In the past we've alternately described Ignatz as space folk drone or alien Appalachia, owing much to Ignatz's blend of buzzing lo-fi murk, and Folkways style folk guitar. A confusional mix that works magically, Fahey meets Uton, or James Blackshaw recording with Starving Weirdos, a stumbling buzz infused sprawl as spacious as it is clattery and chaotic. Beneath the drone and ambience there was always a blues element to Ignatz, the guitar playing, distinctly blues in its alien Appalachia, but usually, those blues were sublimated by all the other various noises happening, the only trace being the bits of pick and strum, that weren't blues so much as bluegrass, and even then it was sort of twisted and abstracted. Well, III is Ignatz's blues record. And while this may be far out, and idiosyncratic and lo-fi and a bit freaky, this is most definitely BLUES. Big time.
Right from the beginning, it's mostly just guitar and voice, the guitar effected and processed, the sound a little warped, the leads and melodies cracked and off kilter, but locked into a distinctly blues progression. The vocals raw and rich, a deep distorted croon, wrapped languorously over the creeping riffs and warbly melodies. It may be blues, but it's some seriously outsider blues for sure. And the whole first half of the record continues on in this fashion, unfurling haunting alien blues, "Gazing At The Fire" probably being our favorite, as the guitar gets all twisted up, stuttering and skipping, making all sorts of staccato rhythms within the various chord progressions, wreathed in space-y FX, and turning the song into something even more avant garde.
The second half of the record finds Ignatz retuning to a more familiar sound, that mysterious murky drone folk, buzzing guitars, sad plaintive vocals buried in the mix, notes and chords detuned, everything warped and warbly, strange bagpipe like melodies stretched out over wide open expanses of reverb spring buzz and tape hiss, angular melodies and high end trills. The final track sounds like Ignatz jamming with Jandek, the guitar super warm and washed out, the vocals pained and anguished, the whole track thick with murky ambience, and a muted mumbled percussion, haunting and creepy and beautiful.
At first we were thrown by the new bluesier Ignatz, but it's still such a unique sound. We can only imagine, while listening to this, that III was in fact made in the '30s or '40s, recorded by some mysterious old man in a cave somewhere in the South, and these tapes were literally dug up, discovered in the collapsed cellar of some old shack, wrapped in a bloodied flannel shirt, with a note written in rust colored ink, nothing but song titles and strange cryptic symbols. And even if that's not how it happened, it sure sounds like it did...
As hard as it is to believe that there can still be a steady stream of amazing reissues of '70s psychedelia from all around the world (but there is!), we're equally amazed that the purveyors of '80s grim synth punk have also been re-emerging with increasing regularity and surprising quality. While the German collector's label Vinyl On Demand have been at the forefront of the '80s resurgence of cold, cold, cold post-punk (mostly of the Germanic variety), Acute has also uncovered some gems, offering us the Metal Urbain reissues as well as a handful of pre-symphonic Glenn Branca projects. Now Acute presents Ike Yard. Hailing from New York back in the early '80s, they were one of the few American bands to sign to Factory Records (the most notable other band being ESG). This collection of tracks from 1980 - 1982 culls all of the material from Ike Yard's one LP on Factory and an EP for Le Disque Du Crespuscule plus the requisite unreleased material. Initially, Ike Yard really does sound like Factory should be their home, easily paralleling the death disco prowess of Public Image Limited or Section 25. Their dour monochrome post-punk enjoys a spectral production quality which haunted all of the Martin Hannett produced Factory recordings. But gradually the Factory overtones disappear in lieu of an claustrophobic electronic sound which reminds us a lot like early Cabaret Voltaire, or rather what we wished CV would sound like given that CV hasn't really weathered all that well up very. Ike Yard though is another matter, as they seemed to really fight over whether to groove on a primal, sexual funk or to alienate their audience with their cold, electro-primitive detachment. Between the metallic synth arppegiations, drum machines struggling to work through the complex patterns, and the angular swatches of screeching guitar, there is Kenny Compton's chilling, zombified vocal delivery that really pushes Ike Yard deeper into the realms of urban malaise. A very cool reissue.
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Some of you are probably hip to the Pinky Violence films of early seventies Japan, especially with a handful or recently reissued DVD's, an eye popping, mind blowing combination of not so subtle eroticism, extreme ultraviolence and over the top ACTION! The twist, being that the brutalizers tended to be bad ass Japanese women, cat fighting, beating the crap out of men, always seeming to be clad in boots and with their shirts 'accidentally' torn open to reveal their breasts. Which miraculously never kept them from kicking still more ass! What's not to love?
Sort of in concert with the movies, a whole genre of erotic music was spawned, Iroke Kayoyoku, a bastardized version of a more popular music, sexed up as it were with chanteuse like crooning, but most important of all, an amazing array of moaning and groaning and cooing and giggling, as if in the throes of EXTREME passion. And at the time, 1971 (THAT seemingly perfect musical year!) this was indeed pretty dang racy and risque.
The sound is a blend of soft core soundtrack music, groove jazz, playful exotica, a little Spaghetti Western, with Herb Alpert horns, fluttering jazz flutes, Spanish guitars, smokey sax, hip shaking rhythms, marimbas and xylophones, very moody and dreamy sometimes, wild and playful at others, but always with Reiko's sexy croon, and of course her very convincing sounds of passion, including an unexpected bout of spanking at one point (!) accompanied by the proper breathless exhalations of pain/pleasure.
Wow! Wild and fun and sexy, but so so strange. Highly recommended for sure.
Packaged in a super deluxe Japanese miniature gatefold style cd sleeve, with a printed obi, saucy nude photos of Reiko on the cover, and extensive liner notes in English and Japanese!
ULTRA LIMITED!!! This is the fourth and final pressing, after the first three sold out in no time at all. Limited to only 500 copies, this is already sold out and we only got a handful, the last 15 or so from the label, so you know what that means...
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The first nine tracks of 1000 Fragments are not what you would expect from the Ryoji Ikeda of today. His contemporary installation work and accompanying audio documents have been researching pure frequency manipulation and psychoacoustic delirium with occasional bursts of Pan Sonic / Alva Noto ventures of post-techno rhythm. Albums like Dataplex or Test Pattern are uncompromisingly clean and conceptually simple; but in 1995, Ryoji Ikeda likened himself more a media provocateur than a minimalist technician. 1000 Fragments was originally released through Ikeda's own CCI label well over a decade ago and now enjoys the re-issue treatment care of Raster Noton. Those first nine tracks represent one of three distinct styles of work on 1000 Fragments, and collectively manifest as a frenzied media collage of disembodied voices, electro-shock noise bursts, and skittered militant rhythms, paralleling the dystoptic sound of Illusion Of Safety and The Hafler Trio from that same time period. The second section explores more sedate dronefield territory, still emerging from a post-industrial framework (again think Illusion Of Safety and The Hafler Trio albeit in their alchemical and gnostic guises) whose beating phasepatterns upon long-form tones refined from shortwave datastreaming anticipated where he would venture in many years later. The third chapter to 1000 Fragments is a subtle composition that weaves together the aerated reverb from what could be some forgotten choral piece by Ligetti. This finale is surprisingly delicate and beautiful for an artist best known for his cold, hard edges of pure electronica, although it has to be said that a track such as this does look forward to Ikeda's orchestral detour Op. While never intended to be a cohesive body of work, 1000 Fragments is an excellent overview of the origins of one of our favorite sound artists.
We were pretty into the Ikonika tracks we'd heard, especially on that kick ass Hyperdub comp. And we were pretty thrilled to discover that Ikonika was in fact a woman, a rarity in the dubstep boy's club for sure, and while many of us lean toward the harder and heavier, darker and deeper, in dance music, there are definitely some exceptions, the party music of Zomby being one, and Ikonika being another, her music is definitely dubstep, but it's weirdly retro, definitely reminding us of 8-bit video game music, and at the same time sort of futuristic, but that cheesy sci-fi future imagined by any thousands of late night straight to video movies. Apparently she used to be a drummer in a post hardcore band too, not sure that's relevant, but it's definitely cool!
A dizzying hybrid of spaced out dubbed out minimal electronica and old school synth pop, a little hip hop too, synths all over the place, sometimes glimmery and shimmery, other times ominous and foreboding and a bit Carpenter-ish, creating a weirdly lush backdrop for Ikonika's retro futurist beats, from skeletal skitter, to groovy stutter, to total eighties new wave MTV, to fuzzy funky groove, to pulsing house-y thump, the beats and synths constantly tangling, often locking into cool synchronous rhythm, but just as often colliding wildly in total chaotic video game dance floor mayhem. All the tracks here rule, our favorites are the ones that sound either like Commodore 64 jams, music from some bootleg Japanese Dance Dance Revolution knockoff, or the credits from some ridiculous eighties teen horror film, which thankfully is most of 'em.
Every now and then we like to spring some crazy '70s Italian prog on y'all just to see who can take it. We're not just talking Goblin (though we love Goblin), or any of the more "mainstream" Italian prog acts of the period (PFM, Le Orme, Banco), who were cool but didn't go far beyond the Yes/Genesis/King Crimson template. We're talking weirder stuff like Museo Rosenbach, New Trolls, Osage Tribe, I Teoremi, and Area. We hope to soon have some copies of the cds by an amazing band called Osanna (possibly Allan and Andee's all time favorite prog band!!) but while we wait for those, we did manage to bring in a few of this, the 2nd album by another fave Italian group of ours called Il Balletto Di Bronzo. Sure, their nutzoid sci-fi keyboard attack will bring to mind ELP, but you'll also think of Magma (and their descendants Shub-Niggurath and Koenjihyakkei as well). Complex, powerful, heavy, precise yet darkly psychedelic, Ys (from 1972) is one of those timeless pieces of rock n' roll art that's definitely very '70s yet not entirely dated: you could imagine a Laddio Bollocko or Tarantula Hawk kicking out these jams, that is, except for the occasional operatic vocal chorus. This album's five long songs (plus a bonus track), with their acid guitar action, haunting female vocals, droning keyboards, martial drumming, baroque/classical motifs, and weird changes, are just about as good as over-the-top Italian prog can get, and that's pretty damn good. That is, if you are willing to get into it like we are. A top ten prog album (if Aquarius had a prog top ten, and please don't ask us for one, we'll be arguing for weeks).
More fringe electronica from the UK. Seems to be quite a healthy electronic music scene over there. How come we only hear from Scanner and Spooky and Pita and Fennesz ad infinitum when there's so much more to draw from? Guess these guys (like AQ faves
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Daniel K. Raeburn constructs each issue of The Imp in the style of its profiled comics author. Thus far there are issues devoted to Dan Clowes (Eightball), Chris Ware (Acme novelty Library), and now Jack Chick. Haw haw haw! The Jack Chick issue looks just like a slightly larger version of the Chick tracts, those little pro-Jesus comic books you see everywhere. At over four hundred million of them sold to date, they're worth examining... As The Imp points out on page 1: "People who dismiss hate literature offhand are going to miss the point of this tribute to Chick, which is that hate literature reveals not only its own corruption but the sick society that hatched it. ... Like the Protestant zealots who colonized and raped this country, Chick tracts and the violence in them are as American as apple pie." Comes with a 30-page dictionary of the world according to Chick, and an account of an intense 'interview' with the reclusive author. Super cool.
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By constructing The Imp in the style of each profiled comics author, Daniel K. Raeburn's publication pays tribute in the most loving fashion. For example, the Chris Ware issue is called The Smartest Cartoonist on Earth, a variation on Ware's own Acme Novelty Library, the main story of which chronicles the weird inner life of Jimmy Corrigan, The Smartest Kid on Earth. (We always try to carry issues of Acme Novelty Library, so ask if you're interested -- they're amazing.) Fully in keeping with Ware's oldfashioned style, The Imp #3 is a fold out 20 page newspaper printed on sturdy, cream colored paper. Features extremely lengthy interview with Ware, lots and lots of drawings and comics, much analysis of Acme's content and themes, and a full color insert with comics ABOUT Ware by such fans as Archer Prewitt, Terry Laban, and Jessica Abel. Such a beautiful object!
Germany's In Extremo strikes again, bringing their unique medieval fire-breathing, costume-wearing, bagpipe-wielding folk-metal into our racks (and maybe your home), like a crazed cross between Rammstein, Comus, and Accept. Whoops, I may have just insured that no one will ever buy this record...but it's really pretty great, as was their debut. Electric guitar riffs borrowed from Sabbath meet flutes and lutes and Latin lyrics declaimed in a peculiar Popeye voice. And then they do a Sisters of Mercy cover to make it all even more ridiculous!
