Majeure is the drumming half of electronic sci-fi prog synth duo Zombi, and explores similar territory on his 3 song debut. A measly 3 songs you say? Yeah, but 3 songs in 42 minutes! That's right, sprawling spaced out sci-fi electronic minimal kraut disco epics of the highest order. Fusing the creepy film music of Vangelis and John Carpenter with the pulsing hypnotic minimalism of Steve Reich or Philip Glass, even some propulsive motorik Can style krautrock, all woven into sprawling spaced out psychedelic futuristic retro faux film music, layered synths, looped melodies, and a killer mix of programmed rhythms and live drumming, the vibe is ominous and epic, so evocative, it's impossible not to imagine some sort of insane fight in zero gravity, jump suited androids grappling amidst a strange neon latticework, or some futuristic car chase, through dimly lit streets, a grim crumbling futureworld, where the outcome of said chase will determine the fate of humanity.
The opener, the awesomely sci-fi named "The Dresden Codex", is a total future space disco kraut jam, the first half a throbbing mesmerizing krautdronesynthscape, eventually, bass drifts in as does awesomely fuzzy bass synth, the melodies dramatic and epic, a slow build that gets more and more intense before fading out into a stripped down moody bit of synthy drift, before exploding back into action, the live drums going nuts, suddenly it sounds a bit like a way more sci-fi Trans Am too, with a little M83 fuzz thrown in for good measure. "Teleforce" is all afternoon special straight to video science fiction, with its throbbing low end synth, and simple drumming, but the sound quickly gets thicker and more dense, and all ominous and intense, thick layers of rumble and whir over that machinelike pulse, then in come soaring strings, and after a brief bit of tension building Carpenter like spaced out minimalism, a lazer battle ensues, the track churning and chugging amidst a sky full of swirling effects and lazerblast-like pyew-pyew-pyew's...
Finally, the album finishes off with the 18+ minute "Timespan", beginning with a cloud of rumbles and whirs, before the sky fills with flecks of synth and space-y FX, a haunting bit of Logan's Run ambience, before the track slips right back into some groovy eighties sci fi synth disco, and for the next 10+ minutes, we're careening though a neon lit future world, battling on dancefloors, soaring between strange obelisk like structures, dodging lazer fire, running for our lives from lumbering robots, and finally destroying the mainframe and liberating the human race, all to the strains of some of the coolest, retro sci-fi sounds since, well, since these sounds weren't really retro at all.
Making an awesome album even awesomer, the cd version (but not, sadly, the vinyl) comes with a bonus remix disc (reissuing an out of print 12"), featuring reinterpretations of the album tracks by Steve Moore (the other half of Zombi), Justin Broadrick of Jesu, and Black Strobe. Moore takes "Timespan" and roughs it up a bit, giving it a more bruised, darkened and ominous cast, still an eighties soundtrack, but this time it's some dark foreign film, death more imminent, the end of civilization a foregone conclusion, but this is the sound of a ragtag group of survivors, hurling themselves into the void, on a desperate quest to save the universe, all to the strains of a pulsing Goblin / Carpenter score. Broadrick takes "Teleforce", and does something to it, hard to say exactly what, but suddenly it sounds like a warped Moroder post rock remix 12" spinning off kilter, warbly and hypnotic, eventually blissing out, more and more minimal and skeletal and softly psychedelic, before a bad ass dubby last few minutes, thumping muted rhythms, underpinning eighties new wave synths, and clouds of M83 style haze, a fucking killer groove that would seal the deal had the deal not already been WELL sealed. And finally, Black Strobe rework "The Dresden Codex" into something much more house-y and minimal, a sort of gleaming late night futuristic drift through mysterious silvery danceclubs, and exclusive penthouse parties, everything prismatic and blurred by a space age cocktail of psychotropics, a night spent cavorting in your gleaming surrogate body, your consciousness painting the town red, while your physical form sits safely in stasis at home, this is the sound of that soul shearing, head spinning rush, as an entire night's debauchery is downloaded in a 17 minute timelapse sonic injection, a heady, hypnotic, burst of electronic color. So rad.
The double compact disc comes in a super fancy, oversized mini lp style gatefold sleeve. And the vinyl version, also gatefold packaged, includes a digital download so you can iPod it.
We love dancehall, the beat, the rhythms, the toasting especially, the lurching hypnotic groove of it, but what we, and lots of other folks have always had trouble with, was the lyrical content, the whole scene in fact, rife with violence, and homophobia and misogyny, much like American hip hop, but even more fucked up and seriously unpalatable.
So much so that plenty of folks around aQ land who might otherwise dig dancehall big time, have sworn off it completely. UNTIL NOW.
Diplo and Switch, bring their twisted and tweaked approach to beats and grooves, and whip up one the wildest, craziest dancehall records EVER. And what better way to thumb their noses at traditional dancehall than by getting a whole gaggle of female rappers and toasters to team up with the more well know male Jamaican dancehall vocalists, often verbally sparring back and forth in the same song. The sound is supercharged, electrifying, the beats banging, the samples bizarre but perfect, a tangled technicolor musical backdrop over which the vocalists do their THANG.
Morricone-esque guitars, the clip clop of horse hooves, ringing cell phones, horse whinnies, dizzying looped rhythms, a killer stuttery beat, tons of woozy low end, everything chopped and hiccuppy, an awesome deep growly bit of toasting, and some cool looped Santigold vox, before she gets to spit her own bad ass verse, and that's just the first song.
The whole disc destroys though, relentless non stop hip shaking head bobbing sweaty sexy speaker destroying musical magic, some tracks bliss out into some sunshiney reggae grooviness, all laid back, infused with some awesome smoky sultry vox, other tracks get raw and rough, with buzzing guitars and fuzzed out bass lines, plenty of clatter and crunch, others are fizzly and festive, with vocodered vocals and skittery beats, and still others are dense tightly wound jams, drenched in effects and tangled up with rollicking block rocking beats and squiggly melodies. Even as an instrumental record, this would kill, but the vocalists push it over the top, tongue twisting flows all over the place, lightning fast sputters, growly drawls, head spinning back and forth and of course plenty of whoops and whooooooos...
Summer dancehall party record of the year for sure, with awesome Major Lazer cartoon cover art, very reminiscent of the classic old Scientist albums!! So recommended. Every time we play this in the store, someone comes up to see what the heck it is!
Finally, the return of an all time AQ favorite black horde, the Danish master of depressive suicidal black metal, and certainly the most aptly named, Make A Change... Kill Yourself. It's been 2 years, but feels like an eternity since we've heard from the fellow named Ynleborgaz, and his not so merry one man band. The self titled debut was an across the board record of the year around these parts. So dark and miserable, but so gorgeously buzzing and epic, one of the greatest slabs of Burzumic mayhem we had heard, well, since Burzum hung up his axe and extinguished the torches and traded it all in for a cell, white power and some synthesizers.
The vinyl only (so far at least, cd supposedly to follow eventually) II is the perfect follow up, two more lengthy stretches of bleak black miserablism, wrapped in dense swaths of thick buzz, and rife with the most gorgeous, anguished melancholy melodies ever. Two tracks, each taking up a whole side of the lp, and each an epic journey, sonically and emotionally.
Side one begins with forlorn guitar melodies drifting beneath a black cloud of crumbling sound, minor key pianos, an aching funereal lament, that drifts gently along while a distant black buzz slowly encroaches, eventually becoming a blackened wash of blown out depressive misery, blasting double kick drums and teeth gnashing wails over a relentless, midtempo buzzing blurry lope, Burzumic and EPIC, trancelike and crushingly depressing. Gloriously sad and heartbroken but simultaneously brutal and furious and grim. Part way through, the black curtains are drawn back, revealing a slow swirl of acoustic guitar, crooned clean vocals and monk-like chants, a calm drift through the eye of the storm, only to be sucked back down into a black pit of endless torment shortly thereafter, launching back into a looped trancelike buzzscape, the riffs cyclical and repetitive, so completely mesmerizing and utterly and brutally epic.
The flipside bursts immediately and full on into a blast of black buzz, relentless riffing, blown out blast beats, so grim and frosty, before slipping into some near ambient dronescapes of drawn out buzzing drone guitar, and super processed, ominously intoned vocals, a weird almost Wolf Eyes-ian soundscape, brooding and mysterious. Eventually, the music builds back into a monstrous, beautiful, seemingly endless stretch of hypnotic riffs and simple pounding drums, a sort of black buzz drone, that just goes on and on and on, lulling the listener, into some cold dark place, a dark deathlike drift, floating along on a dense swell of buzzing guitars, and some of the most gorgeously melancholic melodies EVER.
So goddamn good. Depressive suicidal black metal record of the year? Without a doubt. Black metal record of the year? Quite possibly...
Pressed on super heavy vinyl, housed in thick jacket, the lp in a printed inner sleeve.
It's very rare that a band name cuts so succinctly to the heart of what a band is all about. So perfectly encapsulating the hate and misery and blackness of the music. Thus we have Make A Change Kill... Yourself, certainly doesn't trip off the tongue, but it's not supposed to, like the music, and the sentiments behind it, nothing here is supposed to be easy, or happy or joyful. It's meant to be hard, brutal, sad, dismal, hopeless, miserable. And it is, but on such a massively grand and epic scale it's sort of breathtaking. Huge mournful minor key swirls of buzzing guitars, ultra depressive and and strangely melancholy. Mostly midtempo, often trudging into downright doom, occasionally bursting into brief blasts of furious thrashing, but never for long, always settling back into a seething lurching blackened lament. Massive stretched out epics, the shortest track clocking in at 14 minutes, the longest pushing 30. Relentless double kicks beneath a black flow of downtuned Burzumic buzz, thick and rich and dense and dark, so emotional and intense, fuzz atop buzz atop blur atop whir, swaying and loping hypnotically. This takes the very best parts of Burzum and Xasthur and other blackened depressives to the next level, introducing a massive and majestic Godspeed element, as well as some incredibly catchy melodies, albeit still appropriately raw and black and grim, but they manage to float wraithlike, endlessly in your ears, in your brain, in your soul, like the ghost of a memory, a weird feeling of sadness and loss, that sticks in your head just as much as the bleak and somber melodies. Very rare for any music, let alone buzzy blurry black metal. Incredibly poignant, ambient interludes, ghostly female vocals, strange drone-y breakdowns, mysterious chimes and swells, brief glimpses of desolate soundscapes, all serving, along with the almighty BUZZ, to lead us even further down that dark path to nothingness.
BLACK METAL RECORD OF THE YEAR for sure!
Last year's Ugly Side Of Love, the debut from UK sampledelic duo Malachai, was a surprise hit around here, we loved it from the second we first heard it, we just didn't realize HOW much. We ended up playing it to death, and it ranked as one of our favorites of the year, so much so that we found ourselves lamenting the fact that we didn't make it a Record Of The Week. Which it no doubt should have been, a dizzying assemblage of samples and proper instruments, woven into what sounded like some some lost seventies retro rock, proto metal, fuzzy, groovy, heavy psych jam, and barring some little bits of obviously electronic filigree, it totally could have been.
So we were super psyched to discover a new record, and while on first listen, it doesn't sound -quite- as catchy as their debut, the more we listen, the better it gets, and we're pretty sure we'll find ourselves obsessed and kicking ourselves all over again. But whatever, just don't sleep on this, so fuzzy, and heavy and groovy and goddamn good. And strange. Simultaneously warm and familiar, but also like nothing you've heard, from the super cinematic opener "Monster", a string heavy bit of dramatic ambience, with big skittery beats, and a gorgeous soaring orchestral outro, which leads directly into a heavy shuffling drum beat, laced with some hazy guitar buzz, some swirling atmospheric shimmer, and then some reverby vox, the sound again some impossible hybrid of then and now, past and present, sixties psych wrapped around looped beats, and wreathed in shimmery effects.
"Mid Antarctica (Wearin' Sandals)" is super heavy proto metal buzz, the riffs epic, the organs whirring, the bass thick, the beats big, a sort of hip hoppy groove underpinning some serious psych fuzz, occasionally breaking down into ethereal drift, but always lumbering right back into some thick churning heaviness. "Rainbows" is all hazy and reverby and echoey, with gorgeous boy girl vox, the strums muted and washed out, everything wreathed in a patina of soft focus shimmer, and so it goes, the record shifting and transforming, from hushed balladic drift, to shuffling sunshiney hippie folk, to buzzy druggy groove, to piano driven super dramatic creep, to what might be our other favorite track, "Monster" which sounds like DJ Shadow, if he were raised on sixties psych as well as hip hop, epic and bombastic, moody and broody and so good. And it just keeps getting better. The sort of 'psychedelic sixties Entroducing' vibe becomes more pronounced as the record progresses, finishing off with the twangy, woozy buzz drenched strum and shuffle of the closer "Hybernation", pepper with some unlikely boomin' system low rider bass, and yeah, we're kicking ourselves now for not making this Record Of The Week, so just figure this is an UNofficial ROTW, which means this is about as recommended as it gets...
