T gotten back together. And while we all have wish lists of bands we'd love to see play again (The Cows, Lubricated Goat, Dazzling Killmen, Slag...), probably a lot of bands on those lists already did just that: Slint, Killdozer, Failure, Swervedriver, the Grifters. Hell, some of those bands didn't just get back together for reunions, they actually made new records, and in many cases, those records are as good as anything they recorded back in the day.
Which perhaps surprisingly, is precisely the case with the Cherubs' new one. For a band that was a gloriously chaotic hot mess the first time around, you might think they would have trouble conjuring up the same energy at middle age, as they did in their prime, and to be fair, 2 Ynfynyty might be a bit more restrained than either Heroin Man or Icing, but really not by much. And the big changes are actually for the better. For one, the songwriting is killer, like proper pop hooks and real singing, positioning themselves closer to, say, the sludge pop of Torche, fusing melody to bash and howl, and the results are pretty fucking spectacular. Opener "Sandy On The Beach", is not only heavy and buzzy, but will get stuck in your head like crazy. Some of the tracks do get a bit more wild and psychedelic, the almost crooned vox on the aforementioned opener transformed into keening wails, but inevitably the sound slips right back into some impossible and improbable poppiness, "Monkey Chow Mein", is downright dreamy, with its vocal 'ooooohs', and zoned out fuzz guitar, the wailing vocals perfectly complementing the stonery swagger, sounding sorta like a noise rock Flower Travellin' Band, hazy, hypnotic and blissfully heavy, while "Cumulo Nimbus" (Longmont reference perhaps?) sounds like under appreciated grunge second stringers Love Battery gone noise rock shoegaze. A lot of the record sounds like some unlikely hybrid of the Melvins and Led Zeppelin, which obviously is a seriously good thing, and the final two tracks add a confusional coda to the proceedings - "Party Ice" is all bass driven distorto pop, with some almost Southern rock styled swagger, which gives way to weirdly sensitive closer "Sunday Mondays", which is straight up British Invasion strum and croon, wound in a cloud of distorted guitar squall, sounding not unlike some strange, but beautiful Guided By Voices outtake.
Weird and wonderful, And a pretty perfect return to form, the kind of comeback most bands can only dream about. Here's hoping we don't have to wait another 20 years for more!
We (along with a who's who of indie and not so indie luminaries) have been Vic Chesnutt fans for years now, ever since his first album Little dropped way back in 1990. Wheelchair bound and ornery as a beehive, Chesnutt's dusty downtrodden tales are suffused with a warm sweetness that contrasts well with the gruff attitude. And since Little, Chesnutt's albums have each gotten more mellow -- in a good way, like aged whiskey. At some points on this record he reaches Neil Young-strata levels of confidence and maturity. Wow.
Compared to earlier works, Silver Lake is less willfully eccentric, and worlds more focused and POWERFUL. Recorded in some mansion above Silver Lake in LA with a full band and a nice complement of additions to your regular rock guitar bass drums formula. It's, for example, delicate with lonely tambourine, autoharp, poignant piano, pedal steel, lush backup vocals... but it's also heavy with majestic climaxes and downright wild guitar noisiness. A wonderful combination and then, of course, on top of that is Vic's unique vocal style, his gravelly, southern-accented growl/howl. Fantastic!
Perhaps indicative that he's not completely abandoned his peculiarities, the third song "Band Camp" made Cup think Mr. Chesnutt was doing his best Paul Simon impression (circa Graceland) while making wry references to the movie American Pie. Plus he also gets bonus Scrabble points for fitting the word "transmogrified" into his lyrics. For fans of Neil Young, Howe Gelb, Uncle Tupelo, Jayhawks.
MPEG Download: "Stay Inside" [/audio/chesnuttstayinside.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Stay Inside" [/audio/chesnuttstayinside.m3u]
MPEG Download: "2nd Floor" [/audio/chesnutt2nd.mp3]
First, a couple things, we doubt that these rockers are Christian, and the only lady in the band seems more like a "Ms." than a Mistress. But, yeah, that's a very metal sounding name ain't it?? Now, we know that '70s and '80s influenced heavy metal isn't everyone's cup of tea, but then neither is doomdronedirge or lo-fi garage pop or groovy porno soundtracks or lots of other things... and we wouldn't be being true to ourselves if we didn't make this a Record Of The Week! After all, some of us here have done nothing but listen to this non-stop since it showed up. Plus, maybe this IS your cup of tea and you wouldn't have known that if we didn't really push it.