Gothenburg's finest return. Swedish melodic Maiden-inspired death metal to the max.
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This is one of my all time favorite grindcore bands. They combined unbelievably kick ass grinding fastcore with the kind of sense of humour you wish all bands had. This is a posthumous collection of everything they did, including the brilliant 'Nutty Antichrist' lp (that featured a demonic Jerry Lewis on the cover). Pummeling and punsishing, fast and brutal, and funny as fuck. Awesome.
Some of us came to punk in a seriously roundabout way. Seems like most folks we talk to, got into punk rock, then moved toward heavier stuff and got into metal. But we went straight to metal, then gradually discovered punk rock, so we ended up learning about bands like Fear and Black Flag and Die Kreuzen and the Dead Kennedys well after we had been into Slayer and Venom and Motley Crew or whatever. One effect that had on our taste in punk, was that we liked the stuff that was heavier, and more metallic, Cro Mags, Die Kreuzen, Black Flag, and we got super into West Virginia's Th' Inbred, partially for that reason, sure they were punky and fast, and had a vocalist who sometimes sounded like Jello Biafra and sometimes sounded like Lee Ving from Fear, and their lyrics were snarky and political and funny, but musically they had lot more going on than a lot of punk rock bands, super complex guitar playing, very Greg Ginn influenced, bordering on jazzy now and then, but often gnarled and twisted, and the band were pretty noisy too, easily mistaken for some punky AmRep band, but then able to bust out a super complex almost proggy start stop punk jazz groove, and then explode in a frenzy of pounding pure punk energy, plus they had a wicked sense of humor, as evidenced not only by their lyrics, but their album covers as well (the Jerry Lee and Myra Kissin' Cousins cover for example).
Listening to this again, it's hard to believe these guys were even as popular as they were, this is some weird shit, every few tracks the band would throw the crowd a bone, with something full on punk, but they definitely spent most of their time trying everything but!
Killer reissue, both albums, the first ep, as well as some bonus tracks, all stuff circa '85-'88, a HUGE booklet jam packed with new liner notes, track listings, tons of photos, and some awesome (and awesomely funny) illustrations.
Incantation maintain their status as one of our all-time death metal faves (of which there aren't that many) with this devastating new album. However, we've noticed that death metal per se is perhaps not the most popular of metal genres that we stock at aQ, but if we described Incantation's music as 'extreme blackened doomic death-dirge' or somesuch, that should hopefully pull in a few of you!!
While there are some who would have it that long-running, line-up-changing death metal institution Incantation's glory (gory?) days belong to the '90s, with Vanquish In Vengeance, their first in more than 5 years, it would seem that these vets have their mojo back! You probably won't hear a more solid slab of doomed-out death metal this year. Perhaps because their brand of old school blasphemic blasting and slo-mo brutality has become the 'in' thing amongst the death metal underground, what with acclaimed acts like Hooded Menace, Encoffination, Vasaeleth, and Disma (ex-Incantation members, that one) all righteously worshiping at the Incantation altar, the originators wanted to demonstrate who does it best. Though, they do it here with powerful production (and a mix by Dan Swano) that's not quite as 'underground' sounding as that of their older stuff, or that of most of their current followers, but is no less brutal - if anything, moreso. And they remain dirgey as hell - just check out the 12+ minute album-closer, "Legion Of Dis", an epic of majestic morbidity.
Featuring members of a whole mess of USBM outfits, most notably, Nightbringer, Demoncy, and Kult Ov Azazel, Incursus are a seriously grim and furious black beast, who after a brief bit of ominous piano, and crumbling ambience to set the mood, explode into a murky morass of Deathspell style gnarled blackness, frenzied riffing, soaring majestic melodies, slipping from woozy midtempo dirges to lightning speed blurred blowouts, and it's at that lightning speed that these guys spend most of Eternal Funeral Trance, but it's not all about speed, although the intense buzz and blast, creates a seriously trancelike vibe, sometimes the sound so fast and buzz drenched that it almost sounds like an undulating black drone, but the band are equally capable of conjuring up hypnotic and weirdly mesmerizing atmospheres, haunting and horrifying, every note infused with a demonic darkness, the sound a sort of Norwegian style blackness, but filtered through a twisted, tangled distinctly American underground sound, infused with the black spirit of Deathspell, Katharsis and Nightbringer, a furiously chaotic, misanthropic, ultraviolent collection of black hymns to the cursed and the fallen. Thus, 'tis WAY recommended.
We started our review of the last Indian record with the words "It's been a long time since we've heard from these Chicago heavies", which had we not checked first, was exactly how we were gonna start this one, cuz once again, it seems like ages since that Guiltless record, and it has actually been a little over three years. Thankfully, very little has changed since Guiltless, as From All Purity is another crushing, abject, slab of shrieking, downtuned doom sludge crush, with some of the sickest, filthiest distortion we have ever heard. The guitar tone on track two, "The Impetus Bleeds", sounds like they're playing through cabinets full of blown speakers, huge riffs that devolve into rapidly decaying crumble, while elsewhere, like on "Directional", that crumbling distortion becomes something else entirely, sounding a bit like malfunctioning electronics (which to be fair it actually could be), but it sounds killer, and it gives the track a weird sci-fi, zoner-psych vibe, which when mixed with the churning riffage, and tarpit stoner doom swagger, transforms the doomy sludge into something way more next level. A few tracks crank up the tempo, but even then, the arrangements are such, that the sound swings and lurches and lumbers more than blasts or pounds. And when the sound collapses into serious psychedelic churn, it's easy to see why these guys are so special. Check out the end of "Rhetoric Of No", sure it's dirgey and filthy and brutal, but the roiling black sludge is wreathed in swirling electronics that seem to swing wildly from speaker to speaker, in fact, it's mixed so that when you have headphones on, that weird insectoid buzz seems to be circling your head, it's totally disorienting, the group locked into some serious hypno-sludge mesmer, the vocals too a strange mush mouthed demonic incantation, fucked up and twisted avant doom genius for sure. The second to last track is all noisy, feedback drenched, shrieking, power electronics, but then the record closes with the epic doom crush of "Disambiguation", which drops in a few little black metalisms right at the end, each burst a frantic salvo of blackened riffage, shrieking vokills, and furious double kick drumming, the sound lurching back and forth, between that black buzz, and a more lugubrious creep, before a surprisingly sudden finish, the sound almost just cutting out. A twisted, unexpectedly dramatic end to a record that's definitely one of the coolest, weirdest, doom / sludge records we've heard in a while. And for a genre that can definitely sound same-y, and can so easily end up being boooooring, Indian will make your avant-doom loving head spin. Awesome!
While we have yet to review any Indian Jewelry records on the aQ list, most of us here are pretty big fans. Their Invasive Exotics record was an awesome chunk of tripped out droniness, that probably would have been a really good fit on the aQ list. We'll have to remedy that soon. But before they were Indian Jewelry, they were called NTX + Electric, and had a pretty dramatically different sound.
On We Are The Wild Beast, the soon to be Indian Jewelry sounded less like some wacked Texas free psych dronewave outfit, and more like some NYC no-wave skronk combo, complete with squawking saxophones, thick gristly synth, haunting new wave grooves, lots of electronic bleepery, but also some more modern sounds, some of the melodies sound like they could have been plucked from Interpol songs, there's definitely some garage-y stomp, some shoegazey droneouts, the core sound though is the simple clattery percussion, the huge thick slabs of buzzing synth, and the saxophone, which spends much of its time in the background, unfurling hypnotic snakecharmer grooves.
Buried amidst all this skronk and skree and buzz re some fantastic pop songs, and some killer hooks, but they're usually obscured by clouds of FX, or wrapped around spiky angular riffing. The opener is a killer, a modern sounding dancefloor killer, with it's sax refrain and the blown out synth buzz, a total new wave groove that would have the girljean set frugging madly. But then there's songs like "Looking At You", a dreamy krautpop jam, with that same sax refrain from the first song resurfacing, all under thick sheets of crumbling psych guitar. The nearly 14 minute "S-O-S-O-S" begins like some sort of Spacemen 3 bliss out, but soon transforms into some off kilter Unrest style jam, insistent guitar jangle, Beatles-y croon, and simple lo-fi pop hooks, all wrapped up in loads of distortion, and more amp frying FX.
It's really not that hard to hear a lot of later Indian Jewelry in the sound of NTX+Electric, but they have more of an old school electro / no-wave thing going on, which means fans of folks like Glass Candy and the like might also dig. Cool, weird, awesome stuff.
It's a whole new world now, discovering music. MySpace, Youtube, people emailing MP3's and JPEG's. Easier maybe, but not nearly as romantic or as exciting as receiving some mysterious package in the mail, or stumbling upon some strange looking record in a dusty old bin and some tiny record store. And to be totally honest, almost all of the amazing discoveries that have ended up being big AQ faves, began life as a weird little package that just showed up in the mail one day.
None maybe weirder than the package we got from a band called, wait for it, Inh Halentropy. Yep. They had us at Inh Halentropy. It's a weird enough name, but it's two words?!? So inside the package was a cd with that classic image of Bigfoot, walking through the clearing, staring at the camera, and over the top, the band logo, very eighties metal looking, in the middle of a hand drawn spiderweb. Still we had no idea what to expect inside. But we did discover a note. Which read in part: "Dark Greetings. For your grimnatious becryptlement�" signed appropriately enough: "In ancient solemnity, none so grimm�"
OK. We were sold, now all that was left was to actually listen to the cd-r. And as with most things, certainly the most exciting and satisfying things, the music was nothing at all like what we expected�
Inh Halentropy seem to be a metal band, black metal more specifically, yet most of the disc is distinctly not metal. Or at least not typically metal. Beginning with the sound of surf on the shore, the calls of sea birds, the band crawls into action, a huge rumbling bass tone, clouds of electronic FX, a simple drawn out melody, clean guitars unwinding in an expanse of dark shimmer, when suddenly, a massive speaker destroying low end growl surfaces, and as far as we can tell, maybe those are the vocals. Church bells toll, the ambience gets thicker and more grim, the closest comparison might be funereal doom, but it's sort of ethereal. And sort of pretty. But definitely ominous and creepy. Like Low crossed with Goblin crossed with Esoteric. Elsewhere, the black clouded skies are filled with the clatter of chimes, strange harmonics ringing out, all over thick lustrous black ambience, the sound of rain, at times it almost sounds like a blackened new age, which sounds weird but is most definitely a very good thing.
"Golden Beast Altered Axe" might be the most trippy, a simple drum plod, spread out over a slowly squirming synthscape, everything wreathed in ephemeral clouds of twinkling electronic effects, a mournful melody drifts over the top, while running through the entire a track, a creepy ominous low end melody of buzz and whir, all beneath a constant sheet of rain. Very cinematic and evocative.
Our favorite track might be "A Door Is A Tomb", thee most propulsive of the bunch, but we're still talking a glacial crawl, more ambient forest sounds, water and wind, insects in the background, but here, flutes flutter over a backdrop of downtuned riffage, but smeared into a warm moaning blur, over the top, bells chime, mysterious vocals croak and growl, the drums a simple machinelike rhythm, everything eventually breaking down into a plodding bass-ic doom, wrapped in a midnight storm, and suffused with thick ropy drones and grinding minimal low end whir.
Really pretty fantastic, and totally baffling. New age doom? Black ambient nature music? Not sure what to call it, but it's completely killing us. Add to that, the fact that the date on the back of the disc says 1980, and other than the song titles and an email address (oh and a few more pictures of giant hairy beasts) there's really not much else to go on. But the music is plenty. A perfectly freaky, haunting cinematic slowcore new age black doom sprawl that should for sure hit the spot for those of you who could barely make it through that descriptor without thinking that this might already be your new favorite record. We are suitably grimnatiously becryptled. As shall you be, wethinks�
The long anticipated return of Inh Halentropy, a band we know very little about, other than they make a sound like almost nothing we've EVER heard before. A band who introduced themselves to us with a random package in the mail, containing a cd-r, and these simple words: "Dark Greetings. For your grimnatious becryptlement�" as well as the similarly mysterious sign off: "In ancient solemnity, none so grimm�".
We expected black metal, and that's what we got. sort of. Their sound was most definitely black, but not metal in any way we were familiar with, instead they unfurled a cinematic new age-y black ambient doom, equal parts Esoteric, Goblin, and Low, a sort of mysterious blissed out yet grim slowcore. Or something. Their cd-r release disappeared in no time, and no word from the band until recently, a new cd-r just showed up one day, that familiar two part band name, an owl and all sorts of strange symbols, we were soooo excited. We originally thought it was a record called Dull Knife, but soon discovered Inh Halentropy were sharing the cds with another like minded horde CALLED Dull Knife.