This was a total left field surprise, what on the surface appears to be some lost seventies retro rock, proto metal, fuzzy, groovy, heavy jam, is in fact, the work of two electronic musicians who cobbled this disc together via samples, computers, effects and yeah, some actual instruments. We weren't sure how we felt about it at first, but after a few minutes we were pretty much sold. And have been jamming this ever since.
For actual seventies proto-metal freaks, and retro reissue obsessives, this could definitely rub you the wrong way, but for the rest of us, who can dig some twisted modern take on the shit we LOVE, then this might totally hit the spot.
The guitars are fuzzy, the organs are warm and warbly, plenty of twang, some Morricone-esque moodiness, some rad old hard rock drumming, killer vox, hand claps, plenty of jangle, hooks galore, there are also plenty of rad psychedelic interludes, with twisted backwards guitars, swirling FX, all sorts of primitive electronics and layered collaged sounds, but it's the songs that seal the deal. Super heavy, totally groovy, while to these ears it sounds like classic proto-metal, to some folks around here it sounds more like current retro revivalists like White Stripes, Earl Greyhound, Wolfmother, but this stuff is so much cooler and weirder, the little studio tricks that make certain notes stutter, the samples that are played like an instrument but are still wreathed in record crackle, lots of backwards sounds everywhere, it's like some lost sixties psychedelic hard rock lost gem, reimagined and reinterpreted using modern day technology and it RULES.
What's more evil and metal and "I don't give a fuck about humanity" that slapping on some corpse paint and lurking in the forest for a perfectly grimm band photo? What's more cult than strapping on a bunch of spikes and spitting fire, while a photographer expertly captures the 'ritual' on film? What's more anti-social and BROOTAL than dousing yourself in blood, leering evilly at the camera, and holding as still as possible until the timer clicks and the camera catches your pure evil for eternity?
Well how about just waking up, stepping in front of the mirror on your closet door, and snapping a picture of yourself in all your first thing in the morning, PINK tightie whiteies (pinkies?), socks, baseball jersey and bedhead, frowning grumpily and holding the digital camera in front of you in the mirror? ABSOLUTELY FUCKING NOTHING. Fuck posing and preening and make up and all that, nothing is more grim than the antisocial miscreant captured in his home, where he makes his sick sounds, and where he hides from all the filthy scum outside his front door. The colorful bedspread, the wood paneling, the vinyl tile flooring, the framed pictures above the bed, that stuff is all more intimate and personal and ultimately EVIL than any amount of forests and spiked armbands and bullet belts. Sorry for the rant, we're just a bit obsessed with the band photo on this Malveillance collection, which does in fact feature Mr. Malveillance in a t-shirt and pink undies, scowling at the mirror in his bedroom. Fucking awesome. And somehow, that sort of symbolizes the music of Malveillance pretty perfectly as well. Simple, stripped down, raw. Think Akitsa, Ildjarn, Bone Awl, that sort of super primitive
blasting crusty brutality. But with Malveillance that sound is even more punk, more pummelingly straight ahead. ONE riff over and over and over, repeated to death, the vocals a raspy howl, the drums a D-beat pound, the production raw and lo-fi but still heavy and filthy and grimy and totally BAD ASS. In some ways, it reminds us a bit of a more punk, more blackened Brainbombs.
This is actually a collection gathering up two previous releases from 2005 and 2006, as well as a handful of bonus tracks from a little earlier. The crazy thing is, there are 7 or 8 RAMONES COVERS! And what's even weirder is they sound perfect, like they could be actual Malveillance jams, all filthied up, sped up, doused in buzz and grit, they sound pretty evil and grim, even the "hey ho" parts manage to sound a bit menacing.
What more to say. We love this shit, and Malveillance does it as good, if not better than the rest, plus any metalhead with the balls to pose in pink undies and short hair on their record, deserves to have the grim corpse painted hordes bowing at their feet for sure!
We went a little crazy for the first Mamaleek record, a way too limited cd-r, packed with blown out blissed out shoegazey black metal, head spinning ultra technical metallic grind, and gorgeous blurred black ambience. That record was so intense, so gloriously fucked up, so complex and confusional, it really seemed like an impossible record to top, but this latest record, the first Mamaleek vinyl release, definitely does its best, and in some cases succeeds big time.
Like the record opener, "I Can't Stay Behind", which begins with some creepy sample, a mysterious voices, the sound of horses, then suddenly, speaker shredding blasts of start stop black grind, a haunting lull between each, before finally launching into full on hyper speed black buzz, but with weird interludes, moaning clean vocals, stuttering drum machines, a strangely almost indie rock arrangement, but shredded and shattered, cool loping arpeggiated breakdowns, the guitars impossibly distorted, the sound WAY in-the-red, the creepy intro sample resurfacing throughout.
That indie rock sensibility runs through the whole record, but is deftly twisted into much blacker shapes. The second track, is an almost looped single part song, very hypnotic, partway through keyboards surface, all sunbaked and swoonsome, and while the track remains buzzy and abrasive, those keyboards help transform the sound into something more akin to a black metal M83.
And that side of the band seems to be the most prevalent this time around, trading in much of the brutal grind and twisted blast of the first record for something a bit more melodic and sort of pretty. Gnarled fragmented and fractured angular crunch is butted up against almost loungey piano, and random Japanese vocal snippets, murky industrial rhythms underpin groovy acoustic guitars, grim buzz gets warped and twisted and draped over swinging jazz, and it almost works, but is all the better for not quite working, the result a seriously twisted mash up. And the jazz element runs through to varying degrees, so much so that there's even a Charlie Parker cover, done pretty straight, only the guitars are a bit distorted and a little off, and there are some harsh black vokills that were most likely not in the original, seriously twisted and tweaked. Elsewhere, Mamaleek unfurls drone drenched near static black metalscapes, weaves loping drum machine grooves beneath coruscating super distorted guitar melodies, incorporates what sounds like seventies FM radio rock into otherwise grim blasting blackness,
The closer is more M83 style washed out woozy drift, skittering drum machines, wheezing accordions, shimmering strings, warm and sun dappled, wreathed in crackle and hiss, until the song shatters into a full bore freakout, a squealing fractured nearly white noise free jazz blurred metal outro, that is as kick ass as it is utterly confounding.
If anything this record is WAY more varied, more experimental, less cohesive, but not in a bad way, the sounds all manage to fit together in one epic, seriously demented whole, but this time it's a much wilder ride, not for the faint of heart, or the unadventurous. But much like the first record, fucking amazing and WAY recommended.
Pressed on super thick vinyl, and housed in ultra deluxe sleeves, with striking and subtle, spot varnish inking.
We sorta spilled the Mamaleek beans, mistakenly reviewing their forthcoming full length last time, when in fact, we were meant to be reviewing THIS, a four song 12", just out on local label The Flenser, the latest (not counting the NOT OUT YET full length) from this local black metal brotherly duo whose sound has mutated over the course of their previous records, touching on blessed out metal gaze, avant black jazz, and pretty much every warped stop in between, and nothing gets less twisted, or less difficult to describe this time around, but they do seem to continue to move ever further from the black metal that birthed them, although to be fair, they were pretty well removed already with record number one, but on He Never Said A Mumblin' Word, the sound once again exists in some nether region, fusing, lurching distort beats, crumbling atonal riffage, bizarre vocals, damaged production, twisted on-the-verge-of-collapse arrangements, the vocals this time around even STRANGER, sounding like a chorus of croaking frogs, but here fused to one of the prettiest things we've heard from these guys, a lilting noise-doom dirge, that constantly devolves into a sort of industrial lumber, a sort-of-chorus perhaps, with the sounds even more distorted and blown out and in-the-red, but somehow remaining weirdly lovely, which seems to be these guys' specialty, making beautiful ugliness or vice versa.
Here's where we usually say, oh the rest of the record follows suit, but with these guys of course it doesn't, track two is all whispering winds, and acoustic guitars, a slow building swell of crumbling buzz, sampled operatic vocals, before exploding into some sort of blackened electro, with a programmed beat, more crumbling riffage, and some seriously harsh processed vocals, but again, some impossible poppiness swirled in, and eventually some almost black metal, but really, the sound is more like some sort of malfunctioning, avant, noise drenched electronica, with some madman growling and bellowingly demonically along, maybe black electro karaoke? Whatever it is, it's fucked up and fantastic.
The third song manages to be even MORE distorted, which once having heard the other two songs seems impossible, but the weirdly processed, crumbling, peaking riffage, becomes something weirdly textural and droned out, hear drifting atop swells of synth swirl and more hellish vokills, another delicate balancing act between twisted beauty, and harsh ugly heaviness. Finally, the duo wrap things up with a loping crumble-pop black-gloom dirge, that plants drum machine skitter beneath cascades of ultra distortion, soaring female vox, bellowed demonic vokills, the whole thing managing to sound sun dappled and dreamy, even though it also sounds like the insides of your speakers must be melting...
Full length number five from these two brothers who traffic in twisted, noisy, psychedelic WTF black metal weirdness, and who create what is essentially a new sound with every record, having started life making a sort of spaced out shoegazey psychedelic black metal, gradually growing weirder and weirder, finally arriving at Via Dolorosa - which is somehow even weirder, even just one song in, a super raw, extremely blown out post black metal that sounds more like some sort of noisy post punk, what sounds like slide guitars, the vocals howled and gruff, the drums super lo-fi, and practice space sounding, in fact, like much of The Flenser's output, there's really nothing here that would make you think this band was even remotely black metal, instead, it's a killer slab of noisy, punky, poppiness, and yeah, it's pretty poppy, but we're only two minutes into the first song at this point, cuz soon, all the noisiness is peeled back, leaving just a low slung bass line, a kick drum pulse, some clean guitar strum, then some creepy sampled voices, a sprawling tranced out minimal mesmer that's as unlikely as the first half of the song, just on the other end of the sonic spectrum.
And really, by now, if you're buying a record on The Flenser, and expecting buzzing black metal, there's at least a 50 percent chance you'll be extremely disappointed. But then Flenser seems to have been distancing themselves from straight up BM, and they couldn't have gotten further away from it than with this. The second track is all jazzy, minus the distorted vokills, and noisy lo-fi drums, it's smooth and shimmery and skittery, a twisted juxtaposition, that will for sure have metalheads scratching their chins. And it doesn't get any easier from there on out, but it continues to get cooler and weirder, gorgeous blasts of hazy, melodic drone-noise, slow building shimmers, tripped out down tempo trip hop, rife with woozy backwards swells and lush layers chordal thrum, wedded to more of those howled vox, weird blackened dubbiness, lots of jazziness popping up throughout, hazy detuned guitar shimmers, murky pitch shifted crooning, doomy, melty, warped sounding slo-mo creeps, piano laced, jangly dream pop, accordions and spidery guitars, over loping post rock rhythms and bookended by some psychedelic hard panned groovy skitter, and finally a haunting, bombastic death march, with huge rhythmic pounds, over distant vocal murmurs, and delicate crystalline guitar filigree.
Such a weird record, but like their other albums, this is not really even metal, and most metalheads will likely be bummed/pissed, but if you dig warped experimental heaviness, avant blackened doom-jazz and outsider WTF post-black metal weirdness, this is most definitely for you.
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We complain a lot about the glut of cd-r releases. The whole, "even my Mom has a cd-r out" (and yes, her new limited 3" cd-r will be out soon, ahem)� The ease of recording and pressing up 50 copies, means that lots of stuff that maybe shouldn't get released does. Not everything recorded deserves to be released, and not everything played even deserves to be recorded. A serious lack of quality control for sure. But with the bad comes the good, and in this case, the good is often VERY good, and thus it's well worth slogging through all the shit, to get glimpses into some of the twisted creative musical minds, that otherwise might have toiled away in obscurity with no one but their housemate or mother (depending on the circumstances) hearing the amazing fucked up and far out sounds they've been creating.