For those of you who are into traditional metal sounds, like those of the NWOBHM (and thus know what NWOBHM stands for), Christian Mistress should be an immediate hit. Everyone else, well, if you're gonna get just ONE heavy metal record this year, it'd be pretty cool (for you) if it was this one.
The debut from Olympia's Christian Mistress, actually looks more crusty punk than heavy metal, and comes out on a label better known for doom and sludge than "True" heavy metal. Yet this is true all right. Not only boasting shredding twin guitars, but melodies and SONGS, and a singer, Christine Davis, who not only can sing but has a "VOICE". Sorry for the all caps, and quotes, but we're excited. What we mean is, she's got a voice that is unique and memorable, as well as being able to carry a tune. Pretty special in this day and age. We'd probably have to compare her, among female metal vocalists, to Kate De Lombaert from '80s Belgian band Acid, not that we expect everybody to know who that is... Davis could also appeal to fans of Hammers Of Misfortune, and Jex Thoth, though she doesn't sound like those female singers, her voice much more raw, deeper, with a slight rasp in fact. But sweet enough for us! It's powerful yet melancholic character goes well with her lyrics, serious ones about such subjects as love and (we think) addiction, she stays away from trite metal cliches. Meanwhile, musically, the band shows itself to be steeped in the "old ways", dedicated students of Judas Priest and early Iron Maiden, the NWOBHM, Metallica, Megadeth, etc... plugging into the timelessness of the best traditional metal, while still sounding fresh and vital. Exciting, and emotional.
Christian Mistress go for quality not quantity here, offering up six killer songs in just over 27 minutes. From opening track "Riding On The Edges" onwards, the listener is treated to sheer headbanging joy, adrenalized gallop, heavy riffs, spiralling spires of intertwined lead guitar, and both melody and energy in large doses. All six songs are excellent, with maybe "Desert Rose" especially standing out come chorus-time... and we'll mention how the last cut, "Omega Stone", starts off in gentle, acoustic mode, Davis singing quietly, wearily, for several minutes, building into some psychedelic soloing, before the band bursts into frenetic, triumphant, rapid riffing for the track's final moments. It's probably the song on this album that an audience would be most likely to raise their lighters for, and we mean that in a good way! And then as soon as it's over, we're already hitting play to hear the disc again once more, to get another Christian Mistress fix. Here, and elsewhere, they achieve a sense of drama without being at all corny. Instead, this disc comes off as classy, majestic, and inspired. And about as hooky as can be. We're always talking about how this or that black metal or ambient drone or whatever band is "actually" writing pop songs underneath all the buzz, distortion and/or screaming. Well, here's a band that's heavy and metal... and DEFINITELY writing pop songs, of the stick-in-your-head variety. Your head that's banging at the same time. Basically, the current crop of retro metallers (not to mention all indie rock bands, if we look at this from a metal-centric perspective) just got their asses handed to them by Christian Mistress. Old school, but original.
We're not the only ones freaking out over Christian Mistress. 20 Buck Spin, obviously. And, Fenriz loves 'em! In fact, we might have first heard of Christian Mistress 'cause the Darkthrone drummer mentioned them in an interview or something. And while we don't agree with Fenriz about all his many cult band crushes, he was right about these guys (and girl). Also, the other day we happened to be playing this in the presence of Mike Scalzi from Slough Feg, who volunteered that "this band is awesome"... and he usually doesn't like ANYTHING. So consider that quite an endorsement, for what it's worth... along with us making it Record Of The Week.