So what has changed in the last two years, if anything? Well, the sound is still grim, and haunting, a swirling slo-mo mix of atmospheric doom and creepy crawly slowcore, an eighties horror movie soundtrack vibe infused with a shimmery drifty bit of new age ambience, two tracks, the first a plodding cinematic sprawl, with abstract programmed drums, dark swells of distant rumble, smears of almost cheesy sounding synths, what sounds like faux horns (also probably synths), deeeeeeep bass that throbs underneath, all wrapped up with super lyrical, haunting minor key melodies, definitely like the soundtrack to some lost 30 year old European horror film.
The second Inh Halentropy jam is even trippier and more spaced out, beginning with heavily effected falsetto vocals, that almost sound like wild animal calls or that little 'cooo' sound from Serge Gainsbourg's "Bonnie & Clyde" albeit way more evil, some woozy detuned guitars, and some shimmery squalls of warped warble, eventually spreading out into a slow burning sprawl of spidery guitars, hushed whir and glistening tinkles, and some seriously disturbing slowed down samples. So creepy and kick ass. Hate to think we might have to wait 2 more years for another full length.
Inh Halentropy set the bar pretty high, but Dull Knife are undeterred, and offer up their own sort of creepy ambience, deep warped low end tones, unfurling grimly in an expanse of muted buzz and crumbling distortion, reminding us quite a bit of Trollmann, in its minimal low end heaviness, over the course of the track, the low end grows more abrasive, and more active, fluctuating more wildly, like some weirdly distorted symphony for foghorn and black buzz. The second DK track's another bleak bit of minimal grimness, this time even more harrowingly dense, the sounds thick and corrosive, the swells coming faster and faster, eventually blurring into a single oozing slab of blackdrone, shot through with shards of crunch and strange bits of glitch. Wow. Guess we need to hear more from these guys as well.
Needless to say, anyone into sounds slow, low, grim and black, spaced out and atmospheric, haunting and heavy, should grab one of these right quick.
SUPER LIMITED of course. Each one hand screened, different colored ink, on different colored textured paper, every one different.
Can the No Colours label do no wrong? Inquisition's Magnificent Glorification Of Lucifer is definitely Allan's favorite black metal release of the YEAR. So grim, so eerie, so very metal, and weird in a weird way. That is, there's nothing else out there quite like this band. They do that thing that the best black metal bands do: they're both totally of their genre (a formulaic genre, to be extra-redundant) yet manage to be utterly their own thing too. Fans of the elite likes of Burzum, Graveland, Mutillation, Xasthur, and Immortal ought to immediately bow to Inquisition whilst also recognizing just how different a band they are. And it's also the sort of black metal I might spring on an extremity-friendly music fan even if they were unaware of the above mentioned artists.
Although this was the first I'd heard of Inquistion, it's actually the third album from this American (Seattle-based, but with Columbian connections?) Satanic black metal band. Redundant again? Sure, all black metal by definition is supposed to be Satanic. But these guys are so SERIOUS about it (well, I don't know for sure... the Inquistion duo of Dagon and Incubus do look kinda silly in the cd booklet photos...but I don't think that's intentional). That they go so over-the-top in their Satan worship is part of what moves them beyond mere stylistic formula and into a realm of obsessive uniqueness.
This record works so well 'cause it's simultaneously weird as fuck (hypnotically croaking vocals, the aforementioned Satanically overloaded lyrix, and strange, keening high-end guitar parts that make this the EERIEST black metal I've heard in aeons) while being fully metal with a rock n' roll backbone: slow-to-mid tempos, memorable riffs, and killer old-school fuzz guitar tone. Indeed, were it not for the love of Lucifer they express with every breath, Inquisition could just has easily have opted to call this album The Glorious Magnificence of Fuzz (though a strain of fuzz quite different from the '60s garage fuzz as heralded elsewhere on this week's list in our review of the Plastic Cloud reissue)! Sonically, that's a big part of what satisfies here, a crucial factor in of Inquisition's equation of extremity. It's truly a heavy, buzzing, trance-like blurr.
It's got to mean something when I (Allan) play something over and over and over again, considering how much (too much) music I'm getting every week. But this was -- is -- in heavy rotation in my home and even though I put it on my iPod I still took the cd itself along with me on vacation as a talisman/token/icon/fetish object just to look at... good thing I don't actually believe in Satan! I even had to go and track down their harder-to-find first two albums, also both excellent, though I do think this is their best... and if you want someone to back me up, note that Leviathan's Wrest himself is a big Inquistion fan, partial to their second album but also of the opinion that this one is brilliant too. So, an AQ black metal rave, make no mistake! Mesmerizing, crushing, gloomy, fucked up, beautiful, genius.
To the list of lo-fi noise popping shit gazing garage rockers, Thee Ohsees, Mayyors, Psychedelic Horseshit, Times New Viking, Blank Dogs, Wavves, and the like, you can now add the Intelligence. We've seen some live footage of these guys on YouTube, and they kick up a pretty crazy racket, but on record, they're much more subdued and trippy, crafting dark brooding echoey gloom pop, with muted drumming, soft focus jagged guitar crunch, woozy weary vocals, everything surrounded by a haze of delay and tape hiss and amp buzz, positioning these guys closer to groups like Ariel Pink, Holy Shit, and the like, but then when you think you have 'em pegged, they kick out a surfy, groovy hand clappy jam, that sounds surprisingly like "Walking On The Sun" by Smashmouth (we know, we know, but it's true!) although somehow in their hands it sounds WAY cooler. Crunchy guitars, distorted vox, big booming drums, clanging and chiming chords, warm whirring organ, it's also the closest the Intelligence get to sounding like Thee Ohsees weirdly enough. The rest of the record is a much more twisted lo-fi jangly proposition, with many of the songs sounding like creepy sixties garage rock (Fuzztones?) or skiffle-ly reverbed soft pop, but even then, the songs sound fragmented and twisted, with circusy keyboards adding a definite haunting vibe, and some really odd, but oddly catchy hooks. Acoustic guitars, rubbery basslines, trashy practice space drums, and weary deadpan vocals, all woven into some cool, laid back garage jangle, occasionally exploding into a bit of pounding crunch chug, but usually slipping back into something more washed out and groovy.
Not sure what it is, but we just can't stop listening to this. Which is pretty much the best recommendation we can give...
Unexpectedly good album from this Maryland doom metal band, whose previous releases (from, like, six years ago) were pretty bad. But I guess they've been honing their craft and now their Sabbathy, Saint Vitus-like sound has taken on an even more bluesy, hard rock quality that sets them apart from their doom/stoner peers and makes "Unearthed" quite a pleasure.
Intrusion is the solo project of Steve Hitchell, who alongside Rod Modell forms the impressive heroin-house meets dub-factory duo Echospace. Just as Modell's solo recordings don't veer too far from the Echospace mantra, the Intrusion sound doesn't see any reason to break the mold either. If it ain't broke, why fix it? This is the beloved muted blur of the Detroit / Berlin axis of techno that spurned the whole Basic Channel / Chain Reaction sound and which then slowed itself down into the murky dub of Burial Mix. Hitchell and Modell have both been so captivated by this particular sound, that they've collected many of the modular synths, signal processors, and classic drum machines that Moritz Von Oswald and Juan Atkins used back in the day to perfect the mimesis of that abstracted techno that steadily cruises through the dronefields. The bulk of the album finds a hypnotizing rhythm sublimated behind atmospheric synth chords rippling in sync with the cascading wash of echo and heaping snow drifts of tape hiss; but Hitchell does make a few noteworthy detours. "Intrusion Dub" is a decidedly uptempo digidub number, with Augustus Pablo-esque trills across the melodica and an insistent hi-hat uncannily similar to the metronomic rhythms provided by Public Image Limited on Metal Box, but of course pixel-pointed into a Chain Reactive / Burial Mix cloud of digital hiss. Elsewhere, he recruits the Burial Mix toaster par excellence Paul St. Hillaire to offer his ghostly croon to the mix. Mighty fine, mighty fine.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
A gorgeous disc of drifting, moody, softly psychedelic dronefolk from this mysterious duo called Invisible Bees. Fans of all things darkly twangy, drone drenched, shimmery and haunting, will definitely want this, the sounds inside are gorgeous, the packaging is over the top luxurious, the bad news is, it's limited to only 50 copies, and we only got a handful. So we'll be brief, but needless to say, do your best to grab one of these, you won't be sorry.
Loping bass, over fragments of folky steel string guitar, plenty of swirling wheezing ambience, more folk than drone in fact, the steel strings guiding the Invisible Bees' sound. The twang and pick and strum, pulled apart, and set amidst deep soft swells of warm washed out whir, the melodies minor key and mournful, in the distance shimmering streaks of high end sway to and fro, the percussion is minimal, the ambience is thick, super moody and cinematic, creepy, and beautifully ominous, a disembodied skeletal folk music for the drone set. Really fantastic, and practically criminal that only 50 people will get to hear it.
Incredible packaging, full color, hand water colored covers with cloth binding with a full color printed inner sleeve as well!
The eagerly anticipated follow up to the nearly perfect noise pop tUMULt twofer of Iran's s/t and Moon Boys albums, whose sound was a strange hybrid of Pavement-y jangle, Sebadoh sad boy folky flutter, and full bore crumbling Merzbowian noise. We described Iran back then as Smog covering Skullflower, Pavement on Siltbreeze, Harry Pussy covering Built To Spill, you get the idea. But much has changed in the years and years since those records were recorded.
First off, Iran mainman Aaron Aites moved to Norway and made a movie about black metal called Until The Light Takes Us (doing the festival circuit, maybe coming to a theater near you soon!), then returned to the states ending up in New York (instead of SF) and reconnecting with former Iran member Kyp Malone, now of course in TV On The Radio (Kyp also played in an awesome band out here in SF called Rocket Science and The Nigger Loving Faggots, wonder how come that band never gets mentioned in TVOTR press releases haha), and spent a good long while recording Dissolver with Kyp, two new bandmates as well as Kyp's TVOTR bandmade Dave Sitek, producer extrordinaire, handling the production. Sounds like a recipe for a hit record, and Dissolver is definitely about as close to a hit record as Iran's come. To give you an example, I (Andee, who put out those first two Iran records) heard this playing up in the front of the store, went up to see what was playing thinking it was either the Evan Dando solo record, or some weird Lemonheads disc. A lot of that has to do with Aites' voice, which is definitely Dando-esque (in the old days it was buried in buzz and hiss), but also, the new sound is all super well produced jangle, lush guitars, skittery drumming, and multitracked vocals, plenty of harmonies, oooh's and aaah's, even a bit of soul here and there.
There are still some noisy experimental bits, but on Dissolver those are relegated to their own tracks, like "Digital Clock And Phone", a swirl of processed psych guitar, but even that ends up sounding less chaotic and more textured and cool. There are also some moments of punky thrash, bits of blown out pop psych and various shades of jangle and drift, but this is basically just a classic sounding slab of nineties style indie pop, a little modernized maybe, a little more fucked up and freaked out than usual, but catchy and hooky as hell. Fair warning to the noise poppers that loved the first two Irans, the pop is fully in tact, but the noise is sadly (for some) nearly no more...
After a small break comes yet another record in the massive avalanche of tUMULt releases headed our way in the next few weeks (Iran, Painted Black, Leviathan, OCS, Diamatregon, Worms). This is the second missive from San Francisco's premier NOISEPOP band, not 'noise pop' in the jangly-pop-punk-San-Francisco-festival-Creeper-Lagoon-Overwhelming-Colorfast-Fastbacks sense but the gorgeous-pop-songs-buried-under-a-thick-splattery-wall-of-buzz-hum-whir-skree-guitars-set-on-self-destruct-Beatles-flitered-through-Skullflower sense. Like Sebadoh or Pavement being backed up by Throbbing Gristle or Whitehouse. Or Nurse With Wound fronted by Elliott Smith. If you get our drift. For record number two, Iran has scaled back the noise just a bit and let the pop shine through. And shine it does. Gorgeous, heart-breaking, voice-cracking lo-fi love (and un-love) songs, delivered in a wavery falsetto, over gentle guitars, naive drumming and strange but wonderful backgrounds woven from vocals, amp hum, guitar buzz, as well as rumbling low end and squealing feedback. When the noise does kick in, it's not noise for noise sake, Iran handle the squirming serpent with a deft hand, molding gorgeous sonic squalls and speaker shredding skree from overdriven amps and detuned guitars, with buried melodies and strange and mysterious rhythms laying beneath the storm, like looking through a murky pond at the secret life below. Adventurous indie rockers could very well be looking at their new favorite band, and experimetal/avant garde-niks may just find themselves developing a sweet tooth, cause everyone know the sugar goes down easier with a mouthful of medicine.