It sometimes boggles our minds to think about the various songs and recordings, that due to lack of resource or technology, or even initiative, were lost forever, or were just never even recorded at all. We don't have that problem so much anymore (see above), but what it does mean is that folks who might be too timid to start a band, or too isolated to find likeminded folks, still have ways to create, to attempt to realize the sounds they hear in their heads.
And some of our favorite records of the last few years have been just that, random home recorded cd-r's produced not for cool points, or scene cred, but because the artists were driven to do so. The cd-r micro label is now a cottage industry, my Mom doesn't just have a new cd-r out, she also has her own label� but that is still where we find the most vibrant and ultra personal music being made.
Mamaleek is a one man band from right here in SF, this is his long in the works debut and it's a killer, equal parts blissed out metalgaze, furious hyper grind, and buzzing ambient murk. In some ways, it's almost the perfect aQ record, bits and pieces of all the stuff we can't get enough of. But deftly assembled into something cohesive and pretty original. Nods to Jesu, Nadja, Xasthur, the Angelic Process, the usual suspects, but Mamaleek are definitely their own queer beast. The lo-fi recording adding to the murk and mystery, and of course the fuzzy blissy vibe.
The record opens with reverb drenched piano, lazy and laid back, all sepia toned and warm summer porch-ed, which makes the second track sound even more epic and massive. A crushing roiling slow motion riff, superdistorted and almost crumbling, the melodies in the distance soaring, the track shifts briefly into a blast of processed grind, before returning to its majestic trudge, sounding like Jesu, if Jesu still sounded like Godflesh. The track flips back and forth, slipping into a tinny, black ambient interlude halfway through, only to transform into a spacious almost math rock drift.
The rest of the record sort of slips easily between those two sounds, harsh washed out blackened bliss, often peppered with jagged sonic shards, and haunting drones, and murky ambience. The disc's centerpiece is the nearly 20 minute long "Shout On, Children", beginning with some straight up bluegrass guitar pickin', still muddy and lo-fi, some slippery slide and some fret buzz, but then, the programmed drums kick in, some gurgling demonic vocals, and then thick sheets of coruscating sunburnt guitar buzz, but that acoustic twang continues on right below the surface. But it never gets HEAVY, it just shifts between gradations of buzziness, murkiness and blur, some parts are wide open, a skeletal rhythm over smears of horn like synth and throbbing bass, other parts are gauzy, the guitar chopped into haunting pulses and layered over washed out whirs, and others incorporate operatic vocals and barely there shimmer, finally finishing off with a brief blast of ultra-lo-fi blackened metal.
The last four tracks lean toward metallic bliss, and pounding buzzing heaviness, the guitars thick and buzzy, the vocals a fierce growl, the drums simple and mechanical, everything whipped into pulsing waves of sound, occasionally coalescing into blasting blackness, but just as often, becoming unmoored, and drifting skyward the various riffs and beats spreading out like a sky full of black wraiths shot through with sunbeams.
Handmade packaging. Fold over cardstock sleeves, with paste on full color front and back images, and a printed insert on nice thick textured paper. LIMITED TO 100 COPIES!
We never really ever dug Mammal that much. We wanted to, but it just never hit us. A sort of sub Wolf Eyes abject electronic brutality, not noise so much as noisy, very Midwestern, filthy, homebrewed... just typing that has us thinking, well why the fuck didn't we? That's the sort of stuff we'd write about a record we love. Well, now we are, writing that, about a record we love, and it's kind of weird that it's a Mammal record, but it definitely has us reconsidering our verdict on past Mammal releases because this one is an absolute killer. Some sort of electronic flecked nihilist loner doom. Or something. This is most definitely filthy, noisy, and homebrewed, a doomed abject outsider electronic folk record, but with crushing guitars and drum machine. If you're not sold already, there must be something very wrong with you, but what the heck, let's just keep going.
The opener "Repulsion" is utter minimal metallic brilliance. A simple, super processed rhythm, relentless and repetitive, beneath a similarly monochromatic downtuned guitar riff, that occasionally is joined by another even heavier, crumblingly distorted guitar. And that's it. It just loops endlessly, the riffs cycling through some barely there melody, it's more about texture and timbre and groove, it sounds like a super slow motion robotic instrumental My Dad Is Dead, or even a little like Big Black at 16 rpm. It's totally gorgeous in its spare simplicity, and it somehow manages to convey all sorts of emotion through a single riff and a single rhythm. And as we've said about other tracks in the past, as far as we're concerned, that track could have been an hour long and been the only track on the record.
But the record's not instrumental, in fact most of the songs have vocals, a sort of mumbled deadpan drawl, the lyrics, super personal and intimate, a sort of abstract downer folk, the guitar wrapped delicately around the vocals, except for the inevitable crumbling doom guitar that comes in to drape a little filth and misery on the proceedings.
The rest of the record is a slow sick crawl, the drum machine spitting out a simple somehow stumbling beat, over slow corrosive swells of guitar, the vocals more like shadows, some of the songs are so skeletal they almost seem like sketches, which only serves to make them seem that much more fragile and intimate. The misleadingly named "Incinerator Ballad" is a 4 minute burst of white noise wrapped around a churning industrial pulse, a wall of hiss and static and blown out distortion, followed by the whispered buzz of "Lower Depths", a stretched out soundscape of tinny distorted guitar, detuned chords, whooshing ambience, and more stoned crooning. The record closes with the 15+ minute "Cremation", a gorgeous and super intense, super creepy synthscape, the synth buzzing and warbling, minor key melodies spread out into slabs of murky buzz, while way off in the distance, bits of guitar streak and soar, a psychedelic light show, barely visible against the grey sky of dusk, the synth eventually locking into a loop, and suddenly the sound is some fucked up lo-fi Tangerine Dream, but performed on thrift store keyboards and recorded on a microcassette recorder, eventually fading out, leaving just the sounds of night, crickets, other insects, wind, distant trains, mysterious voices, and single guitar, still moaning way off in the distance...
Absolutely unexpected and totally gorgeous. Features amazing and super intense black and white pencilled artwork by the Mammal himself.
So so so utterly recommended. Definite contender for record of the year...
A while ago we reviewed an incredible, and incredibly far out collection of strange electronic music from South Africa, the comp was called Shangaan Electro: New Wave Dance Music from South Africa, and boy did the music live up to the promise of that title. We described the sound as being part Congotronics, part Nintendo, part Omar Souleyman, part karaoke, sounds pretty weird and amazing, and it was, a huge favorite around here. Some of the coolest, weirdest most damaged and deliriously fucked up 'dance' music we had maybe ever heard.
So now comes another missive from that same scene, this one a gospel record, Shangaan electro-gospel to be precise, which already sounds amazing. Plaintive, moody emotional heartfelt vocals draped over simple skeletal Casio keyboard rhythms, looped whirring accordion like textures, goofy lo-fi 8 bit video game music and a weird wheezy whistle (which is a hallmark of Shangaan, and tweets throughout all the tracks here), and a much more traditional sounding chorus of female vocalists, providing gorgeous harmonies to accompany the main vocal, and the strange tweeting, wheezing, skittering music underneath.
It sounds really strange, and definitely a little goofy, but the music is hauntingly beautiful and quite mesmerizing, and the more you listen, the more you become utterly mesmerized, the sounds lulling and soothing and transporting, transcending the limitations of the instrumentation (if those are truly limitations, we're not so sure!), and creating something moving, emotional and truly spiritual.
Finally available again, the Death Waltz soundtrack to Frank Khalfoun's remake of the 1980 slasher/exploitation classic Maniac! The new version stars Elijah Wood, as the demented owner of a mannequin shop, who scalps women and attaches the purloined hair to his mannequins. The movie itself is interesting for how it was shot, so you never see the main character except in reflections, and you see his hands, via the killer's POV as he does his dirty work. Not nearly as gritty and grimy as the original, it's still pretty intense, and the soundtrack is fantastic. Definitely harkening to the soundtracks of old, John Carpenter of course, each track a mini epic, swirling, soaring synths, dark haunting melodies, pulsing motorik rhythms, shimmering crystalline chords, all blurry and gauzy, and hauntingly harrowing. The single named Rob who did the soundtrack is rumored to be one of the guys from Phoenix, although we couldn't find any definite corroboration. Some tracks, like "Haunted" sound a bit like a creepier, moodier M83 too, but the bulk of the tracks are very cinematic, minor key piano melodies, nestled amidst swirling synthscapes, some are super stripped down, and minimally kosmische, others are sort of new wave-y, very eighties style, as if an homage to the original film/era, and still others are weird assemblages of swirling FX and arpeggiated synth shimmer, all of them are fantastic, including a surprising closer, complete with female vocals, a sort of modern re-envisioning of eighties new wave pop, the sort of song that seemed to play under the credits of pretty much every movie in the eighties.
Definitely one of our favorite of the Death Waltz releases, so much so, that some aQ-ers tracked down copies overseas when the original disappeared and it seemed like maybe no more copies would make it to the US. So grab one while you can.
And like all Death Waltz releases, the packaging is exquisite, the cover a super striking and disturbing shot of mannequin heads (a still from the movie?), pressed on thick vinyl, the sleeve an old school heavy tip-on style jacket, includes a poster and liner notes, including notes from Rob himself. And yeah, as always, very limited as well! (If we thought it would be easy to get more of these, we'd have made it a Record Of The Week, by the way.)
Poor misunderstood Charlie Manson. Visionary, musician, troubador, murderer. Wait, one of those things he is not. Murderer. That's right, let's not forget that Manson committed no murders himself, it was his 'Family' that did 'em. Which of course insured that these recordings would be both way more infamous than they would be otherwise, but at the same time would be poison to any one who agreed to release them. Recorded a couple years before the Tate-LaBianca murders, these recordings have a rich convoluted history: it was rumored that the intended victim of the murders was in fact a record producer that rejected this record, and every producer approached to release them later recieved death threats, and it was later proven that much more succesful musicians than Manson had been taargeted for assasination! Phew. You'd never know it listening to this album. In fact, in a blind listening test, you'd be hard pressed to pick this out as the work of a soon to be incarcerated cult leader / mass murderer. Reverb drenched beatniky psychedelic freekfolk, sort of hippy and trippy but really pretty great. And Manson's voice is really nice, a little rough, a little raw, but warm and rich. The tracks range from gorgeous lilting dream folk to tripped out beatnik jams, to sixties psych rock, complete with bongos, acoustic guitar, strange clattery percussion, noodly electric leads, all with lots of delay and reverb giving the whole thing a rich shimmery vibe. Not all that surprising as Manson was BIG into music. Read any of the Brian Wilson / Beach Boys bios, and you'll find the Boys spending a great deal of time hanging with Manson, who seemd to always be a fixture at big Beach Boys bashes, and threw wild parties at his desert hideaway Spahn Ranch. And indie rockers have been obsessed with Manson Sings for years, always talking it up as a lost folk gem and sometimes even covering Manson's songs (the Lemonheads do a killer (sorry) version of "Home Is Where You're Happy").
Fans of the current crop of indie hippy forest folk, like Devendra, Feathers, Wooden Wand, Fursaxa and the like should realize, if they don't already, and whether they like it or not, that they have a freak folk father figure in the form of one Charles Manson...
This new version has extensive liner notes by Phil Kaufman, road manager of the Stones, Joe Cocker, Frank Zappa and others, ESP label honcho Bernard Stollman, as well as an interview with Manson himself.
It's nice to know that no matter how many records are reissued, or rare gems discovered, or mysterious private press releases rescued from oblivion, there will always be more. And even though sometimes we feel like the bottom of the reissue barrel has been reached, based on some dubious reissues, all it takes is a record like this, to remind us that there are truly some mind benignly fantastic records that have yet to be unearthed. And yeah, this is some truly next level, mind bending stuff. EVERYBODY here digs it, so we knew we had to make it a Record Of The Week, even though a week ago, we'd never heard of Mar-Vista. Sounds like of like a motel or something.
Originally a private press record, released in a run of just 200 copies in 1976, and packaged in blank white sleeves, and sold locally in France, this deliriously trippy and over the top chunk of French psychedelic synth prog is so good, and so weird, it really is one of those rare records, that's makes it hard to believe it could've remained lost for so long. Cuz really, anyone hearing this, would immediately freak out. We most definitely did. Apparently this duo was heavily influenced by minimalists like La Monte Young and Terry Riley, and krautrock combos like Ashra Tempel and Popol Vuh and while that's not actually bad band math when trying to describe Mar-Vista, the truth of the sound is so much stranger.