Way back in the nineties, when we were first getting into black metal, we discovered an Austrian horde called Korova, that were pretty much everything we wanted in a weirdo black metal band, blasting riffage, soaring baroque keyboards, over the top male/female vox, their sound constantly mutating and getting weirder and weirder, the band eventually introducing electronica and other non-metal weirdness into their sound, and transforming into what was essentially an experimental blackened pop band. Sort of. The band eventually transformed into Korovakill and released a sort-of concept record called Waterhells, which continued the band's descent into sonic madness and progression towards a grim/kvlt-metalhead-alienating whattthefuckness that we of course LOVED. That record came out nearly a decade ago, so we just assumed that Korova/Korovakill were no more. That is until a few weeks ago, when we got an email from a band with the odd moniker of Chryst, who it turns out were the latest incarnation of Korova. We got a copy of the record, and were a bit confused by the bizarre and surreal cover art, the front of which features a plastic model of christ crucified on one of those wind turbines, a silhouette of which forms the 'Y' in the Chryst logo. Flip over the record and there's a strange man with a head of hair, a beard and mustache made from photoshopped clouds, oh and alongside his head is a fish floating in the air. Pretty ridiculous for sure, but once we threw the record on, it all made sense. Sonically, the record sort of sounds exactly how the artwork looks, surreal and over the top, twisted and confusional, and pretty geniusly baffling.
Our first impression was that Chryst sounded like a crazy mash up of Hammers Of Misfortune, Uz Jsme Doma, Hollenthon, Judson Fountain doing that witch voice, Cradle Of Filth, and Orff's Carmina Burana (which they do an a cappela version of at one point!!), look those up on the aQ site and see if it doesn't make perfect sense. And it's really not that far off the mark, the sound is super theatrical, and totally twisted, and not a little bit ridiculous, and in lesser hands it could have been a total clusterfuck, but there does seem to be a method to their madness, moving well beyond the weird metal dabbling of their previous incarnations, and leaving other weird metal contemporaries of theirs like Dodheimsgard, Borknagar, Arcturus in the dust. And creating a sort of modern avant black metal cabaret.
There's really too much going on, and the songs change direction and sound it would take forever to describe the whole record, but let's go through the first few songs and you should definitely get a feel for how fantastically freaky and totally ruling this really is.
The opener "The Awakening" starts off like some traditional black metal, some killer buzzing riffage, pounding drums, howled demonic vokills, then it switches gears, into a furious blast, still pretty straight ahead except for the weird insectoid theremin melody, and then the deep dramatic crooned vox, but still well within the realms of black metal for sure, that is until the background vocals come in, a weird falsetto choir, and the strange extra percussion, the productions seeming to shift, until everything stops, leaving just a haunting stretch of chimes and harmony vocals, only to lurch right back into that blasting metal, only to have the track start changing speed, slooooowing waaaaaay down, then speeding back up super fast, then slooooooowing doooooown again, and finally finishing off in a blaze of hyperspeed buzz, which leads directly into the super dramatic synth/vocal opening of "I Are You", which is where those croaky shrieky Judson Fountain witch-like vox surface for the first time, then some orchestral percussion, some strange pseudo operatic vocals, and then the band launches into some furious blackness, with some insanely fast drumming, and those operatic vocals continue within the buzzing and blasting, a strange mix, but it definitely works in some weird way.
Then there's "Leaving The Ashes" with its buzzing cold wave synthy opening, which leads to some seriously ruling keyboard/vocal heavy epic power metal replete with horns, which abruptly shifts into "Storming Outside", a furious blast of punky heaviness, rife with slippery atonal guitars and more moody vox, all wreathed in swirling maniacal synths.
And so it goes, not necessarily getting stranger and stranger, merely keeping the already off the charts level of weirdness throughout. Most of the tracks are quite short, more like movements, all woven together into a single flowing epic, the sound shifting constantly and relentlessly, lots of black buzz, and the black metal parts are definitely black enough for the true grim hordes, but even those parts are twisted all up into new freaky fantastical shapes, but as should be obvious by now, for every bit of black blast, there's plenty of other stranger sounds, that range from carnivalesque cabaret to strange almost sun shiney Beach Boys vocal flecked freakfolk/Appalachia, but ultimately the key to this fractured fucked up schizophrenic avant metal opus, is that every part, be it straight ahead (relatively) or twisted beyond recognition, is impossibly catchy, so the ADD arrangements become an embarrassment of sonic riches, with your initial disappointment when a part ends, mitigated by the beginning of a new, equally kick ass part, which is most definitely a rarity in most music, metal especially.
Absolutely recommended for all the aQ-ers out there who love their metal demented and damaged and totally ridiculously over the top, and for the metal shy, this might just be the sort of gateway record that could very well lure you over to the dark (weird) side� Here's hoping!