Another new release from tUMULt laboratories, finds our coworker Andee's label dipping its toes into pop, and recoiling in horror, as it pulls its feet back covered in muck and crud. Iran take 'Indie rock' and bury it in fuzz and hiss, taking ultra catchy pop, and dragging it through the detritus of lo-fi noise rock, picking up an ungodly assortment of buzz and blur and scuzz. Imagine a Pavement record on Siltbreeze. Or Sebadoh, if Lou Barlow was a jaded fuck instead of a sappy romantic. Or old Smog covering Skullflower. Or Harry Pussy playing Built To Spill. A beautifully cacophonous mess. Iran play damaged folk music, bombarded on all sides by a wild assortment of squeals and shrieks, static and hiss, and speaker clogging grit. Huge and slowly shifting, dronescapes that evolve into perfect little pop songs and then explode into jagged shards of high end skree. Iran are psychedelic and textural and noisey and totally catchy, hardcore, hook-filled low fidelity un-pop noise. Pop. Plus fucking wicked 'tiger' cover art.
So here we go again! Iron And Wine's The Creek Drank The Cradle was an AQ record of the week last year, was a unanimous staff favorite, and made most of our top ten lists for the year. Rightfully so we might add. A more beautiful and perfect record we hadn't heard in forever. And a lot of times we try not to make another record by the same band a record of the week, since usually it's hard for a band to deliver another record as good as THAT record, the one that blew us away and convinced us it had to be record of the week. But of course sometimes we do, and sometimes a band does, and this new Iron And Wine just happens to be that record. Sam Beam, who pretty much IS Iron And Wine has upped the ante, somehow navigating the precarious course of trying to progress and grow and explore, without ruining what was already basically perfect. And somehow he's done it. All of the things we loved so much about the first record are still present: gently fingerpicked guitar, sweetly breathy vocals, gorgeous harmonies, melancholy melodies, twangy banjo, slippery slide guitar, wistful and cryptic lyrics amd songs. The songs! So perfectly sweet and instantly classic. Songs that you find yourself humming to yourself even after only one listen. So what is it about this new record that makes it worthy of record of the week status? Hard to say. In fact we weren't sure if this record was actually better, or if we were just so excited to have more Iron And Wine! Because on first listen, Our Endless Numbered Days sounds like the perfect part two of The Creek Drank The Cradle. Which is a good thing. A very good thing in fact. We were all wishing The Creek was twice as long or even ten times as long. One of those records you want to never end. But the more we listened to Our Endless Numbered Days, the more it revealed itself as an entirely new record. But subtly so. It's a little more aggressive, and propulsive, the drums play a bigger part, and there are some distinctly intense bits, where the guitars are rough and the drums kind of rock. But only kind of. The core of the record is still Beam's perfect pop songs, twangy and folky, but sweet and lush, with melodies that while totally memorable and unforgettable, are so unique and fresh to your ears that you just have to sit and listen and let the sounds and songs envelop you. Some obvious reference points are Elliott Smith, America, Bread, Palace, Songs:Ohia, but the more you listen, and the more we hear from Iron And Wine, the more we realise that Beam occupies a singular place in popular music, referencing all sort of other musics, but existing totally and completely in his own sonic space. It's a rare performer who can pull that off, especially nowdays drawing from a century of recorded music.
There was a time where we would buy ANYTHING that came out on Sub Pop. ANYTHING. And we still kind of miss those days once in a while. Where you didn't say "I like, ya know... Mudhoney, Soundgarden, and Nirvana", you just said "Yeah, I like Sub Pop". Where there was a label 'sound': you know, grunge or whatever, you knew that if you liked Tad and the Thrown Ups and Mudhoney, you were probably gonna dig the Afghan Whigs and Soundgarden. And we were the first to balk when Sub Pop started deviating from their 'sound'. A sound so comfortable and familiar. But whether it was a desperate attempt to battle the massive grunge backlash or just label heads Jon and Bruce showing their age, or an attempt to actually do something really new and exciting, the end result is a catalogue at once brilliant, and totally confounding, perfect, but not right at all. Sure there were some real stinkers, and some records that were definitely 'friend rock' (you know, the only reason we put this out is because they're our friends), but nonetheless some of the most essential and under appreciated gems of the last decade exist -because- of this varied and eclectic take on indie/underground music. The two Zumpano records are all time unanimous aQ favorites, and there's the twangy rootsy country rock/pop of Beachwood Sparks and Chapaquidick Skyline, the gorgeous stripped down pop of Damien Jurado, as well as Mark Kozelek, Mark Lanegan, the Pernice Brothers and this one, the debut from Florida's Iron And Wine, a one-man-and-his-4-track, stripped down, Southern, country/folk/mope rock wash of dirgey back woods ballads sung in a plaintive whisper accompanied by banjo and acoustic guitar. SOOOOOOO NICE. So nice in fact, that this would definitely have been our record of the year if it wasn't for the near simultaneous release of the equally brilliant, but infinitely darker, Woven Hand record. And that said, it's definitely threatening to overtake the 'Hand as one of our most listened to records. You've all heard the lonely boy with a guitar, dreamy twangy heartbroken singer songwriter. It's been done to death (but what hasn't? Don't get us started!) But once in a while it's just -done right-. So right in fact, that it transcends its meager aspirations and becomes a volatile and intense emotional piece of art. Such is the case with Iron And Wine. Simple songs are strummed and plucked, the vocals are sort of whispered/sung, melodies surface occasionally to embed themselves permanently in your brain, banjos and acoustic guitars gently lift the vocals above the fuzzy dreamy ambience with a recording quality that makes everything sound like it's dappled with morning sunlight. Think a less damaged Elliott Smith. Think America or Bread (but think it in a nice way, c'mon). Think early Sebadoh without the jokes. Think Sentridoh recording for Folkways 50 years ago. Think Bread recording for K records and playing basements in Olympia. If there was any justice in the world, this would be the record all the little grrrls would put on their mix tapes, this would be the hapless singer songwriter that gets co-opted by the man and inexplicably records soundtracks and ends up playing a song on the Grammies and this would be the next big thing (which since this was first released, actually sort of is/did!!). But at the time, it seemed like it never would be, so that just leaves us with Iron And Wine, a twangy, shimmery, dreamy missive full of aching heartbreak, unrequited love, wistful hope, bitter resentment, untapped faith and inevitable diappointment, and a soul soothing contentment with the ways of the world. The perfect record to wile away breezy summer afternoons, to drive aimlessly through the rain, music keeping time with the windshield wipers, to fall asleep to, or to break the heart that keeps yours from breaking. One of the nicest records this year.
It's really difficult for a musician to develop a distinct sound, and then to progress from record to record in such a way, that your 'sound' continues to grow and change without losing the elements that made it so unique and personal in the first place. Sometimes, if you like a band enough, you don't mind if every record sounds the same, ten more songs that sound like the last ten songs you absolutely loved can only be more of a good thing, right? But it's the folks who do manage that delicate balancing act of moving forward but remaining true to their original vision that continue to truly inspire and blow us away. Iron & Wine happen to be one of those bands. After two full lengths and one ep in about two years, this newest ep takes Iron & Wine's hushed melancholia, with its gently strummed guitars, Sam Beam's whispered/sung breathless vocals, sweetly miserable arrangements, and brings the songs' emotional urgency to the fore, where before it was only hinted at lyrically and alluded to in minor key melodies and bleak lyrical imagery. This new batch of songs is much more aggressive in tone, reflected by more percussion, more propulsive tempos and a bigger reliance on different instrumentation (violin, piano, etc.) adding a sonic veil of death and despondency to this already mournful / melancholy song cycle. But even without these changes, there seems to be no end to Sam Beam's songwriting genius. Every song is a new dreamlike world, populated by pain and sorrow, hope and happiness, love and loss, immediately warm and recognizable, like a long lost memory from your childhood, or a song you already love and cherish, but at the same time each song is a wholly unique new musical discovery full of unlikely melodies and gorgeous musical landscapes that stick with you, as if the song is an experience you lived through and remember, catchy, timeless and totally unforgettable.
Seeing Iron And Wine perform live in the store recently was a revelation. We've long been huge fans of Sam Beam and his gorgeous hushed country folk (and even the later, more ramped up, full band sound), but seeing him play live, with just an acoustic guitar, and hearing the SOUND he conjured all by his lonesome, was totally breathtaking, impossibly lush and expansive, while remaining totally whispery and intimate, intricate fingerpicked guitar that didn't sound intricate, and his voice, so warm and soothing and almost angelic, and of course the songs, totally lovely and captivating and emotional and moving (we spied at least one person in the crowd and the I&W instore fighting back tears!).
Around The Well is a collection of odds and ends, B-sides, unreleased tracks, radio sessions, live performances and coolest of all, a whole bunch of unlikely covers. The songs throughout tend more toward his earlier stripped down, guy-and-his-guitar sound, which as far as we're concerned is what we like the best, it does seem to be in some sort of chronological order, as by the end of the second disc, Beam is joined by a full band, and while still stripped down, the songs are kitted out with bass and piano and even drums here and there (featuring Joey Burns of Calexico).
Not sure what to say about Iron And Wine that we haven't already. Check the multitude of gushing reviews on the aQ site, listen to the sound samples, Iron And Wine are just amazing. Beam creates some of the most moving, achingly heartfelt modern country folk we've ever heard, his voice is magic, his guitar playing sublime, even here, on what amounts to a collection of songs that didn't make it on the records proper, there's not a bad one in the bunch. And the above mentioned covers, Postal Service, Flaming Lips, New Order, even Stereolab, Beam totally makes them his own, folks not familiar with the originals would certainly be forgiven for assuming they were I&W originals.
It says a lot that a singles / B-sides comp holds up to an artist's records proper, but Around The Well certainly does, lately we find ourselves digging this as much as The Creek Drank The Cradle, the debut record that started it all. Like all Iron And wine, so very recommended. The triple vinyl version includes a download coupon for mp3s of all the tracks, by the way.
Iron Bitchface. Some names just tell you all you need to know about a band. If your response to the words Iron Bitchface was "Umm, euuuw, whatever, ok, well�" or something along those lines, then you might as well stop reading right now. But if you immediately thought "FUCK YEAH!" as you brushed your Misfits style devillock away from your corpsepainted face, your obsidian painted nails shining in the black light glow of your cave like domicile, and hitched up your leather biker pants, after lacing up huge Frankenstein boots, your be-spiked wrists and fishnet clad arms scarred from dancing wildly in the pit, whirling and thrashing on a very grim dancefloor.
Or if you're like us and just love you some fucked up freaked out synth drenched digital hardcore gabber-grind black metal. We reviewed a split release from Iron Bitchface ages ago, and ever since we had been waiting anxiously for this, their first proper non cd-r full length. If you got the other disc you know what's in store for you here, and you're probably DYING for more. If you've yet to experience the grinding glory of IB, you're in for a treat, that is if a treat for you is being pummeled by buzzing synths, programmed blast beats, howled vocals, Atari 2600 jams and furious riffing.
Long stretches of synthy ambience, Goblin-y haunted house soundtracks, all gloomy and proggy give way to garbled digital freakouts and soul shearing blasts of howling black metal, bits of 8-bit glitch pepper the tracks, sometimes becoming full on lo-fi old school techno jams, usually quickly turning back into grinding black buzz, but more often than not, all of those sounds at the same time, for a head spinning brilliantly confusional, heavy as fuck, weird as all get out black metal / techno / video game music hybrid.
Packaged in a mini dvd style clamshell sleeve with full color cover/insert.
We weren't really sure what to think when we were first exposed to the strangely named Iron Bitchface (thanks AQ pal Guy from Guelph), ostensibly a black metal band, IBF ended up being so much more than a mere metal band. In fact, barely a metal band at all, more some sort of metallic techno digital hardcore sort of thing. Needless to say, we LOVE it. And odds are you will too. That is if the idea of grim black metal crossed with spastic DHR style techno pushes your buttons. And c'mon, it really should, cuz this stuff is amazing. Completely baffling, wild and heavy and totally fucking bizarre.