A single 41 minute song suite, separated into 6 movements, Visions Of Sodal Ye begins with primitive lo-fi drum machine (or drumming that sounds programmed), beneath whirring organs, fingerpicked acoustic guitars, droning synths and shimmering melodies, with laid back vox way down in the mix, not to mention some killer distorted psych guitar shred, the whole thing wrapped in warped sonic warble. There are plenty of weird production glitches, drop outs, and tape decay/damage from the original masters we would assume, but it only adds to the sound, a sound that soon blossoms into soaring kosmische synth swirls, anchored by more of those primitive drum machine like rhythms, and wreathed in what sounds like whipping winds, and jaw harp like spring melodies, more plink plonk, sing songy synths, and a fierce squall of psychedelic noise guitar. The movements merge into one sprawling epic, continuing with the coolest, creepiest track of the bunch, a dour, murky dirge, a tripped out sort of doom-kraut creep, with low buzzing synths, skittery rhythms, and multiple vocal lines, all wound up into a haunting, intense, organ and synth drenched lumber, that could be the weirdest heaviest French psych-prog jam EVER. That quickly (d)evolves into a cool, groovy sixties style psychedelic blow out, all cascading synth melodies, pulsing hip shaking rhythms, and super distorted theremin like squiggles over the top, before settling into some pulsating, cosmic shimmer, tinged with just a little bit new age, some serious synth prog that blossoms into awesome John Carpenter like soundtrackiness! The record/songsuite culminates in the final 21+ minute movement, a sprawling cinematic synth epic, a twisted dronescape of layered synths and extended tones, ominous and sinister, minor key and darkly malevolent, again, like it could be from the some lost Carpenter movie, all creepy slo-mo melodies, and crumbling textures, plenty of tension, haunting and shadowy and mysterious.
And generally bonus tracks are bonus tracks for a reason, cast offs, throw aways, songs that weren't good enough to make the cut, but not here, the two bonus tracks (found only on the cd!!) are crazy, and crazy cool, the first, "Synthetik Way", is a glistening, glimmering planetarium style cosmic synth workout, all lush, hushed and tranquil one second, then distorted and wildly psychedelic the next, while the second "Crash '73", is an impossibly trippy, surprisingly heavy psych rock jam, with in-the-red distorted guitar and skittery drumming, beneath a wild tangle of snake charmer synth shred, and a totally WTF twisted stuttery finale, which had us imagining a whole other record tucked away with more of this outsider synth-prog-psych weirdness�
So incredible, quite possibly the reissue of the year! Minimal liner notes, a reproduction of the original sleeve, but sadly somewhat flimsy packaging on the digipack cd...
The cd version is limited to 500 copies, the lp just 300.
What's in a name? Well, when the name of your band is Marblebog, and the name of your record is Csendhajnal, pretty much everything is in the name. We were sold before we'd even laid ears on it. But we're happy to report, the dark sorrowful sounds within more than live up to the bizarre monicker.
Marblebog specialize in that super fuzzy mournful black metal, midtempos and blurry hypnotic guitars, every track a slowly swinging seasick waltz, so completely droning and mesmerizing. The metal buried within churning clouds of thick murky ambience. The guitars not always sharp and jagged and buzzing, but sometimes just distant grumbles and whirs, buried beneath dense swirls of swooshing Tangerine Dream synths, while the drums sort of plod along waaaaaaaay back in the murk. And the vocals, woah, some of the most anguished, tortured, howling, damned-soul sort of howls we've ever heard, think Weakling, Silencer, Bethlehem, Sterbend, a near hysterical shrieking. But in Marblebog the vocals sound almost out of place, making them that much more harrowing and depressive. Imagine a lonely overgrown graveyard, weeds, flowers, ivy tangled in the bars of the wrought iron gates, the sky a dim grey, overcast, pregnant with the possibility of storm, the sound is not wind or birds or passing cars, instead it's a depressive dirge, not harsh or super aggressive, not even really buzzing, more a thick blanket of grey fuzz smothering everything in gorgeously miserable murkiness, then right in the middle of the graveyard, a mysterious figure is pushing his way through the dirt, a rotting creature of the night, crawling up from the grave, emitting a fowl hellish shriek of utter and absolute terror, while thick tendrils of graveyard mist swirl up around him, the vocals a glaring and harrowing blight on the otherwise peaceful (yet still dark and depressing) world of the dead.
The vocal-less tracks on Csendhajnal are downright lovely, slow, meandering synthscapes, of low end melodic miserablism, and slow drifting dark shimmer, like a more ambient Skepticism or Burzum, some haunting, otherworldly new age dooooom. But even the more properly metal tracks here are imbued with the same sort of new age dreaminess and slow motion, end of the world doominess. So awesome.
This disc collects the debut cd (from back in 2003) from this Hungarian horde and tacks on a whole bunch of killer extra tracks including the Nostalgic Moods In Grimwoods demo from 2002, the Arhat promo from 2002, and the rehearsal track "Hatefullmoon" from 2003, most of which were released as super limited tapes and/or splits. Killer cover art too!!!
SUPER LIMITED! 555 copies, each disc hand numbered!
Finally available again, the gorgeous all ambient second album from Hungary's Marblebog, who on other records (which we gushed about on past aQ lists) combined bits of ambient drone with their mournful black buzz, but for Wind Of Moors, they jettisoned all traces of metal completely, and in their place, crafted a gorgeous slow moving world of drifting melancholy ambience. Very krautrocky, and quite reminiscent of Klaus Schulze, Popol Vuh and the like, the opening track is soft and sun dappled, gentle muted bongos, beneath a constant low level raga like buzz, soft synth swells, shimmering streaks of ethereal whir, a gorgeous laid back sprawl of nearly new age mesmer.
The next track is even lighter and dreamier, chords smeared into shadows as they drift by, chords suspended in soft swirls of sound, the notes, floating weightless, a breathless whisper of a song.
The third track has a bit of muted propulsion, a gentle heartbeat like pulse, beneath some thick, but still soft, buzz, a gorgeous minor key melody played out in high end tones, draped over the droning blurred raga below, so completely entrancing and hypnotic. Slightly ominous, dark clouds drifting across a steel blue sky, but still, the vibe is more like a forest just before the storm, hauntingly calm but still slightly uneasy.
The final track is the darkest of the bunch, a creeping sonic fog, layered melodies, gauzy and shimmering, slowly drifting, casting dark shadows, filling the speakers with dead leaves and cold rain. A chilling, but mysteriously lovely bit of dreamlike sound.
Sweden's black metal panzer division get the box they always deserved. Two full cds of rare, unreleased and re-recorded goodies spanning their entire career. Plus a live video and a booklet with tons of photos and lyrics. This one's definitely just for
The mighty metal panzer divsion return with a vengeance, to lay waste to all poseurs in their path. Marduk's buzzing and blazing-fast black metal is fully intact, but this time around, it's tempered with lots of droning mid tempos and old school eighties metal riffs making for a pretty great 21st century black metal/80's thrash hybrid.
For a band much loved by the metalheads around these parts, there's a serious dearth of Marduk albums on the AQ site. Only four out of maybe a dozen full lengths. WTF? No excuse, other than just too much amazing metal to cover...
So let's try to right that wrong!�We meant to get going on Marduk reviews again when Mortuus from Funeral Mist joined on vocals. We couldn't think of a better combo, the blazing buzz of Panzer Division Marduk, and the grim frosty howl from Funeral Mist, but it seemed most long time fans were super bummed on the change, we however were not. Even though we never got around to reviewing 2004's Plague Angel, it ranks as one of our favorite Marduk records.�
So for those new to Marduk, the thing with them, is they are fast. Really fast. Furious, relentless, the embodiment of pure black buzz. Lots of folks found the band to be boring because of the lightspeed blur the band seemed to constantly inhabit, but we reveled in their blazing blackness. So we were pretty surprised by this latest disc, sure the band had dabbled in midtempos in the past, even a bit of dirge here and there, but Rom 5:12 is pretty heavy on the midtempo Burzumic buzz, and even the doomy downtuned plod, but fear not those chunks of blackness are surrounded on all sides by that classic ultrafast Marduk buzz.�
The opening track is all spacious and mathy, even post rocky, sounding not unlike recent Deathspell Omega, lots of gnarled squalls of blackness amidst almost groovy black riffing. The second track though returns Marduk to more familiar ground, but not for long. Check out track three. "Imago Mortis", it's downright pretty, sort of major key, with huge sweeping melodies, a dirgey dramatic breakdown in the middle, and a pounding groove laden back half, all complex and mathy, but not at all blazing fast. The weird thing is it really suits them. It makes the perfect balance for the blinding lightning strike of the other more typically furious and fast numbers.�
Probably the coolest song on Rom 5:12 is "Accuser/Opposer", which features�Alan Averill aka Naihmass Nemtheanga from Primordial and Void Of Silence, who adds a whole 'nother dimension with his throaty wailing clean vocals, sounding quite a bit like Mike Scalzi from Slough Feg at moments, wrap your head around that, Slough Feg vocals over dirgey Marduk, hell yeah.�
What else to say? This totally rules, much more varied than past releases, but still with plenty of ultra fast fury and black buzzing blast, but with a whole lot more going on. Definitely one of our favorite Marduk discs...
The return of black metal legends, Panzer Division Marduk and their one speed. VERY VERY FAST. Seems most metalheads who don't like Marduk, just get bored because with the exception of a record/song here and there, Marduk pick a tempo and stick to it. And that tempo is almost always faster than a speeding bullet. But if you're in the mood for some hyper fast, hyper produced, christ hating, poser smashing black metal, then this may just hit the spot. I personally LOVE Marduk and have been listening to this record a bunch.
MPEG Download: "With Satan And Victorious Weapons" [/audio/mardukvictorious.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "With Satan And Victorious Weapons" [/audio/mardukvictorious.m3u]
In the beginning, Swedish black metal horde Marduk were a special breed, a sonic panzer division onslaught, that mostly consisted of locking into a riff, dropping in an insanely fast blast beat, and then letting rip, rarely veering from their course. Fast and furious and heavy. Lots of folks thought they were boring, but for us, the sound of Marduk was transcendent, mesmerizing, hypnotic, cyclical, it was trancelike, and we loved it.
The something changed, and Marduk began to morph into something new, something much less one dimensional (even though it was a great dimension), their sound began to drift more toward the avant garde side of BM, becoming more gnarled and convoluted and fucked up, where was once old school classic Swedish blackness, aligned with the Scandinavian pantheon, was now some strange modern avant black weirdness, now more in line with groups like Deathspell Omega, Funeral Mist and the like, which make sense considering Funeral Mist vocalist Mortuus joined the group right around this shift.
And while we still hold the old Marduk records near and dear to our hearts, it's hard to deny the twisted beast Marduk has become, especially considering how much the BM envelope has been pushed lately, Marduk may be old guard, but they've stepped up and put most of the new guard to shame.
2007's Rom 5:12 was a totally twisted game changer, bumming out lots of old time fans, but reinvigorating the group, and turning on a whole new legion of fans enmeshed in the more progressive side of BM, which has all lead to this, easily the best Marduk record yet. Certainly the weirdest, and catchiest, the same folks who hated Rom 5:12 will probably hate this one too, unless they've finally come to their senses, for the rest of us, it's a chance to dig in to an incredibly dense and bizarre record by a band at the top of their game.
There's plenty of furious blasting blackness on Wormwood, it's just that there's so much more, and even when the band is blasting blackly, they're still twisting it all up. After a creepy intro the band explode into a frenzy of super complex convoluted thrashing, the riffs are strange, atonal, warped, the arrangement is incredible, with the band stopping and starting, lurching wildly, slipping into a doomy creep, only to launch right back into it, the sound is MASSIVE, there's bass all over the place (in a notoriously bass-less genre), Mortuus' vocals are SICK, an inhuman gurgling rasp, and the riffs amazing, wild and tangled and melodic, it's 3 minutes for Marduk, but for other bands it would be a whole record. Which leads right into the seasick lumber of "Funeral Dawn", with an almost industrial martial vibe, soaring epic and melodic, the main melody impossibly catchy, while streaks of noise swirl around the riffs, there's even a breakdown where Mortuus's sick vox are laid over a thick undulating bassline, the resulting sound is like a blackened Laibach.
"The Fleshy Void" is a 3 minute hyperblast of black intensity, still tangled and warped, but impossibly heavy and fast, giving way to the super creepy "Unclosing The Curse", all tolling bells and pulsing bass, abstract guitar chords, and hateful vokills, spare and spaced out and super ominous.
Wormwood is not inherently a 'weird record', it's not fucked up and freaky the way Furze or Necrofrost are - the weirdness here, the strange song structures, the freaked out non black parts, the fucked up samples, the drones, the doomy breakdowns, they're all seamlessly integrated into Marduk's sound, for every blast of Swedish blackness, there's some soaring melodic almost NWOBHM sounding melody, for every stretch of doomy pound, there's some gurgly bass heavy creep, the whole record is twisted, but subtly so, it's not about being weird or fucked up, it's about making a truly original piece of black art, which by its very nature IS both fucked up and weird. But the fact that's not the be all end all, keeps Wormwood from being gimmicky, instead it's a fierce and furious ultra heavy black metal record, with lots of twists and turns, which in a nutshell, means quite possible black metal record of the year for sure.
Surprise solo album by Mark Deutrom, the cowboy-hatted Melvins bass player through their Atlantic years (on "Stoner Witch", "Stag", etc.). He also produced some early Melvins stuff like their "Ozma" masterpiece. On this disc, the man plays everything
The classic Masada lineup (Zorn, Douglas, Baron, Cohen) hits us with yet another recording. Yeah, if like us you're into Zorn's group and their trademark Ornette-meets-Klezmer jazz then you've probably got a shelf already groaning under the weight of their other releases, but that's no reason to pass up another, especially this one, 'cause it's super. Masada is really one of the best modern jazz combos going, and "Live In Sevilla" is proof enough (and a great starting-point for the Masada virgin). Includes a bad-ass drum solo from the godlike Joey Baron.
It's becoming really hard to creatively describe records by John Zorn's Klezmer-bop ensemble Masada, especially considering this is record number twenty or something. Every record sounds quite similar, but by the same token, every record is absolutely
Rev it up! The Maserati boys are back with another compact disc installment of their instrumental, exceedingly rhythmic post rock, and unlike some bands who have run afoul of corporate intellectual property lawyers (Pansonic, Kleenex, Bipolaroid, etc.), they still haven't been sued by the manufacturers of the Italian sports car from whom they borrow their name (though perhaps it's also an obscure Ted Nugent lyrical reference? let's hope not). Probably the suits at the automaker Maserati's headquarters realize that this band's music is free, excellent advertising for their product!
This is definitely -driving- music, sometime a pleasant Sunday drive, sometimes a white knuckle ride over the speed limit, always propulsive, hypnotically repetitive, but dynamic as well. "Join Us, Mystic Sister" is a brief, ecstatic intro, that shines forth and then segues smoothly into "No More Sages", with its vaguely metallic, chucka-chucka guitars, motorik beats, and washes of shoegazery distortion. Other cuts venture further into purely kosmische, krautrock inspired territory, like the minimalist all-synth pulsations of "Thieves".
There's 8 tracks on this 40 minute disc, three of them remixes. However, all but two of the tracks previously appeared on limited edition, now out of print vinyl releases. The first four cuts are from Maserati's side of their 12" split with Zombi that we were never able to get enough of to list. And two of the remixes, by DFA's Tim Goldsworthy and !!!'s Justin Van Der Volgen, are from the Inventions Remixes 12". Both really dance it up, accentuating the cosmic disco vibe that Maserati already possess. The other remix, of a spacier take of this disc's "Monoliths", was done by Zombi's Steve Moore, and is exclusive to this release, as is album closer "Do You Hear The Nightbirds Calling You?". And if all that wasn't enough, this cd is further enhanced by the presence of two pretty cool Quicktime video clips. One's live, the other a cute, partly animated music video demonstrating Maserati's potential as workout music.
As always, VERY recommended for fans of Zombi, Trans Am, Circle, Salvatore, Tussle, Nisennenmondai, SF's own Jonas Reinhardt, and other likeminded coked up post rockers.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
One of the best new releases on Man's Ruin in a while! This debut cd by Germany's Mass will definitely appeal to fans of Melvins, Boris, and similar paragons of avant-metallic heaviness. The opening track "White Light Yellow Pt. One" establishes the band's inital juggernaut similarity to the Melvins, but as the album progresses, so does Mass, incorporating the judicious use of keyboards, non-distorted vocals, and other unusual moves -- really blossoming into something original, devastating, and addictive. The closing instrumental 'cover' of funkmaster Larry Graham's "Earthquake" puts the perfect finishing touch on this quality album. Featuring the former rhythm section of the underrated and unsung Nonoyesno (although the sound of Mass is very different). Recommended! Also, this disc's artwork, while simple, is a cut above what we have come to expect from Man's Ruin's usual 'I stole this off the net, and made it different colors' lazy artistic re-appropriation.
It's not everyday you hear samples of Hitler speeches and Nazi Marches over a pulsating glammy space groove next to an even wackier freaked out French version of Napoleon XIV's "They're Coming To Take Me Away". Throw in some warped 60's beat pop, zany space prog and the weirdest but most sublimely cosmic disco tracks you have never heard, and you are somewhat closer to wrapping your head around the skewed production genius of Jean-Pierre Massiera. Starting his career in the south of France and relocating to Montreal in the seventies, Massiera, best known for Les Maledictus Sound, a holy-grail record for collectors of sixties psyche-exotica freakiness has continued to explore for the past 40 years all manner of spacey and unhinged pop and dance grooves through a myriad of single-based projects, the best of collected on these two volumes. Like a surrealist Serge Gainsbourg mixed with Gong, Cerrone and Zolar X, Massiera never concerned himself with record industry pressures or making fame or fortune off his production efforts but instead used the studio to explore his love of surrealism, off-beat humor and some coke-addled (we presume) cosmic fantasy. Each record comes with a code to download mp3's and a bonus track.
The Discoid volume begins with Sex Conventions' "Toi Qui Reve de Baisers", a funky groover that owes much of its success to Dennis Coffey's "Scorpio" as they share similar riffs and breaks. Native American, and Brazilian rhythms come through on tracks by Herman's Rocket (who were also on the first volume) and Brasa Brasil & Helena. While Human Egg gives us "Onomatopaiea", a hypnotic vocal-only rhythm chant and the cosmic disco epic "Love Like This" that any DJ with a penchant for Italo or electro-funk should get this volume for that track alone! Of course The Starlights "Mao Mao" along with tracks by Mickey and Joyce and Venus Gang also make this essential for crate diggers and beatheads and freaky music collectors of all types. Psychoses Indeed!
Plenty has been written about, and a handful of recordings exist of the Master Musicians of Joujouka, due in no small part to the attention lavished on them by Brian Jones of the Rolling Stones who along with other musical wisdom seekers travelled to Marrakesh to record, play with and learn from the Master Musicians. And it's easy to see why from their intricate tribal drumming, soaring chanting vocals, trilling woodwinds, all very primal and inspiring. The three tracks from the Master Musicians are gorgeous, free and totally moving. But it's the Gnoua Brotherhood Of Marrakesh who knocked our socks off when we first threw this disc on. The Gnoua have an amazing sound, stringed instruments that sound like downtuned guitars, strangely heavy, warm and rich, buzzing and droning, lots of low overtones, riffing repetitively and hypnotically, with simple hand drums and rhythmic clapping, and then eventually joined by the raspy tribal chants of a main vocalist, and echoed by a chorus of complimentary voices. Sounds like some ultra pure, unadulterated early form of the blues. Which it basically is. Hard to describe (listen to the first sound sample) but that low droning strum is just so totally mesmerizing. As hypnotic and heavy as Earth or SUNN0))) or any of those modern guitar drone outfits, but accomplished without the aid of thousand watt amps and pick ups, just fingers and strings. Amazing.
How can you resist a hyperbolically boastful black metal title like Barbaric Usurpation Of The Hypereonic Black Metal Throne? Andee's tUMULt label continues to dig deep into the Bay Area black metal underground, after introducing the rest of the world to such USBM luminaries as Weakling, Leviathan, Draugar and Crebain, now prepare yourself to bow before the mighty Mastery. Another one man band, known (not so) simply as Domignostika, who also does time as vocalist in local corpse painted horde Pale Chalice, as well as being the one man behind the only REAL one man black metal band (as in he plays guitar and sings while playing blast beats with his feet) Pandiscordian Necrogenesis, and who had previously played bass and sung for the late great Horn Of Dagoth (which also featured members of Crebain and Kerasphorus), Mastery is Domignostika's long running project, which over the last six years released 5 extremely limited cd-r demos, all of which are collected here, remastered, and widely available outside of the Bay Area for the very first time.
Barbaric Usurpation Of The Hypereonic Black Metal Throne? A serious claim of musical supremacy? A tongue in cheek poke at the constant battle for supreme grimness and kvltness, or taking the piss? Hard to tell, but considering the sheer brutality and relentless buzz of Mastery's frenzied black onslaught, we're leaning toward that title being a serious claim. After a strange, ambient intro, a sort of John Carpenter-ish bit of creeped out synthscapery, Mastery launches into the most recent demo, from 2009, the simply titled 'I' (all the tracks here a confusionally titled with Roman numerals), a frantic, frenzied freak out of swirling chaotic black buzz, a sound that at first blush sounds like some bastard hybrid of Inquisition and Vondur and Ocrilim. Six plus minutes of relentless gnarled buzzing, the vocals a sinister beastly croak, the drums a furious buried blast, but it's the guitars, insanely tangled and twisted, not so much riffs as a continuous serious of constantly mutating rapidfire runs, with much of the 'riffing' sounding more like multiple guitars maniacally soloing, spitting off pick harmonics and jagged squeals without ever looking back. Minus the drums and the vokills, this could definitely be some sort of avant experimental guitar record, but as it is, it becomes a demented slab of blurred, blown out, frenzied and fucked up black metal weirdness. The second track is way heavier on the low end, but no less flipped out, the riffing impossibly hyper, once again a swirling chaos of gnarled blackness and nearly psychedelic abstract avant shreddery. Mastery is total berzerker black metal, rooted in the tradition of true grim blackness, but filtered through Mastery's cracked perception, transforming this into something beyond true, a droned out and damaged, outsider blackness, that sounds pretty much unlike almost any other black metal.
Sure on the surface, it's blast and buzz, but as you sink into these extended black sprawls, the songs seem to unfold, and expand, buzzing blackness that blossoms into something wholly other, in such a way, that one has to fight the urge to try and figure out how these songs work, or how they're arranged, they sound almost improvised, but they're impossibly dense, and the arrangement, however esoteric, seems to be structured, but in some way that out pitiful human brains can not hope to comprehend.
Of course the newest demo is the most polished, but the older demos, for what they lack in polish, they seem to make up for in sheer whatthefuckness, demo four is another series of black blasts that twist and turn, and mutate before your ears, a glancing listen will reveal some of THEE fastest and most furious BM you may have heard, but again, the riffs seem to be constantly twisting and turning, the vocals to, hateful and harsh as befitting BM, but also completely baffling and utterly alien. But demo 3, a single 33 minute epic is something else entirely, with much of the record being made up of glitched out, harrowing black ambience, crunchy and distorted, with howled raspy vox, when the guitar do kick in, the buzz and drone, with the drums sounding almost electronic, looped way down in the mix, the sound weirdly hypnotic, before slipping into something slightly more black, and then back into some creepy ambience, before launching into a long stretch of blown out black majesty, which like much of the record, as much to offer upon deep listening, revealing all manner of hidden melody, lush textures, and most notably some strange strange riffs, this track in particular, though adding a super mesmerizing trancelike element, which is in fact present throughout all the demos, in lesser measure.
The second disc is made up of the first two demos, and thus finds Mastery at their (his?) most traditionally black metal, but again, it's all relative, so while much of this disc is spent chugging and blasting, raw and grim, all brittle buzz and brutal blast, the twisted sounds that would come to define Mastery's baffling sound begin to surface, strange gnarled riffs, some cool drum/guitar interplay, plenty of wild tangled squiggle guitar weirdness (especially on the first track of demo 2), which mixes in maniacally shredding guitars with more o that tranced/droned out atmosphere, not to mention some of the most anguished vokills yet, the whole collection finishing with the downright doomy final track from the second demo, a crumbling super distorted death march, with somehow even MORE anguished vocals, a woozy, washed out, blackened plod, that explodes in the final two minutes for one final burst of blasting, maniacal, demoniac blackness.