Iron Bitchface is K-Rot and We Are Trolls collects four out of print releases, Return To Gran Mountain, Flirtinis All Round!, I Hate The Internet and Caffeine:Caffiend. Each one a confusional blend of relentlessly inhuman drum machine blasts, bizarre synths, buzzing blackened guitars and growled demonic vocals. The synths pluck out playful melodies over washes of guitar buzz, the drums spastic and hyperspeed. Some songs are almost straight black metal, others are weird abstract synthscapes, others are weird block rockin' techno, like some sort of lo-fi Basement Jaxx, while still others are some weird sort of alien house music. But as you might imagine, the best bits, and thankfully, that means most of the tracks here combine all of the above into totally damaged danceable black thrash techno hardcore whattheefuck. Awesome.
And even more awesome is the fact that this is a split, with the also strangely named Chaos Through Programming, who as much as we hate to admit it, might be even cooler and weirder than IBF. Where Iron Bitchface is sort of buzzy and lo-fi and home brewed, the sound of Chaos Through Programming is HUGE, a dizzying chopshop, mixing big dance beats, bizarre samples, and massive crunchy metal guitars, like a metal obsessed Chemical Brothers with ADD, but with surprising moments of melodic lucidity and killer rhythmic complexity scattered amidst the brain melting bursts of collaged metal dance weirdness.
Packaged in an oversized slimline DVD case with full color artwork and a full color insert.
Rockadrome's Vintage label has been on a roll of late, delving into the misty, musty, mystic proto-metal past to find some heavy holy grails - first and foremost, our recent Record Of The Week, 1972's self-titled album by Jerusalem! Also a reissue from New Zealand heavies Human Instinct, and now this, the eagerly awaited yet ultra obscure collection of previously unreleased tracks from a '70s Scottish band called Iron Claw. Well, previously unreleased except for bootlegs, which accounts for the anticipation with which we looked forward to this fully authorized, carefully compiled disc. Iron Claw never managed to put out an album in their lifetime, but they did record quite a few studio demos circa 1970-1974, which is what you'll hear here. And yes the Claw is HEAVY.
We've heard plenty of bands over the years who have tried to sound like Black Sabbath in various ways. A lot of our favorites in fact, being as into doom metal as we are. But before Witchfinder General and Saint Vitus and Trouble, before Candlemass and Cathedral, before Sleep and Sheavy and Electric Wizard and Witchcraft... there was Iron Claw. They didn't grow up listening to Black Sabbath albums. No, this is a band who fell under Black Sabbath's spell after seeing 'em play... in 1969! That was *before* the first Sabbath album came out, please note. (Which brings up another interesting story - apparently Iron Claw's bassist had actually recorded that Sabbath gig - and not long ago made a pretty penny selling the tapes to Ozzy and Sharon, it being the earliest known live Sabbath material extant.)
Pretty soon after this "revelation" of seeing Sabbath, the mostly teenaged blues rock combo Iron Claw became what must have been the world's first Black Sabbath tribute band, doing Sabbath covers, while simultaneously working on original material for the first time. So the influence of Sabbath over Iron Claw's own songs is pretty strong, especially in the guitar dep't, less so with the vocals. But for heaviness and a general doomy vibe, Iron Claw are clearly indebted to Iommi & Co., while also reminding us of such bands as T2, May Blitz, Nazareth, and Budgie. Maybe some Grand Funk Railroad too. This was heavy stuff, especially for the era. Heck you've got to admit that the band name (which comes from the lyrics to King Crimson's "21st Century Schizoid Man") is pretty darn metal. IRON CLAW!!! Plus, good grief, they did a song called "Skullcrusher" in 1970 when everybody else (except for Sabbath) was all peace and love and flowers and beads. Inspired by Sabbath they sure were, but they get credit for being one of the first, taking it (down?) to the next level of underground downer rock worship and metallic menace. Later on when bands like Judas Priest and then the whole NWOBHM thing took over, these guys must have known they'd been ahead of the curve.
The sixteen tracks here span several years and several slightly differing Iron Claw lineups, and we were impressed by all of 'em, from their earliest, rawest recordings like the lumbering, blown-out "Clawstrophobia" (about the mental breakdown of someone stuck in an elevator!) to the riffy blitz of "Crossrocker" to their occasional attempts at something more 'pop' (but still heavy, even with horns, as on "Loving You").... all the way to the proggier final phase of Iron Claw's existence, on tracks like "Winter", with flute, yay! There's also a bit o' harmonica on "Strait Jacket" (a la "The Wizard"). But mostly, the Claw is all crunching guitar distortion, pounding drums and wailing vocals. Plus, psychedelic freakiness abounds in interludes (like the backwards Mellotron at the start of "Pavement Artist" and the spooky tripped out FX going into "Devils" - a song inspired by the band seeing the premiere of the Ken Russell movie of the same name at the Edinburgh Film Festival).
It's all pretty badass early doom action. Seriously we think folks into Sabbath (of course), Witchcraft and suchlike are gonna be blown away by a lot of this. And it's a really nicely done disc, the cd booklet featuring photos and several pages of band history, along with lyrics and notes on each track written by one of the surviving Iron Claw dudes (sadly, a couple of the members have passed away already). Sound-wise, it varies, generally lo-fi but pretty decent for demos, and not nearly so rough as that Bedemon disc ferinstance. No complaints there. Way to go Rockadrome, again! Now that they've unearthed the Claw, perhaps we can look forward to a sequel second cd of archival live material - we'd love to hear Iron Claw's cover of "War Pigs" with complete with their use of Ozzy's original, alternate lyrics....
Body Horror is the second record from Iron Forest, whose sound is a dizzying mix of crushing industrial rhythms, blacknoise terror, power electronics, mutated dub and churning downtuned doom dirgery. Longtime aQ list readers might have crossed paths with the man behind Iron Forest, maybe without even knowing it, with him most recently contributing a B side remix to the newest 7" from USBM weirdos Venowl, but going way further back, operating under the name Crown Of Amaranth, a harsh, harrowing drone project that was an early release on the Crucial Blast label imprint Crucial Blaze. Iron Forest definitely displays much of the same sonic malevolence as CoA, but has honed it into something more focused and rhythmic, taking thick swaths of gnarled and gristled sound, and anchoring it to blown out, almost Digital Hardcore sounding beats. The opening track is strangely lovely, a black sprawl of reverbed melodies over distant rumbles, and grinding glitched out buzz, wrapped around a skeletal stretch of dubbed out pulses, and peppered with machine gun bursts of spastic drum splatter, somehow managing to be both grim and fierce, but haunting and sort of space-y and atmospheric. And that carries over to many of the tracks here, although some like "Rust And Decay" sound a bit like the robotic machine music heaviness of Author & Punisher, lurching and lumbering Godflesh like through fields of static and churning doom-crush riffage. The sticker on the front had us prepared for more of an all out noise assault, but in reality, this could have been some weird Wordsound record, or some Alec Empire related jam from back in the day, not hard to imagine this as being some weird Kevin Martin project too (Ice, God, etc.). tracks like "The Divide" lay down warm, woozy swaths of majestic slow build thrum, and inject weird bits of fragmented rhythm, and shards of more caustic noise, but all of that is sort of smeared into the whole, making for a seriously heady and hypnotic listen. In fact barring a few moments of doom-ed heaviness, the whole second half of the record is all sinister doom-death-dub sprawl, beats for doomheadz, haunting, textured, cinematic, noisy, psychedelic, grim and totally tranced out and hypnotic. So good!
Packaged in an oversized dvd-style case, LIMITED TO 400 COPIES, each one hand numbered, inside a printed insert, as well as a handful of full color art cards, wrapped in a black on black printed cardstock cover, and held shut by a similarly black on black printed Japanese style obi!
We've long been fans of Seattle's Iron Lung, but this is the first time they've made it on the aQ list, it's about time too, after about a million splits and a couple proper full lengths. A drums and guitar duo, not that you'd ever know it from their sound, Iron Lung are dense and thrashing, lurching and pounding, thrashing and grinding modern power violence.
And yeah, we know that all the real power violence bands are dead and gone (Man Is The Bastard, Infest, No Comment, Spazz, Crossed Out) and that most bands these days who call themselves power violence, are typically NOT, and are just trying to garner cool cred by aligning themselves with the above mentioned bands. As far as we know, Iron Lung don't consider themselves power violence, probably more like thrashcore, or just hardcore, but their sound is way too varied and fucked up and metal to be so simple to describe. Sure there's plenty of thrashing and blasting, but the band spend just as much time plodding along doomily, with some serious metallic riffing, and plenty of lurching stop/start arrangements, huge slabs of churning downtuned groove and caveman like pummel, but even at their doomiest, the tracks still occasionally splinter into atonal angular melodies, mathy off kilter rhythms and freaked out squalls of tangled grind. Brief bursts of complex fury, stretched into churning, sprawling mini power violence epics.
Awesome cover art by Rudimentary Peni's Nick Blinko!!
With the triumphant return of vocalist Bruce "the Human Air Raid Siren" Dickinson, as well as guitarist Adrian Smith (so now there's three guitarists in the band!), the reunited, rejuvenated Iron Maiden 2000 is all set to kick ass, and redeem themselves for their last few painfully bad outings (for which you can't entirely blame Bruce stand-in Blaze Bayley, although he really did suck). "Brave New World" is of course no "Piece of Mind" or "The Number of the Beast" but it's waayyy better than anything the band did in the '90s (with Bruce or without), and certainly has many moments of "Maiden-esque" glory as only Maiden themselves can deliver. Actually, it's refreshing that they didn't entirely try to go the retro-route and copy themselves wholesale, 'cause in addition to the several very satisfying numbers on here that timewarped in from '84 (like the storming "The Fallen Angel") there's also pieces that explore bassist/mastermind Steve Harris' obsession with '70s progressive rock a la Genesis and Nektar. Certainly metallic but not exactly super-heavy, much of "Brave New World" is mid-tempo and quite catchy, almost a prog-pop record in fact (not like Radiohead, though!). The mostly seven-minute-or-so long songs do take some bad turns upon occasion but also venture into areas new for Maiden, so no one can accuse them of playing it safe. Basically, this is a record that will definitely please Maiden and melodic metal fans. If your record collection does not already include "Killers" or "The Number of the Beast" then maybe you should pick those up first (although for some this new album would actually be a more accessible starting point), but everyone else can get this and enjoy not only Eddie-nostalgia but some fine new tunes, which I for one have found stuck in my head after only a few listens. Recommended. Up the Irons!
It seems like a funny way to discover a band, but somehow we knew we had to hear this Dutch depressive black metal trio based entirely on their logo alone. It's incredible, a miniature forest of textured trees, almost cartoonish, like Christmas trees, with a complex tangle of roots and branches that somehow spells out Irrwisch. In a world full of black metal bands that all have the same basic logo, ooooh some upsidedown crosses, ooooh an iron cross, oooooh we're so kult no one can read our band name. So yeah, a gorgeous stylized foresty logo goes a long way.
Thankfully, these guys make some pretty decent noise as well, a washed out murky grim buzz, that slips from primitive pound to woozy Burzumic lumber, plenty of haunting atmospherics as well, swoonsome synths, the sound of crashing waves, of wind through the branches, some dreamy folky drift, all clean guitar and the sound of rainfall, crickets, birdsong, as if the band were recording in the forest that spawned their logo. But for all that loveliness, these guys can definitely get raw and filthy and frenzied, exploding into furious blasts of relentless black buzz, pounding squalls of gnarled riffage, and the vocals, typically black metal for the most part, but they too come unhinged here and there, slipping into a harrowing howl, the band buried beneath a murky haze, which gives the proceedings a gorgeously blissed out vibe, even when they're spitting black gouts of buzz drenched heaviness.
The Snowbringer Cult was a double cd originally released way back in 2008 on the Students of Decay label, and was the first proper cd release from French bedroom drone-psych-folk epic from Natural Snow Buildings, the boy/girl duo of Mehdi Amaziane and Solange Gularte, that double cd included a NSB full length, as well as an album from each of their solo projects, those being Isengrind and Twinsistermoon. That double cd is finally available again, but has also been reissued on vinyl for the first time, with each of the three parts being released separately as its own record.