Killer black, red and white space / wolf / spacewolf cover art.
"Lifesblood" is the debut from Atlanta's Mastodon, and we have to say that this 5-song ep has us eagerly awaiting their upcoming full-length! Crushing riffs and rhythms, punishing drums, and razorsharp lead guitar...they play math-rock metalcore worthy of a
Amazing, very METAL metalcore is what Atlanta's Mastodon crank out. These guys used to be in AQ-faves Today Is The Day, which is quite obvious when you hear 'em. They're heavy, aggressive, technical, and -- most importantly -- imaginative. Already up there with the likes of Coalesce and Converge in our estimation. Mastodon seems even more metal than those metalcore worthies, though.
Maybe it's how the guitarist is partial to spitting out those Zakk Wylde-style harmonic squeals. Or maybe it's simply the crushing, crunching, complex riffs and drumming. But there's also some quite pretty melody to be found amidst Mastodon's math n' mayhem, and they have an almost 'post-rock' sense of dynamics (something most 'extreme' metal acts lack). Imagine your favorite old AmRep noise-rock act gone metal...or, Dazzling Killmen mixed with The Champs? Something like that. Also, they cut back on the movie samples that cluttered up their otherwise awesome debut ep (as per our suggestion?). Very impressive.
As we mentioned in the review of the MSV 7" a while back, for a genre that seems to be the NEXT BIG THING, actual physical recordings are surprisingly difficult to come by. Which is maybe the point, much of the musical output comes in the form of tracks on SoundCloud, videos on YouTube, as super limited cd-r's or downloads, and most of the bands have names that are essentially un-Googlable, all symbols and shapes, A's become little black triangles, or three stylized crosses becomes 'Ritualz', etc, hard not to become intrigued, or obsessed, and we most definitely seem to be both.
Salem was the first glimpse the mainstream world got of this strange new genre, a sound that somehow melded blown out lo-fi synths, minimal electro, twisted samples, old school goth, minimal techno, slowed down Southern style chopped and screwed hip hop, choral vox, big beats, into something distorted and murky yet weirdly epic, a sound that the creators described as Witch House, but has also been dubbed grave rave, zombie rave, cave rave and is sometimes lumped in with nu-gaze and chill wave and other outsider electronic micro genres. And Salem is the shit, hell, we made it our Record Of The Week, how could we not, it was and IS one of the coolest record of the last few years. But if Salem are the young witch house upstarts, ramshackle punks legendary for their chaotic live performances, yet who somehow managed to make what is possibly THEE defining record of the genre, and if groups like oOoOO and Balam Acab are crafters of a witch house that is more melodic and dancefloor friendly, then Mater Suspiria Vision are like some mysterious bearded witch house council, the masters of the scene, black cloaked figures that live in a cave somewhere, never glimpsed in the flesh, only via their transmissions, mostly amazing, twisted, fantastically fucked up YouTube videos, mini horror epics, always accompanied by MSV's dirgey, haunting soundtracks, often releasing 3 or 4 in a single day. No idea where these guys are from (Kabul?), if it's one person or a group, male or female, the mystery only adds to the appeal, the imagery, the videos, and the music, which even in a genre defined by it's 'witchiness' manages to be seriously dark, and grim, creepy and scary.
Originally released as a super limited cassette tape, Crack Witch has now been resurrected on vinyl, by the newly launched Living Tapes label (run by the guy from outsider black metal weirdos Yoga by the way), and is probably the best witch house document since Salem's King Night. But MSV's witch house is something else all together, something all together more EVIL sounding, not sure if it's that they're conceived to accompany videos, but they also tend to be super cinematic, just check out the opener "Call Of The Witches", thick buzzing ominous synths, strange snippets of foreign language dialogue, strange spaced out stuttery beats, a stumbling groove, terrified shrieks, sobbing and weeping, everything reverby and echoey, and then an awesome dizzying blast of strange processed melodies, backward synths, almost like Teenage Filmstars style witch house, totally tripped out and seriously sonically scary.
"Evil House Of Forbidden Fruit" offers up big echoey beats, strange heavily effected vocals, the sound super distorted and crumbly, stuttery and rhythmic, underneath mysterious melodies swell, subtle synths pulse, all building to a crunchy corrosive climax. "House Of 7 Witches" is all swirly and shimmery by comparison, until the shimmer is buried beneath an avalanche of heavily delayed beats, and buzzing synth squelch, the beats getting louder and more distorted, careening back and forth, eventually totally obscuring all the other sounds. Finally, side one finishes of with the much more subdued "Wtxchs (A Suite Of Decay), with a low slung groove, wreathed in skitter and hiss, crackle and buzz, and some ominous reverbed female vocals courtesy of someone called Shazzula, the result a sort of warped witchy Portishead, downtempo and lo-fi, a grim ghostly ballad, that quickly splinters into a noise drenched cacophony, all thick synth buzz and glitched out electronics, buried vox, swirling effects, all draped over a skeletal beat, buried in the mix, a lurching dubnoise creep.
All of side 2 is taken up by the 24 minute epic "Trip 2012", a darkly cinematic epic, cobbled together from what sounds like bits of film music, as well as snippets of dialogue, but super reverby and echoey, like a sonic fun house mirror, it's not until about 3 minutes in that the synth drops, a thick, buzzing, snarly bit of wheezing chordal crunch, the various shards of delay and echo coalescing into a sort of beat, again weirdly reminding us of the most far out Teenage Filmstars jams, a sprawling, dubbed out dronescape, every single note, every melody, every voice, transformed by malfunctioning effects into streaks of otherworldly sound, like a way more dubbed out Wolf Eyes in places, a sort of heaving, crumbling industrial crunch, but way more spaced out, and ominous, more creepy and cinematic, and WAY more witchy.
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES! Super striking eye popping full color covers.
A customer turned us on to the Mausoleums, a super distorted buzz drenched experimental 'black metal' combo, which we later discovered was in fact an aQuarius mailorder customer! Small world for sure. But even if we had no idea who the heck this was, we would still be suitably blown away.�
You think Wold and Velvet Cacoon know a thing or two about buzz and distortion, well, those guys have nothing on the Mausoleums...
It's hard to even quantify how blown out and buzzy the sound is here, it might make more sense to reference Japanese noise music cuz this almost sounds like straight up super distorted speaker melting N.O.I.S.E., on the surface at least. Until you notice a roiling whirlpool of blackened riffing and howled vocalizing, just beneath all that harsh hiss and brutal buzz. It's almost like Ildjarn or Beherit recorded by Masonna and produced by Merzbow. Blasting and relentless, face melting fury, guitars so distorted they sound like they might crumble into jagged shards, drums that sound like bursts of white noise, but all deftly shaped into riffs and songs and chunks of seriously scalding blackened metal.�
But then the band will unleash something like "Cicada", a gorgeous�loping slowcore jam, again doused with delay�and buried under a layer of distorted grit, but strangely lovely, with a bit of melancholy twang mixed in.�
Or the freaked out blackpsych blast of "Joan Of Arc" a track that sounds like a dense slab of pure black buzz and howl, until suddenly a�gorgeous chunk of indie jangle surfaces, still dripping with distorted buzz, but so goddamn dreamy and melodic, like an even more distorted damaged My Bloody Valentine,�the drums and cymbals so corroded and decayed, they balance out the dreamy jangle. Elsewhere, riffs are dipped in molten hellfire and pushed all the way�into the red, crumbling distortion is draped over lilting minor key guitar, strange Greg Ginn-ish angular guitars are twisted and melted down into more black buzz...
And while the majority of the record is some of the filthiest, blackest buzzingest metal you'll ever hear, the buzzing blackness is split up by all sorts of unlikely and not that black jams, the strangely skeletal Stereolab-ish post rock of "Lenin Not Lennon", the creepy black electro (replete with strangely Beatles-esque guitar) of "Insignificance", the metalized buzz wrapped Neu!-isms of "Running Through The Reeds", the warbly organ flecked garage stomp of "I Guess I'm Like A Prince, Maybe" and the Spacemen 3 like druggy drone of "Like A Prince", all seemingly out of place, but when listened to as a whole, seem to perfectly balance the extreme brutal buzz of the rest of the disc.�
Maybe too fucked up and far out for most metal heads, but folks into super damaged heaviness, and freaked out whatthefuck metal will dig this BIG TIME.�
When we listed the Maximo Park ep a few lists back, in the review we proclaimed that if only it had been a full length it would have been record of the week for sure. Well, here we are a few months later, and what do ya know? Maximo Park is record of the week. It wasn't a done deal though, not at all. That first four-song ep was so perfect, Interpol meets XTC, flawless angular pop, we listened to it non-stop. So much so that when we first threw this on, it didn't quite live up to our expectations. Those first four songs from the ep set the bar pretty high. Maybe too high. But like all great records, each subsequent listen offered us more, and revealed each song to be even catchier than the one before. A Certain Trigger has quickly become the pop record of the year for us. Hyperbole? Maybe, but we just can't stop listening to this record. As we've mentioned many times before, we fought tooth and nail against this whole new wave dance punk revival, but a good band is a good band. What can you do? And ya know, we dug Interpol, Franz Ferdinand, Kaiser Chiefs, but hell if Maximo Park doesn't trounce them all. They do have "the sound", that sort of jagged off kilter post punk pop that will ensure that they get lumped in with the flavors of the month. But the songs here are so much more timeless sounding. Unlike the loads of bands just aping Gang Of Four, Maximo Park sound like their own band, sure they share some sonic elements, but they sound like they could have easily existed in 1980 as much as 2005. And they draw their inspiration not only from the obvious, Gang Of Four, XTC, Interpol, but also incorporate the moody dramatic electropop of Ultravox, the gloomy buzz and burn of Joy Division, and even bouncy eighties power pop, with super fuzzed out synths, kinetic new wave rhythms, and of course MP frontman Paul Smith's immediately engaging vocals. The songs are bouncy and poppy, but manage to be dark and minor key and edgy enough to give the whole record an intense emotional buzz. Two songs from the ep are present, our pop song of the year "Apply Some Pressure" and the XTC worshipping "The Coast Is Always Changing" (you can hear samples of both with the review of the "Apply Some Pressure" ep), but there are plenty of new classics that have been getting repeat play here like crazy. The massively catchy "Now I'm All Over The Shop" with its pounding piano and weirdly arpeggiated rhythm, and a vocal melody that literally gives us chills, like that one song on a mixtape that makes you want to either smash everything to bits or run across town to declare your true love. And then there's the bouncy XTC count-by-numbers pop of "The Night I Lost My Head" with its angelic background Oooo's and a weird stop start chorus, and the gloomy bass driven "Once, A Glimpse" with it's chiming guitars, tribal rhythms and guitar heavy refrain and the gorgeously languid "Acrobat" that sounds like an updated version of Ultravox's "Vienna". So pretty. All of A Certain Trigger is totally classic sounding, enough that it was tough to pick which songs to make sound samples for. So yeah, all you folks who froth at the mouth for every band that has any of that Killers / Franz Ferdinand / Bloc Party sound going on will probably love this record, but it's way more than just another one of -those- bands. Maximo Park are an amazing pop band, and this is an amazing pop record, with enough sonic precedents to make it feel familiar and classic, but enough new stuff going on and enough killer classic songs to make it one of our favorite new records. Period.
For a limited time, a bonus disc is included featuring 7 tracks recorded live in Japan!
Interpol meets XTC. What could be better? Not much if you ask us. Yet another band in the moody eighties new wave revival dance party (Futureheads, Killers, Bloc Party, Interpol, etc...) a genre we tried desperately to steer clear of, but what can we do? Band after band keep managing to take that totally played out sound and infuse it with new found energy, punk rock snarl and killer killer songs. The first track here "Apply Some Pressure" is easily the single of the year. Angular shards of guitar, insistent tribal drumming, and a hook that just won't quit. All topped off by a halftime, arpeggiated chorus that is absolutely PERFECT. One of the few songs of late that we just listen to over and over and over and over. But then track two is almost just as good, and it's then that Maximo Park's XTC worship becomes totally (and perfectly) obvious. Herky jerky rhythms over swoonsome guitar melodies, warm warbly synths and brainy lyrics (they even rhyme 'lost' with 'riposte'!). Tack on two more amazing tracks and you've got the most brutal tease of an ep in recent memory. Four songs in eleven minutes leaving you desperate for more More MORE. If this was a full length it may very well have been record of the week. As it is, fans of Interpol, the Strokes, the Futureheads, the Killers and all that sort of stuff should get all over this.