Natural Snow Buildings have been a band since WAY back in 1999, toiling quietly WAY underground, and over the course of the last decade plus, have only really released a handful of records, and in the first 6 or 7 years, they only managed 4 cd-r's and two tapes, the total number of copies of all 6 of those releases hovering at about 250. That's insane! At the time we couldn't help wonder how a band with such a small catalog, that has reached so few ears, could generate so much fanboy freakout?! But that's precisely what happened. And thankfully, and perhaps surprisingly, in the case of NSB, and the two solo offshoots, the hype does not seem unwarranted. The freaking out more than merited. The music of Amaziane and Gularte is definitely something special, much more than the usual generic fx laden droned out abstract cd-r floor-core that seems to be constantly flooding the scene, this duo write actual songs, and create gorgeous soundscapes, they mix raga-like psych with fluttery folk, deep drones with pristine pop, weaving it all together into something spectacular.
The Isengrind record begins with some deep dark ambience, huge shimmering streaks of ominous sound, like an orchestra tuning up in a cave, drawn out into warm washes of dronelike sound, processed choral vocals, and wheezing accordions. That intro gives way to a buzzing Eastern style raga, lots of percussion, shakers, bells, hand drums, buried beneath a shimmery smear of thick coruscating buzz, a sea of sitars, with Solange's vocals soaring ghostlike over the top. The next track is a dark folky drift, a simple melody, fluttering flute, more abstract percussion, definitely reminiscent of Avarus and other Finnish forest folk, but somehow more ethereal, and genuinely folky. The rest of the Isengrind tracks drift from spectre like folk, simple strums soaked in reverb and wrapped around ethereal vocals, to more raga jams, Indian style buzz filtered through a fractured folk sensibility, to haunting cinematic ambience, abstract soundscapes rife with streaks of feedback and wheezing chordal whir, disembodied strum, mysterious vocals and sporadic percussion, tribal, primal, primitive and raw, but still dreamlike and lovely.
As we commented in our review of the now out of print Laurie Bird cd-r from French bedroom drone-psych-folk duo Natural Snow Buildings, it always surprises us how bands with nothing but a MySpace page and a cd-r or two, can generate so much hype and excitement. It seems to be a common occurrence these days, with some bands even getting real live major label record deals purely on the strength of the handful of tracks on their MySpace page.
To be fair to Natural Snow Buildings, they have been a band since 1999, toiling quietly WAY underground, and over the course of the last 9 years, have only released 4 cd-r's and two tapes, the total number of copies of all 6 releases hovering at about 250. That's insane! How does a band with such a small catalog, that has reached so few ears, possibly generate so much fanboy freakout?! But that's precisely what happened. But thankfully, and perhaps surprisingly, in this case, the hype does not seem unwarranted. The freaking out more than merited. The music of Natural Snow Buildings is definitely something special, much more than the usual generic fx laden droned out abstract cd-r floor-core that seems to be flooding the scene, this boy girl duo write songs, and create gorgeous soundscapes, they mix raga-like psyche with fluttery folk, deep drones with pristine pop, weaving it all together into something spectacular.
So here we have the very first proper cd release (others on the way, reissues of several of their various way-too limited cd-r's) from Natural Snow Buildings, bundled with an extra disc, featuring a whole record from both NSB members' solo projects, Twinsistermoon, whose last disc we reviewed recently, and Isengrind, the project of Solange, the female half of NSB.
Isengrind's half of disc one begins with some deep dark ambience, huge shimmering streaks of ominous sound, like an orchestra tuning up in a cave, drawn out into warm washes of dronelike sound, processed choral vocals, and wheezing accordions. That intro gives way to a buzzing Eastern style raga, lots of percussion, shakers, bells, hand drums, buried beneath a shimmery smear of thick coruscating buzz, a sea of sitars, with Solange's vocals soaring ghostlike over the top. The next track is a dark folky drift, a simple melody, fluttering flute, more abstract percussion, definitely reminiscent of Avarus and other Finnish forest folk, but somehow more ethereal, and genuinely folky. The rest of the Isengrind tracks drift from spectre like folk, simple strums soaked in reverb and wrapped around ethereal vocals, to more raga jams, Indian style buzz filtered through a fractured folk sensibility, to haunting cinematic ambience, abstract soundscapes rife with streaks of feedback and wheezing chordal whir, disembodied strum, mysterious vocals and sporadic percussion, tribal, primal, primitive and raw, but still dreamlike and lovely.
Mehdi begins his side of the disc, with a sound that perfectly compliments Solange's (and make it obvious why the two work so well together in NSB), long drawn out glimmering high end tones, draped over a dark minor key folky strum, and simple percussion, while Mehdi's feminine sounding falsetto soars over the top, all infused with some sort of freaky folky Wickerman vibe. Gorgeous and haunting. That track is followed up by a short chunk of perfect dreamfolk, simple folky strum, and Mehdi's crystal clear vocals, ringing out, pure and impossibly high, if you didn't know better you might think this was some rare track by some lost seventies female folkie.
And so it goes, tracks weaving back and forth, from warm washed out blissy dreamy dronescapes, to simple stripped down folk, often the two sounds drifting into each other, cross pollinating, the folk songs short and seemingly serving to separate the longer sprawling expanses of drone and shimmer, the two sounds dramatically different, but somehow complimenting one another perfectly.
So what happens when the two join forces, becoming Natural Snow Buildings? It would be way too easy to say that the sum equaled the parts, that if you took the sound of the two halves of the first disc, it would equal the whole of the second. There is certainly �some- truth to that, but it's not math, it's magic. Alchemy, musical sorcery, these are sounds not numbers, and thus are governed by forces far more magical and mysterious than physics or science. The two together join spirits, their natures become entwined, they draw from one another, each offering the other part of their soul, rendered in music. The results are truly divine. An assemblage of sounds, deftly woven into expansive shapes and hushed mystery, landscapes of drone and shimmer, of cinematic wonder and dark introspection. Some tracks are super abstract, layered near static drifts, longform movements that sonically evoke other lands, other times, the past long forgotten, the future not yet experienced, other tracks are wheezing sun dappled Appalachia, but turned inside out, the chords and notes seemingly drawn inward, toward the speakers, the vocals breathless and mournful, all laid atop a thick swirl of distorted riffage, other tracks are fragmented folk, all murky blurred piano, backwards guitars, heartsick melodies, wrapped in a thick gauzy production, smeared into snapshots glimpsed through eyes brimming with tears. Other tracks are space rock writ small, minimal dirges, drone jams, chanted vocals, strange stuttery percussion, and glorious buzzing guitars, culminating in the final track, which begins much like the others, all hazy and dreamlike, vocals ethereal, guitars spare and skeletal, until unexpectedly the band lock into some serious droned out space rock. A serious dark and druggy looped riff, a la Spacemen 3, Hawkwind, Loop, anchored by a simple pounding thudrock rhythm, driving intensely through swirling clouds of FX and warm whirring ambience, a seriously dense, propulsive krautjam, that just so happens to hide a soft drifting pop shimmer underneath, and while the track rocks with a surprising intensity, it's precisely what's underneath that turns the jam into something resplendent.
Gorgeous packaging, a fancy 4 panel gatefold digisleeve, with super striking original artwork and liner notes all drawn by Solange.
LIMITED TO 1000 COPIES!!!
We sold so many of these when we made it Record Of The Week a while back, and everyone we know who bought a copy freaked out and declared it one of their new all time favorites, and for good reason it's an amazing, mind blowing, tripped out chunk of pure sonic inspiration. It's strange and beautiful and weirdly heavy, and proggy and tribal and it's funky as all get out. Well, we managed to get a final batch from the label, it's now sold out NEVER to be repressed, so if you missed out on this the first time around, you got yourself one more chance, don't blow it.
It's no longer out of the ordinary for a rock band to look beyond rock for inspiration. Or a jazz band, looking to expand their sound. It definitely makes sense as musicians are generally constantly striving to explore, to open their minds, their music, searching for unique instruments, new ideas, new sounds, even looking for something much more ineffable, something more spiritual. Psychedelic rock bands have typically looked East, The Beatles are probably the prime example of a rock band looking to India for musical AND spiritual inspiration. But on a much smaller scale, modern music develops and expands by incorporating new influences, the more 'exotic' the better. So for years, we could watch bands do just that, incorporate new instruments, sitars, tablas, whatever, alternate tunings, Eastern scales. Jazz musicians on the other hand, tended to look to Africa for inspiration, the tribal drumming, the vocal chants, all found their way onto tons of amazing records, amazing in part because of what they borrowed from the African music that was their genesis, as with many many discs by the Art Ensemble, Coltrane, Don Cherry, etc., etc.�
So if all this borrowing and influence is so commonplace, what's the big deal with this disc, a deluxe reissue of a rare 1972 LP entitled Uganda, by Japan's strangely named Akira Ishikawa & Count Buffalo? Well to begin with, imagine a Japanese jazz drummer in the early seventies, so obsessed with African music, that not only are his records already rife with African influences, but he eventually travels there, and proceeds to play with local musicians, collects indigenous instruments, and returns, driven to realize the record he knows he must make, Uganda, a record that manages to sound like African music, jazz and psychedelic rock, while sounding like nothing else. Ishikawa teamed up with fellow percussionist Larry Sunaga, a bassist and guitarist, and a saxophonist, who instead of playing sax, composed all four lengthy pieces here, the results are amazing. Dense, dizzying, abstract and tribal, fuzzy and tripped out, long stretches of solo hand drum percussion, furious acid fuzz freakouts (courtesy of guitarist Kimio Mizutani, from Love Live Life+1, People, and other freaky Japanese '70s psych units), chanting and handclaps, all woven into an expansive, sprawling divine chunk of out there Afro-fuzz-psych-jazz-rock divinity.
Take the first track "Animals and Dawn", nearly 12 minutes long, and over those 12 minutes, the song veers and drifts through about ten distinctly different sounds and styles, all held together by the relentless African drum jam that runs through all four tracks. Beginning with what sounds like some strange low end synth buzz, those drums kick in, intense and hyper rhythmic, amazingly recorded, so on headphones it sounds like drums are all around you. That buzz, pulses and undulates beneath the frenzied drumming, and this goes on for almost 3 minutes, which is when some wild super distorted acid psych guitar swoops in, jagged and freaked out, spitting out soaring wah wah drenched buzz, before the bass joins in and the drums coalesce into a more recognizable groove, and the band nails it, heavy, slithery proto-metal, churning and pounding, eventually locking into a super technical prog workout, and then dropping out completely, again leaving just the drums, which are soon joined by hand clapping, and chanted African style vocals. Finally, for the last four minutes or so, the band unwinds a groovy jazzy prog workout, still underpinned by those same rhythms, but now the bass carries the groove, letting the guitar go wild, wild psychedelic leads all tangled up in great strange shapes over the groovy rhythm below. Eventually, the song is swallowed up by effects, reverb, delay, echo, as if the band were playing on some huge elevator, as we sit on the surface, listening as the band slips further and further into darkness. Holy shit. If this were a $30 single, that track alone would make this essential for folks into psychrock, proto-metal, free jazz, avant African music or really anyone into strange and fantastical sounds.
The second track, "Asking For Love", once again begins with African drums, the two percussionists, offering up wild tangled beats for nearly two minutes, until in swoops a weird synthy buzz, which quickly transforms into a seriously Led Zep worthy riff, the drums a strange counterpoint to the distinctly rock and roll riffage, and the vocals soaring and shouting, but this kick ass riff fades out only after a minute, and we're back to more dense drumming, Mesmerizing and hypnotic, locking into incredible grooves, veering off into off kilter time signatures here and there, but always returning to that groove. This continues until about one minute from the end, when the bass and guitars explode in a buzzing psychedelic freakout, the drums mirroring the intensity of the axes, locked into an ever expanding supernova of blown out sound, until the furious explosive finish. Whew.
Track three (on the original, the start of side 2) "Battle", begins with some straight up jazz prog, angular and complex, the drums and guitars locked tight, the whole thing convoluted and intricate, stopping suddenly after 30 seconds, at which point an African thumb piano plucks out a delicate music box melody, while in the background, other strange instruments scrape and thump and honk, eventually blossoming into a full on Afro-jam, the drums pounding away, male and female vocals, call and response over the mesmeric beats below, but again, this only lasts a few minutes before switching gears and launching right back into the angular prog that opened the track. This happens a couple more times. Long stretches of abstract percussion, plenty of buzz, and rattle, melodies played out on mysterious African instruments, separated by brief blasts of that �buzzing tangled prog, which is exactly how the track finishes off.
The closer, "Pygmy" begins with a groovy walking bass line, a cowbell heavy almost-funk rhythm, eventually some acidic wah wah guitar, and suddenly we're in some serious seventies, Blaxploitation soundtrack style jazz funk, the bass a constant presence, that groove irresistible, the vocals soulful, the percussion still busy and intense, beneath the more static rhythm driving the songs. The guitar and vocals get all tangled up, the vocals more sort of scatting, the guitar offering up jagged shards of high end, or unfurling soaring psychrock leads, the bass and guitar locking into step right at the end, for one final super tight psychprog finish.
It almost seems ridiculous to describe each song in detail, as that's only part of the story. All four tracks work together, leading into one another, offering up bits from pervious songs, giving up little sonic hints as to what might come later, and it's not just the arrangements, it's the feel, the mood, the vibe, and while mere description might make some of the songs sound schizophrenic, flipping back and forth from part to part, some parts lasting only a few seconds, nothing could be further from the truth. The composition here is as deft as the performance, the arrangement is simultaneously free and abstract, yet, tight and composed. The songs breathe and open up, drift and wander, but never seem to lose their direction, and the grooves ever present, even if on the surface the band seem to be drifting though inner space.
Uganda is truly unique, freaky and far out for sure, but most definitely an essential chunk of jazzy, proggy African Japanese psych rock bliss, organic, expansive, epic, rhythmic, space-y, proggy, heavy and funky!! If you've got Julian Cope's Japrocksampler book, you'll find it in his Top 50 list of Japanese psych essentials, right above the debut from Flower Travellin' Band.
As with all Tiliqua releases, gorgeously packaged. This one is housed in a full color miniature box, printed front and back, with a Japanese style obi of course, and inside extensive liner notes in both Japanese and English, with tons of photos. And it is limited of course, not sure how limited, but judging from how quick past Tiliqua releases fly out of here, better to be safe than sorry. And this is actually the first in a new Tiliqua series called Distorted Oriental Sensory Perceptions 1969-1978 focusing on "Obscure Japanese Psychedelic rock artifacts." We can hardly wait to see what they dig up next... there's a lot of others on that Japrocksampler list we'd love to hear...
First new record in six years from Toshiaki Ishizuka, a veritable underground drum legend in Japan. Having founded Japan's first radical political punk combo Zuno Keisatsu, as well as having played and recorded with Kan Mikami, Keiji Haino, Masayoshi Urabe and many others, you might be expecting some sort of super intense deconstructed psychrock drum damage rhythmic workout, but Ishizuka's solo percussion recordings are of an entirely different stripe. No blown out psychedelia, no punk rock pound, no splattery free jazz freakouts, instead, Drum Drama, Ishizuka's third record of solo percussion, is just that, dramatic, a dark and dreamy series of slow shimmering soundscapes, as much, if not more, about texture and mood than rhythm. The drum kit here is only a part of Ishizuka's palette, spread out in a very un-drum kit like manner between wide open expanses of huge gong swells, chiming bells, bowed metal, wood blocks and tinkling chimes. Incredibly deep and physical sounding, a slow burning series of drones and shimmers. Drum Drama contains three brand new tracks, as well as two redone pieces from his long out of print debut, but they flow perfectly. An organic drift of midnight ambience, punctuated by strange bits of percussive filigree, but spending most of its almost 40 minutes drifting through deep dark cavernous expanses of sound.
Huge low end reverberations underpin delicate drifting bells, all the sounds given ample time to spread out and flutter into the ether. All woven into moaning minimal melodies constructed from dense overtones and subtle shimmer. Here and there twinkling high end sparkles surface, super percussive skitter wraps around super melodic tom fills, occasionally sounding kind of like a super slow abstract free jazz "Wipeout", but played by the Starfuckers... just drums, spread way out across the soundfield, with some serious stereo panning, the fills swerving from one speaker to the other, a dizzying dreamy soundscape of percussive melody and strange rhythmic texture.
Elsewhere, the drones morph subtlely into super affected free jazz splatter, over a dense cacophony of clanging metal and industrial clatter, very kitchen sink with bits of cutlery, tea kettle scraping and all manner of shuffling and clinking and rumbling amidst smooth resonant muted drum fills.
The second half of the record is an even more subtle wash of undersea shimmer, thick rumblings build to propulsive percussive overload, just about as psychedelic as a room full of drums and pieces of metal can get. The record fades into a barely there drone, the hiss of the tape and the analog recording almost as loud as the simple subtle rhythmic shadings....
Hard to believe a record like this is the work of a drummer. And that there is even a drum kit involved at all. Shimmery percussive dronescapes, bowed metals, reverberating gongs, rolling metallic balls, little squalls of splattery free jazz shuffle, bits of martial drumming all woven into a lovely and zen like exploration of a dark and mysterious world of rhythm and sound. So good.
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Super limited new lp from the duo, Isidore Ducasse, which is Jefre Cantu-Ledesma (Root Strata, Tarentel, etc.) and his ex-Tarentel partner Trevor Montgomery. Named for the 19th century French poet better known by his pen name Comte de Lautreamont, this unit was originally formed to create the soundtrack for a Western, and while the film never materialized, the eventual soundtrack, this record right here, works just fine on its own, being darkly evocative and well able to conjure up visions of some lost West in the minds of the listeners.
Definitely mining territory similar to groups like Earth and Barn Owl, the vibe is dusty and windswept, desolate and dreamlike, opening with chiming melodies, delicate and hushed, over soft swells of tape hiss and amp buzz, the record slowly unfolding as a series of hazy, shimmery drones, all moonlit and washed out, peppered with languorous twang, streaks of warm fuzz and deep low end thrum. Stretched out atmospheres that drift from lush layered buzz, to soaring string like majesty, swoonsome melodies surfacing amidst slow swirling clouds of soft focus distortion. There are moments where the record veers into way more abstract territory, with the duo capable of conjuring up some sweet cosmic dronemusic or more minimal abstract drift, and those moments definitely have their place, and do evoke some fantastic and mysterious tableaus that no doubt play out in whatever imaginary western these sounds now accompany, and there is enough of those sounds that this will no doubt hit the spot for those into drone/drift minimalism, but the core of the record remains a dark twang flecked drift, a dreamy, otherworldly ambience, a slo-mo avant country drift, that will no doubt appeal to fans of Barn Owl, Earth, Scenic, Morricone and the like. So nice.
Pressed on 140 gram vinyl, LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!
The return of a new favorite, Russian black metal outfit Ithdabquth Qliphoth, deliver a 20 minute black okkult ritual, following up their Fyre Walk With Me full length which has been pretty much impossible to keep in stock. It seems this duo has shed a member and is now solely the work of the oddly named AL-LA-ShT-ORR, who is also responsible for the Cadaver Yelleth At Amber Tower cd reviewed elsewhere on this list (does this guy have a way with names or what!).
So how to follow up a confusional collection of far out fractured black metal weirdness and buzzing blown out black ambience? why with the even more oddly titled "Funeral Spirit Of Holy, Holy And Holy Tranceformation", a single twenty minute epic, which begins as a thick churning chunk of grinding low end, what could be super distorted martial drumming, or maybe just thick blackened static, whatever it is, it's intense and dense and in its fluctuations creates a sort of incidental rhythm. Eventually sampled vocals join the fray, as do little bursts of static, the track transformed into some industrial black creep. Soon soaring guitars drift in from the distance, offering washed out chordal buzz and keening feedback, the sound referencing groups like Wolf Eyes and Prurient especially, the pounding and buzzing soon gives way to a mysterious blown out dronescape, of stretched out high end tones, and downtuned rumble, before lurching into something more metallic about the halfway mark, a Burzumy doomic trudge, just crashing drums and WAY up in the mix voKILLS, all held together by a gloomy bass line, and some swirling background ambience, finally the guitars come crashing down, the drums explode into double kick, but instead of black and buzzy, it's moody and mournful like classic old school doom, majestic and epic before everything drops out, and suddenly it's a super minimal shimmer, all muted bass tones, deep reverberating low end, soft barely there chords, spare and abstract and hushed, the sampled voices return again, harmonics pluck out an atonal bell like melody, the rumbles seem to growl and grind, but still muffled and murky, the bells tolling ominously, the melancholy melody leading the song to its eventual end. So creepy and haunting, black and mysterious, otherworldly and magickal. All hail AL-LA-ShT-ORR and his unholy vessel Ithdabquth Qliphoth!!
Black metal logos by their very nature are cryptic, for most impossible to read, a jumble of squiggles and spidery lines and upside down crosses, pentagrams, sharp angles and jagged edges. But once translated into actual letters, the magic is lost, it's usually BLOOD something, or DEMON something, or perhaps a very common word with wintery connotations, or some variation of the word forest. But what of the band with no 'logo', as their very name is an impossibly tangled web, whose letters have no right to be side by side, an unpronounceable jumble that somehow still manages to evoke mystery, to conjure up images of darkness and despair, even though we've never met anyone who knows how to actually pronounce it?
Such is the case with Russian duo Ithdabquth Qliphoth, who are another one of those bands who have long been aQ black metal favorites, but whose records we were never able to attain in enough abundance to review on the list. Until now.
But it's not just the name that makes these guys a mystery. Three long multi part songs, each an epic suite, with titles like "3 142 742 836 021 Times Hotter Than Earthly Fire", and "Your Fucking Creation Is Bleeding Away" or "Thy Omnislaying Revelation". And instead of names, the two band members are represented by strange Anthony Braxton like diagrams, many of the lyrics appear to be in Hebrew, and include shapes as well as words, and then the sound, at once raw and buzzing, furious and hateful, at the same time strangely melodic, the record begins with a jumble of samples, church organ, yodeling, the sound of terrified screams and the sound of fire, until the band lurch into action, a woozy midtempo black buzz, underpinned by a relentless double kick, strange processed inhuman vocals buried in the mix, all wreathed in a gauzy haze, even when the band switches gears and channels some classic Norwegian buzz, they still sound weirdly off kilter, a bit like Katatonia crossed with Immortal crossed with Burzum, but way more twisted. The melodies haunting and mournful, the guitars buzzy, but still dripping with effects, as if the whole record was being broadcast from within a fog filled cave.
The three song suites are just that, not single epic tracks, but each, three shorter tracks somehow linked, lyrically, thematically, hardly matters, they seem quite varied but do manage to flow into each other, from moody melancholia to blown out super distorted blackness, from weirdly melodic to harsh and raw, IQ take these opposing forces and tangle them up into something gloriously confusional. The opening track of the second suite, "Introduction To Burning Death" is a dramatic shift from the almost relentless onslaught of the opening salvo, a loping melodic metallic groove, that gives way to a half time, even more melodic breakdown, all epic and doomy, and almost dreamy, before shifting gears into a weirdly groovy, almost punky jam, that reminds us a bit of Khold, but super charged , with the relentless double kick drumming, and a harsh distorted ambience wrapped around the whole thing, By the third part of the second act (each act is numbered 0., 00. and 000. by the way) the band have returned to something much more gnarled and truly black, but still shot through with streaks of melody and melancholy. Which segues smoothly into the final 3 part suite, from furious epic black buzz, to grinding downtuned crunch, to soaring melodic blur, to crunchy chugging chaotic mathy pummel, to brief folky drift to warped doomy dirge, sounding almost like a black metal Paradise Lost for a moment, before ending everything with several minutes of crumbling distorted blackened drones, deep resonant tones, gurgled voices, strange percussive crunch, blurred rumbles and what almost sounds like some super distorted ping pong, all buried beneath layer after layer of smeared bleary black buzz.
Packaged in 6 panel black and white digipacks adorned with all manner of symbols and lyrics and mysterious liner notes. LIMITED TO 777 COPIES. Every one hand numbered in silver ink.
Record number two from this strangely monickered black metal one man outfit, borne out of a mighty love for dead and gone SF black metallers Weakling. And who can blame Mr. Jabladav? Of the modern breed of black metal, Weakling hewed closest to the spirit of the legendary Norwegian BM royalty, while still managing to create something completely unique, off kilter and beautifully and brilliantly fucked. Pity they only managed one record, but what a record it was...
Where as the first Jabladav disc, Dead As Duck (note the Dead As Dreams like title) mixed outright Weakling worship, frosty grim riffage, furious blast beats, epic arrangements, with a distinct post rock / math rock vibe and some seriously twisted and damaged Greg Ginn-ish Black Flag like gnarled guitars, the new one Black As Pitch (hmmm...) while still rooted in the epic buzz of Weakling and the bands that came before, expands the scope and the sound of the first one, in a big way. The core is still a grim black buzz, but even at its most black metal, the arrangements are completely convoluted and confusional, with long stretches of abstract riffing, bursts of chaotic free-black-metal, if there is such a thing (and if there's not there sure as hell should be), but the BM here is still troo and completely amazing, the guitars are super hot, in the red, blown out and WAY up in the mix, the drums too, loud as fuck, the double kick sounds (and feels) like someone pounding on your chest with both fists. Thick swaths of creepy alien keyboard sometimes drift over the black blasts, and often the blackness dissipates leaving gorgeous stretches of rumbling drone or shimmering ambience, the vocals are reverbed and sound like they must be samples or snippets from some movie, giving the songs an even creepier vibe.