We made the first Maximo Park record of the week and here we are two years later and it still gets daily plays. An impossible hooky combination of new wave swagger and classic dour pop, Interpol meets XTC is how we described it, and that was pretty much spot on. Maybe a bit more modern and a lot more caffeinated. So we were counting the days until this here disc dropped, and it's everything we had hoped for. Not as immediately as catchy, and a little bit more introspective, but after repeated listens, Our Earthly Pleasures has blossomed into THE POP RECORD OF THE YEAR. We sort of gushed endlessly about the first record, so you might just want to head over to that review (A Certain Trigger) and see what we had to say, and heck, while you're there, if you don't already own it, you might was well add it to your cart. All the folks who flip over stuff like the Kaiser Chiefs and Franz Ferdinand and the Killers will probably love this too. But the rest of you, who couldn't quite get into the whole new wave revival (like us) might just find yourself digging this anyway. It's more classic pop sounding than the current wannabe Gang Of Four sound... Smart pop, with killer hooks, crunchy guitars, playful piano, and some super clever / funny / wry lyrics. Epic sweeping melodies, killer chunks of fuzzy synths, some electronic squiggles here and there, but ultimately perfect pop through and through.
From the super anthemic "Girls Who Play Guitars", to the lilting minor key new wave miserablism of "Books From Boxes", to the sweeping dramatic epic-ness of "Karaoke Plays" to the surprise gem of the record "Nosebleed", tucked away in the second half of the record, featuring the unforgettable line "Did we go too far? Is that why your nose is bleeding?" that you'll find yourself humming to yourself all the time. Every track here is impossibly catchy, packed with hook after hook, amazing harmonies, clever turns of phrase, all wrapped up tight into some of the catchiest, most perfect kick ass pop we've ever heard. And if it even needed to be said again: POP RECORD OF THE YEAR!
No point in being coy or beating around the bush. Might as well come right out and fess up (as if the aQ list faithful didn't already know). We LOVE this band, ever since the Apply Some Pressure cdep released way back in 2005, and every record since. Sure, A Certain Trigger might be their best record, but we dug Our Earthly Pleasures BIG time. It was definitely a grower, but it didn't take long for it to end up a daily play. Same thing with Quicken The Heart, at first we weren't sure what to think, we're always sort of hoping that MP will return to the hyper caffeinated Interpol meets XTC sound of that first record and come up with another song that rivals the impossibly kinetic hook filled jam that is "Apply Some Pressure", but just like with Our Earthly Pleasures, after a few listens we no longer found ourselves wishing for that sound of old, we just let these new songs wash over us, and with every listen they blossom more and more, and now at least half of the songs here rank as some of our favorite MP jams. Jangly new wavey guitars, propulsive drumming, buzzy synths, and killer vocals, amazing melodies, and hooks galore. There's only bum in the bunch, and weirdly enough it's the first single, hearing that before the record showed up had us a bit worried, but now that it's here, we just skip that song (and heck, even that one is growing on us) and play the shit out of the rest of the record. Killers, Franz Ferdinand, Interpol, Kaiser Chiefs, Arctic Monkeys, Nine Black Alps, we love all those bands, but there's just something about Maximo Park that makes them our favorite.
We get so spoiled working in a record store, we know what records are coming out months before they do, and we sometimes get them a few days ahead of time, it does make you less excited, how you were as a teenager, but every time there's a new Maximo Park record, we find ourselves counting the days, and then heading to work on that Tuesday knowing that it'll show up sometime that day. That's a cool feeling, one we miss for sure, and one that is evoked by a surprisingly few bands. Needless to say, this record rules, if you're in the market for some smart, angular, new wave-y pop, you couldn't do much better than Quicken The Heart.
People have been freaking out about the Mayyors for ages now. Before we had even heard them, we knew we HAD to hear them, cuz that's what everyone we knew was telling us. Then we were lucky enough to get them to play our South By Southwest showcase, and whattayaknow? Everyone was right. They destroyed, wild and punk rock, and a little new wave, and s upper distorted and weirdly poppy, pretty much exactly what we could have hoped for. One person we knew even flew from another state JUST to see the Mayyors, and managed to see them play 8 or 9 times. And loved every single minute of it.
We got a bunch of these 12"s a while back, and they sold out in a heartbeat, before we could even get it reviewed. We got a few more, but then those too were gone in a flash. So the band finally repressed another batch, so now here's your chance, however fleeting to snag one of these 4 song 45 rpm 12"s, same as the first pressing, but now in plain white stamped sleeves, instead of the first pressing's gross dirt covered jackets, but it's the sound that matters, and the sound here is ferocious. Snotty, snarly, fuzzy, punky, noisy, catchy, druggy, crumbling ultra distorted guitars, wild pounding drums, yowled effected vox, tons of feedback, FX all over the place and THICK corrosive buzzing bass that drives EVERYTHING. Imagine maybe a poppier, less fucked up more new wave Rusted Shut, that same sort of chaotic noise rock, that while druggy, manages to be a bit tighter and a whole lot less on the verge of total collapse, while remaining awesomely chaotic.
The final track might be our favorite, the same sort of revved up Brainbombs style dirge, supercharged, and eventually growing more and more and more distorted and in-the-red, culminating in what might just be the raddest post-Buttholes drug rock noise guitar freakout EVER.
We did get a ton of these, but they'll probably go quick, and the band did say they would press more if this pressing sold out, but it could mean a bit of a wait if you don't grab one now.
Since around 2004, the Italian industrial composer Maurizio Bianchi has unleashed an impossible stream of recordings, often in collaboration with electronics musicians all over the world but unfortunately with spotty results. There are plenty of reasons why any label and / or artist would jump at the chance to release and / or record something, anything by Mr. Bianchi; and this 10cd boxset of his seminal recordings from the early '80s defines them all. This actually marks the second reissue campaign for these recordings, some of which originally appeared on Sterile Records and Broken Flag; but many of which had been self-published on Bianchi's own imprint. Bianchi - who simply recorded at the time as MB - had infamously been released through William Bennett's Come Organisation, who had recontextualized Bianchi's recordings of grim mechanoid drones with Nazi speeches spliced on top and changed his nom de plume to Leibstandarte SS MB... all without Bianchi's consent. Numerous cassettes, plenty of compilation appearances, and 10 lps marked this very prolific period in the early '80s for Bianchi, whereby he issued forth brutal, hallucinatory blasts of electronic noise and grinding rhythms of hand-cut tape noise and overblown synthetic distortion. These were the blackened, nihilist version of Conrad Schnitzler, Cluster, and Klaus Schulze as filtered through the industrial ethos of Throbbing Gristle and Whitehouse.
But by 1984, Bianchi just stopped. There were innumerable rumors about his departure from the music community. Some said, he had become a monk. Some said, he was crippled in an accident. But the truth of the matter was that he dedicated himself to his faith as a Jehovah's Witness. His distance only heightened the mythology about this artist and increased the cultural cache of those early recordings. Hence, the necessity for this boxset.
Here, you will find those ten LPs - Symphony For A Genocide, Menses, Neuro Habitat / Moerter Under Uns, Regel, Mectpyo Bakterium, Das Testament, Endometrio, Carcinosi, The Plain Truth, and Armagheddon - each released with plenty of bonus tracks from any number of those various compilation tracks. And for those of you who had picked up the two 5lp anthologies of MB's work on Vinyl On Demand, we don't think there's any overlap between this box set and those collections.
The first records are violent display of neurotic vibrations and deadly electronics, the second is relatively dreamy, albeit retaining the sonic qualities of erratic vertigo and shadowy hallucinations. His suffocating experiments with primitive synths, delay pedals, turntables, and tape machines collapsed in on themselves with an electrocuted obliteration of sound. Out of the ashes of such early albums as Symphony for a Genocide and Neuro Habitat, Bianchi allowed for a structuralism with tentative rhythms and melodies to rise out of the blackened grit on the work found on Endometrio and The Plain Truth. Each of the albums found on this box set are available individually; however, the box set features additional artwork, plenty of bonus tracks not on the original lps (but still the same from the first reissue campaign), and a handful of Bianchi's cryptic music critiques. Of all of the dronescapes, noise attacks, and electronic warbles that Aquarius has lavished with critical hyperbole, MB remains at the top of the list in terms of innovation and actualization of metaphor and intent.
Hospital Recordings has just reissued the first proper M.B. album, which first came out on Sterile Records in 1981 and then again on CD on Alga Marghen in the mid '90s. They've redone the design, making it look more stripped down, lo-fi and punk rock with gritty scans of the Alga Marghen artwork and old school cut and paste liner notes (that unfortunately seem to be missing some of the original notes), but don't let the makeover fool you, this is still some of the most abject and brilliantly bleak dronemusic ever.
Symphony For A Genocide wasn't the first recording for the Italian Industrialist, as he did have some earlier recordings as Sacher-Pelz and the infamous Leibstandarte SS MB albums (on which Whitehouse's William Bennett dubbed various Nazi speeches on top of Bianchi's music without Bianchi's permission). Bianchi's work does come out of a transgressive mindset; but one that is uniformly misanthropic, nihilistic, and utterly black. On this album, MB construct brutal, hallucinatory blasts of electronic noise and grinding rhythms of hand-cut tape noise and overblown synthetic distortion. These, bleak chilling drones are reminiscent of Conrad Schnitzler at his most neurotic, Nurse With Wound at their most droning, and Whitehouse at their least annoying. MB's very prolific career in the early 80's with more than a dozen records was cut short in 1984 at which time he declared himself a Jehovah's Witness and ceased making music until recently when he finally returned to the blackened ambience of old.
It should also be noted that the recordings of Symphony For A Genocide are drastically different from another set of recordings called SFAG (Symphony For A Genocide), which has also gotten the reissue treatment twice, adding extra confusion into the mix.
Another new name from Campbell Kneale's mighty Celebrate Psi Phenomenon label, and it's yet another winner. A hyperminimal dronescape of warm underwater tones, thick and slow moving, dreamy and surreal, muted melodies stretched into thick blankets of fuzzy warmth. The second half of the record sounds like a straight field recording, wind and footsteps and dogs barking and the faraway whir and hum of everyday life, lovely and serene.
We made this Record of the Week a couple months ago, then promptly ran out of 'em -- as did their label in England, who have now pressed more copies. So here it is again, in case you missed it before. The UK's amazing, eccentric Meads Of Asphodel are back with their second, long-awaited full-length. From the get-go, this had an inside line on becoming an AQ Record of the Week -- indeed, we were so excited about its impending release that even before any of our wholesale suppliers had imports of this in stock, Andee went ahead and mail-ordered two copies from England, one for himself and one as a Christmas gift for Allan! Now, we've managed to get copies for the store to share with all of you. What's so special about the Meads Of Asphodel, besides their unusual name? Well, if you've been a long-time AQ list reader/customer maybe you'll remember how much we liked their debut, The Excommunication of Christ. Well as good as that crackpot example of medieval metal was, this new one is even more esoteric and ridiculous and incredible. As AQ's coverage of the genre has demonstrated, black metal can be a lot of different things. In the Meads of Asphodel's case, it IS many different things, all at the same time! First off, apparently nobody told them that an ostensibly black metal band shouldn't write pop songs. Sure, they are really really heavy and decidedly grim, but Meads have a pop sensibility that can't be denied. The album's second track, "God Is Rome", will have you staring at your stereo as its gruff-voiced chugging brutality gives way to an acoustic guitar lick and subsequent pop hook that is more Nirvana than necro. Not to suggest that this isn't a massively metal album. It is. Their brand of metal is like Venom mixed with Bal-Sagoth: sparkling keyboards strewn over rough-hewn riffage and pounding drums. They're also quite psychedelic (drugs involved for sure), with weird changes and spacey synths. Landing rocketships in the Middle Ages, Meads make for a creditable space rock band. Indeed, these Hawkwind obsessives do a killer Hawkwind cover ("Utopia") with two actual Hawkwind members sitting in! Other guests on this album include Mirai from another AQ fave, Japan's Sigh, one of the only other "black metal" bands on the planet as far-out as the Meads, and Vincent Crowley, somewhat infamous as an underground death metal Satanist. His presence, however cartoonish, illustrates another important point about this record. As random and spicy a goulash their music is, Meads remain a steadfastly black metal band where it most counts: in their opposition to God and religion. Indeed, unlike the majority of black metal acts whose anti-Christian, anti-clerical, pro-Satan stance is indeed just that, a stance or pose, just to conform to the standard black metal aesthetic of being "evil", Meads of Asphodel seem to take this issue more seriously. What we mean is that their lyrics are more about WHY they don't believe in God, than about how cool that makes them. So it turns out that as tongue-in-cheek as so much about them seems (from the cover pics of the band in the guise of armored knights looking rather more hapless than intimidating, to such song titles as "On Graven Images I Glide Beyond The Monstrous Gates Of Pandemonium To Face The Baptised Warriors Of Yahweh In The Skull-littered Plain Of Esdraelon") they actually have a message, if you will. Delivered quite bizarrely and confusingly of course. And that's what we like best, the confounding mixture of the serious and the silly where irony is left in the dust, replaced by question marks and half-smiles, and gleeful enjoyment of some remarkable music. This album is definitely the sort of thing that we at AQ think will both satisfy open-minded metal fans and provide a varied enough dish for folks seeking something weird on the pop/spacerock/electronic side of things. Indeed, did we mention that the aforementioned lengthy song title belongs to a ten minute epick of When-like eclecticism, that brings in techno electronica, Middle Eastern music, and even some acid-jazz organ jamming -- utterly instrumental except for samples of an utterly blasphemous nature? This is indicative in many ways of their bizarro modus operandi. Appealing in so many ways to the extremes of what we might call the AQ-aesthetic, it would have been hard *not* to make this a Record Of The Week.