Then there's the 14+ minute "Vinter Meditation", an extended chunk of cinematic ambience, all strange synths and creepy sounds, mysterious voices, and random abstract sonic disturbances, but the whole song is peppered with furious bursts of black metal, the engulf everything, saturating all the surrounding sounds with thick viscous blackness, before drifting off just as suddenly, leaving more haunting ambience, minor key melodies, the sounds of wind and thunder, soft billowing bits of chordal drift.... The rest of the record is filled out with more conventional length black blasts, except for the 31 minute drone epic "St. Philip Episcopal Church", which begins as a muted whir, a distant drone, layers shifting and overlapping, until thick grinding crumbling guitars swoop in, adding a caustic layer of fuzz over the top, and the track continues like that, sort of seesawing back and forth, from minimal shimmer, to corrosive drone, that distorted guitar changing shape constantly, from prickly buzz, to pulsing Spacemen 3 like whir to FX drenched outer space swirl, to brutal black drone. That piece alone would constitute a whole release on any one of our favorite modern abstract noise cd-r labels, but here it's just part of the bigger sonic picture, the songs short and long, black and beautiful, are all tangled up, sonically and thematically, the ambience balances the buzzing blackness and vice versa.
The record closes with an Ildjarn cover, a brief blown out black stomp, relentless and furious, the guitar still way blown out, the vocals louder than ever, the riff simple and almost punk rock, primitive and furious and fierce. Somehow it seems like the perfect way to finish off, after all the extended experimental ambience and super mathy black metal weirdness, a good old fashioned, primitive, old school, spiked, leather clad, corpse painted, church burning bloody axe attack!!
The cds are limited to 100 copies, each one hand numbered, the cassettes are numbered to 150 copies, each of those hand numbered as well.
Not one, but TWO new releases from this one man, Weakling worshipping black metal misanthrope, known as Jabladav, but maybe this one doesn't count, as it was recorded under the influence, HEAVILY under the influence, and thus is a bit of a stumbling, lurching mess. But what a glorious mess it is. If it wasn't called Drunk As Duck (a reference to the debut Jabladav record Dead As Duck) and if it didn't have a cover image of discarded corks from (presumably) bottles drunk, and if there wasn't an apology in the liner notes asking the listener to listen with a sense of humor, if NONE of that were present, we probably would have just assumed this was some super wacked, freaked out, damaged lo-fi black metal record, and we would have loved it just as much as we do now, maybe even more.
Take the normal sound of Jabladav, lower the dexterity level, slow things down a bit, make it a bit doomier, a bit murkier, add a bit more stumble, a bit more warble, and fuck, if your not left with something truly deranged and warped.
Way less mathy and complex than Jabladav proper (due, we assume, in no small part, to inebriation), the sound on Drunk as Duck, is a lurching doomic black metal, which at times reminds us a bit of Xasthur, or more specifically, the legion of Xasthur influenced black buzzers, with it's murky miserablism, it's stumbling rhythms, but a little hooch isn't enough to remove all of Jabladav's instrumental prowess, so plenty, of that tangled riffing, and Greg Ginn like gnarled guitar freakouts still surface here and there, but they tend to be draped over murky buzzing plods, or funereal dirges. When the tracks do occasionally burst into blast mode, instead of sounding shitty, or bad, or amateur, it just sounds, well, weird, chaotic, confusional, often splintering into abstract freakouts, or meandering black jams, but that stuff sounds amazing. We wouldn't dare say we like this better than Jabladav proper, but damn if we don't like it almost as much.
There seems to be a lot more keyboards going on too, adding a definite moody creepy vibe to the proceedings, but what can we say, even wasted, this guy can craft some truly demented black brilliance.
LIMITED TO ONLY 100 COPIES! Each one hand numbered.
What began as an homage to legendary SF black metallers Weakling, and maybe even a joke (not a ha ha joke, more of a fucking around, we're bored so we might as well record some grim black metal joke) has pretty rapidly morphed into a serious black metal contender amongst weirdo black metal aficionados.
Jabladav is a one man band who owes as much to Weakling as they do to Black Flag. Their first release, Dead As Duck, was a gnarled Greg Ginn-ified blast of intense blackness, blown out guitar buzz, insane blasting drums, some killer riffing and huge heapings of black atmosphere, channeling Weakling through all sorts of random not-that-black business, drone, post rock, math rock, no wave, and yeah Black Flag. The thing was, whatever inspired it, was soon eclipsed by how fucked up and far out the finished product was. A baffling and fucking genius collection of convoluted black buzz. Hot on the heels of the debut, came a second disc, Black As Pitch, which was like part two of Dead As Duck, but expanding the sound, making it even more metal, more chaotic, the songs got longer, and way more complex, even introducing some intensely blackened ambience. Which led to the next record, 3K Hum, a mostly ambient affair, huge stretched out slabs of glacial blur, massive roiling low end rumble, shimmering black ambience, hypnotic and mesmerizing, and while ambient, still extremely dense and heavy.
As if that weren't an exhausting spurt of creativity, now, not all that much later, comes the latest from Jabladav, the even more expansive and sprawling 2 cd-r set Primland, two hours of incredibly tangled black riffing, super blown out buzz drenched production, creepy keyboards, and deep dark ambience, super mathy drums, demonic vocals, all wound into super extended black jams, shot through with head spinning Ginn-ish squiggly leads, stop start riffing, but all strangely melodic, a moody mournful undercurrent beneath the roiling black heaviness. And the drums, shit, the drumming is insane, WAY up in the mix, louder than the guitars even, mathy and calculus complicated, like the guy was sitting at the top of a concrete stairwell in a 40 story building, each landing mic-ed, and then proceeded to hurl drum kit after drum kit into the black abyss, only in such a way that the resulting crash and clatter coalesced into impossibly deranged black rhythms.
But then out of nowhere, there'll be a track, all murky and muddy, lo-fi and practice space style, that sounds like it could be some lost nineties BM demo. EXCEPT, it's Jabladav, so even those tracks, are layered with slow doomy tones, deep rumbling chimes, and raspy vocals, threatening to swallow up the thrashing blackness below.
The tracks are definitely tweaked, and damaged, and a little bit spaced out and acid fried, druggy and mathy, but at their core they are pure black, the riffs are blown out, recorded so loud and in the red, the chords threaten to crumble. The record careens wildly from stumbling doomic Burzum style lope, to manic crazed thrashing black blasts, often both in the same song, the strange production only adds to the mood and weirdness, the songs on Primland even more epic and far out and convoluted and fucked than any of the Jabladav we've heard before, which is saying a lot. WAY recommended black metal weirdness/brilliance.
While they last, we have the ULTRA LIMITED, wax sealed wooden box version. If it's too pricey for you, hold off and we'll relist the normal version once these are sold out, but c'mon, this music deserves more than a jewel case. These are hand assembled, hand stained wood boxes, with a removable lid, that slides out, inside are the two cd-rs, in jewel case, and a printed color insert. The box is sealed shut with a silver wax seal. Each box signed and numbered on the bottom. But be warned, these are not had crafted keepsakes, the kind on a glass shelf at your grandma's house, no, they look grim and ancient, like the music within, weathered and worn, they're beautiful, but they look like they were unearthed from some cursed tomb, left on a shelf in a locked room, in an abandoned house, where they were discovered years later. Meaning that they are not perfect, the coloring is different on each, as is the wax seal, and the seal is quite fragile, so no matter how carefully packaged, the seal might crumble, or come off in transit, but you have to remove the seal anyway if you want to listen to the music.
You have been warned...
Primland was originally released as a super limited (100 copies) double cd, housed in a hand painted, custom built wood box, sealed with wax, and thus had a price tag to match. The box is now out of print, but Primland is now available as two much more affordable single discs, the first of which we reviewed a few lists back, a serious slab of crushingly twisted blackness, this is the second disc, the abstract ambient accompaniment to the first disc's more furious fucked up heaviness. But in its own, way just as intense and black.
Whereas Jabladav typically sounds a bit like some gnarled tangled up hybrid of Black Flag and SF black metal legends Weakling (Jabladav began as an homage to Weakling in fact), this second Primland disc is something else all together, a collection of sprawling dronescapes, thick with crumbling drones, black ambience, abstract piano, long drawn out epics, expansive worlds of bleak and blackened mystery. Think MZ412 or the more recent Nordvargr / Drakh collaborations, this is brooding, haunting, malevolent minimalism, but shot through with plenty of texture and mood, layered sounds woven into organic slow moving black drifts, bits of percussion surface here and there, jarring amidst the bleak slow shifting backdrop, streaks of sound that resemble strings, the piano pounding out doomy almost-melodies, drones swelling and throbbing and pulsing beneath, some of the layers processed into dizzying loops, super hypnotic and truly strange.
One track does flirt with heaviness, offering up a sport of crumbling dirgedrone, but wrapped in static, and grinding electronics, oozing over deep dreamy swells, disembodied squalls of processed noise, so distorted they threaten to blow your speakers, before being reeled in, and swallowed whole by an impossibly thick wall of dense black hole low end, shot through with glimmering upper register tones and streaks of fragmented melody.
The final track is like a slow motion raga, all hypnotic buzz and slow burning minimalism, the speed shifting subtly throughout, the track oozing and swerving and slithering, playing tricks on the listeners ears, invoking a glorious disorienting sort of audio sea sickness, woozy and druggy, and strangely irresistible.
No metal to be found here, but that's not the point, taken with disc one, this completes Jabladav's high concept Primland epic, a massive chunk of confusional outsider black art, combining dense blackened minimalism with cracked and damaged black metal weirdness, the two halves somehow reflected in each other, both able to stand on their own, but together, making up a singular organic sonic entity.
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES, each one hand numbered.
Norwegian label Miasmah has long been home to a stable of artists creating the sorts of sounds we can't ever seem to get enough of: dark, brooding, electronic flecked hauntological cinematic soundscapes, and late night mysterious classical infused dronemusic, artists like Elegi, Macus Fjellstrom, Gultskra Artikler, FNS, Kreng, Jasper TX, and of course Jacaszek, aka Polish electro-acoustic composer and soundscaper Michal Jacaszek, and while Jacaszek only made one record for Miasmah, it was such a perfect fit, that it was easy to imagine Jacaszek as emblematic of the label's sound. But here we are a few years later, and Jacaszek has already moved on to a new label, but thankfully taken that 'Miasmah' sound with him. And if anything, this new one is even more fully realized than Treny, which was already a unanimous aQ fave. And really how could it not be? Like Treny before it, Glimmer unfurls a ghostly world of blur and shadow, of hum and thrum and glitch and crackle. Operating in a darkened world not that far removed from the Caretaker or Philip Jeck or Demdike Stare, albeit with a bit more of a classical bent, Jacaszek conjures up haunting brooding soundworlds of lush shimmering strings, of echo drenched harpsichord, of woozy loops and hazy staticky record crackle, soft slow swells, that grow so distorted and intense, they slip easily into the red, transforming into something much more harrowing than the music of many of his sonic brethren. The sound threatening to collapse or explode, an urgent pulsing, nearly grinding buzz, that as quickly as it blossomed, seems to slip right back into languid expanses of soft focus drift. Horns and strings, acoustic guitars, all layered delicately into creaking faded stretched of hushed mesmer, an old timey chamber music, transmitted from the other side, much of the sound damaged and decayed as it crossed over, resulting in some darkly alien dronescaping, that slips easily from warped, looped murky moody ooze, to lush, almost pop flecked cinematic post classical drift, the sound at either end of that sonic spectrum flecked with bits of glitch, and audio detritus, the sound seeming to gradually fade and flake as the record spins, almost as if on the next play, it would sound even more washed out and hazy.
There are moments where the sound coalesce into something much more polished, and more traditionally musical, but even then, the music is underpinned by an ominous foreboding, wreathed in strange muted loops, and mysterious sonic fragments, as if being listened to through some sort of dusty old sonic veil, loveliness gradually darkening, shadows lengthening, melodies unwinding and growing subtly more menacing, the recording revealing more and more crackle, swirls of hiss like little dustdevils, all woven into some sort of otherworldly funereal threnody, dreamlike and lovely, but always on the verge of drawing the listener into the mysterious dark place from which these haunting sounds emanate...