The Meads of Asphodel have been a longtime favorite around these parts, not surprisingly, since they've been pushing the boundaries of how black metal is defined with their bizarre, often hilarious brand of nutso, super anti-Christian metal with notable medieval and Middle Eastern influences. Though you will find it impossible to stifle (nervous?) laughter at various moments, the Meads, however, are no joke. In fact, one could argue that their highly unorthodox stance is actually WAY more real and bad ass than the plethora of groups all adopting the same boring, pseudo-Satanic bullshit pose. Maybe some find it difficult to take seriously a band with a penchant for dressing up in medieval armor, but why not? It's certainly no less ridiculous than corpsepaint. The notes in this collection of demos from the band's first phase (1998-2002), penned by group leader Metatron, make it clear that sucking up to record labels and metal fans in general was never part of the agenda. Instead, the Meads have been, and continue to be, true to only themselves. Fuck yeah.
With this anything goes mentality, the Meads have delivered some of the weirdest, most incomprehensible metal maybe ever. The influence of NWOBHM greats, notably Venom, shines bright, but how many other black metal groups would you expect to punctuate their evil riffage with parts that sound like drunken medieval wedding parties, disco breakdowns, and country western hoedowns? Not too many. The strangest part about all of these is how randomly they will pop up, when you're never expecting it.
Symphonic keyboards are also pretty central to the Meads' sound, with heavy as fuck church organs and harpsichord-styled synths adding a decidedly atmospheric element to it all. There are even some moments of strummed 4AD style jangle, but take note of the covers by GBH and Italian thrashers Bulldozer to get an idea of the band's more aggressive influences. Heavy D-Beats, punkish power chords, and harsh bellowing (in addition to some nice black metal croaking, of course) exist in the mix in pretty much equal measure to everything else.
We would be lying if we said this band was for everyone. But for those who like their metal adventurous, totally fucked, and pretty much without precedent, we couldn't recommend this highly enough!
A UK black metal troupe unlikely to become the next Cradle of Filth, if only because people are always scratching their heads and asking "What the heck are meads?"
Regardless of their prospects for wide success, *we've* been eagerly anticipating this release, ever since reading about The Meads in a Terrorizer article on unsigned British metal bands. A mysterious band with esoteric interests, inspired by the shamanic use of psychedelic drugs, and always clad in medieval armor, The Meads of Asphodel immediately intrigued us... and others too, as they've caused quite a buzz with their several demo releases. Now here's their compact disc debut, brought to us by the same label responsible for the ungodly Benighted Leams (THEE most ridiculous and fucked one-man black metal band EVER, remember?) as well as the most recent and also quite fucked Fleurety disc. That ratcheted up our anticipation another few notches. And we have to say that while as it turns out The Meads *aren't* quite as utterly strange as we were expecting, not as insane as Sigh or as ridiculous as fellow Brits Bal-Sagoth, they're still pretty strange, lacing their super-heavy doom-riffed black metal with "medieval" keyboard melodies that seem inspired by King Arthur by way of Return To Forever's "Romantic Warrior"... Silly and tongue-in-cheek they may be (one of the booklet photos depicts the band in full armor, lined up along a wall, apparently urinating), but they seem oddly serious too in the occult details of their lyrics and their elaborate presentation, thereby keeping us guessing. The list of guests who contributed to this disc also is indicative of their unusual approach to black metal: they get help from A.C. Wild of '80s Italian Venom-clones Bulldozer, ex-Hawkwind guitarist Huw Lloyd Langton, vocalist Kobold of fellow UK black metallers Old Forest, and an electro-goth act called History of Guns...weird! The Meads of Asphodel come across as certainly smarter and more eccentric than your average black metal band. Heavy, catchy, and possibly crazed -- recommended!
We first heard the oddly named Meatbodies when they were still called Chad & The Meatbodies, on a split 7" with Ty Segall, C&TM being Segall's choice for next big thing. Well, now Chad, mainman for the Meatbodies, which is essentially Chad, who wrote all the songs and performs most of them on his own, with the occasional guest, including Segall, delivers his first full length, and it definitely delivers on that single, the sound not that far removed from the Castle Face axis of Segall / Cronin / Dwyer, rambunctious popper pop fused guitar rock crunch, with loads of melody and harmony, the sound ricocheting wildly from the woozy swirling psychedelic intro of "The Archer", to the swagger garage pop pound of "Disorder", to dirge, groovy, noise-pop metallic math-fuzz of "Mountain" (from the aforementioned single), right down to the harmonized lead guitars.
And yet as good as this is, and as much as we dig it, which is a whole hell of a lot, it's not like the Meatbodies are reinventing the garage rock wheel, but then that wheel doesn't yet need reinventing, or if it does, that's still gonna be left to someone else. Instead, the Meatbodies are trafficking in a formula similar to most of their sonic brethren, at times sounding dangerously close to Ty Segall or Thee Oh Sees, even some of Chad's affectations, the reversed yelps, and some of the glammy stomps, sound like straight up steals, but fuck it, it doesn't matter all that much considering how goddamn great these songs are, and how catchy and well crafted this whole record is, and honestly, repeated listens definitely position Meatbodies as its own thing, even if it's a bit beholden to what came before, but then what isn't? And really, the more we listen to this, the more these guys move to the front of the pack for us. Fans of all the Castle Face bands, as well as the most recent batch of In The Red releases and all things heavy, noisy, loud, rocking, poppy, punky, garage-y and fuzzed out will obviously dig big time.
It's hard to know what to expect from a band with a name like Megaton Leviathan. You might guess heavy. Probably loud. And you'd be right on both counts, but you probably wouldn't guess that these guys play some sort of super melodic, poppy, and very pretty doom. Or sort of doom. Soft doom? We sure as heck didn't.
But that's pretty much what ML are all about. Even categorizing them as doom doesn't do them justice. The tempos are slow, the mood is doomy, but unlike the typical downtuned sludgery and lumbering slo-mo pummel of most doom combos, these guys infuse their dirges with soaring shimmering clean guitars, the vocals are clean, not howled or grunted, but crooned, bathed in reverb, and draped over the almost ethereal sounding heaviness.
The drums are strange, big and boomy, but they perfectly suit the Nadja-like doom-gaze, the washed out blissy reverbed doom pop, the hazy, gauze-y, space-y doom flecked psychedelia these guys so effortlessly conjure up.
The 19 minute opener is split into two parts, the first half, is a gorgeous dirgey creep, with a melancholy main melody, swirling synth textures, and those moody crooned vox, all stretched out into a glorious bit of space doom dream pop haze, the effects swallowing the instruments up and sending them spinning into the cosmos, woozy, and dreamy and mesmerizing and strangely emotional with some of the best most beautiful hooks you'll ever hear in a 'doom' band.
The second half almost sounds like a dub version of the first, the riffs are stripped away, leaving a glistening filed of layered vocal mantras and electronic effects, the drums spare and abstract, the sound thick and lush and distorted, but blurred and free and swirly and psychedelic, some sort of alien spacedoom ur-drone, the perfect balance for the more riffy bliss of the first half.
After another short track (and by short we mean almost 6 minutes), which is another dirgey crawl, through fields of cloudy effects and smeared electronics, sounding like a modern space doom Codeine, all pretty and melancholy but still dark and heavy, comes the 33+ minute closer, "A Slow Death In D Minor", the whole first half of which sounds like SUNNO))) covering Tangerine Dream, thick downtuned glacial thrum, underpinning, swirling kosmische synths and jangly shimmering clean guitar chords. This could go on forever, and practically does, until about 18 minutes later, the drums come in, and pound out a strange skeletal beat, atop the still drifting buzz and shimmer, buried vocals and muted melodies churn just below the surface, until finally, the sound grows more and more melodic, and what sound like strings surface, and the track is transformed into some sort of chamber doom, until eventually, just the strings are left, to soar dramatically over a barely there layer of crackle and hum, before slipping into silence.
This could definitely be our new favorite doom record, if it didn't feel so wrong to and reductive to call Megaton Leviathan doom. But it's definitely a new favorite, for fans of all things dark and heavy and dreamy and melodic, droney and drifty and pretty and poppy and trance inducing.
After the twisted avant collage experimentation of the recently released Slow Down Tiger lp, Dan Melchior returns to the garage rock sound he's more well known for, on this, his first for John Dwyer from Thee Oh Sees' Castle Face label, and while it's not so nearly warped and way out as Slow Down Tiger, it's still pretty freaky. Sure there's crunchy jangly guitars, and actual proper song structures, but there's still all manner of weird noises, strange effects, some songs lurch to a stop, like in the strange spoken chorus to opener "A Wizard Doesn't Need A Computer", other tracks are rife with psychedelic popisms, like on "Night Of Fear", where Melchior is channeling sixties flower-poppers The Move, but filtered through a thoroughly fractured modern garage pop filter, and others are just straight up blown out old school garage rock pounders, like the urgent distorto crush of "Rip It To Pieces". Like on all the other Melchior records, he can't seem to deny his experimental side, so drum machines pop here and there, multiple vocal lines tangled into unlikely harmonies, riffs are blurred into extended distorted drones, reverb and echo are slathered on everything, but all of that weirdness is somehow corralled into the service of some seriously great songs, that most definitely do sound right at home on Castle Face.
The joy of reviewing this first proper full length from Letha Rodman Melchior is tempered by the sad fact that Letha passed away recently, after a lengthy battle with cancer. Beloved by all who knew her, she chronicled her illness via a hilarious and hilariously warts-and-all blog, detailing every facet of her illness, and her struggle to beat it. Musicians and artists and friends all over the world, rallied around her, playing benefit shows, to raise money to help with her hospital bills, and while she had been making art and playing music for decades (Andee's old band toured with her old band, Ruby Falls, way back in the nineties), her marriage to Dan Melchior, a musical force in his own right, brought forth a new bout of productivity and collaboration, culminating in this, the heartbreakingly beautiful, and fantastically fanciful handbook For Mortals, a joyously uninhibited collection of ultra personal musical vignettes, hauntingly lovely landscapes of piano and clarinette, laced with mysterious squalls of soft percussion, deep shimmery drones, whipping-wind-like swirls, breaking glass, a little bit chamber music, a little bit musique concrete, a series of strange sonic collages, fusing woozy, distorted, dream pop, to fractured avant murk, buried melodies and music box like warble. Some tracks unfurl lo-fi jumbles of found sounds, loopy percussion, swirling FX, others hushed, pastoral ambience, choral vocal harmonies and field recordings. The songs are laced with glitched out electronics, occasionally wrapped around stately piano threnodies, other times blossoming into wild sprawls of crumbling, distorted noise. Here and there, ramshackle ballads dissolve into equal parts hushed piano, recordings from the hospital (the beep of a life support machine surfaces on one track) and creaking machine like clatter. Handbook For Mortals is a heady, heavenly mix of twisted, mad scientist avant noise, and hushed, delicate, home brewed songcraft, a gorgeous bit of sound art, that has now been transformed into a beautifully bittersweet, and heartbreakingly poignant threnody.
R.I.P Letha. You will be missed.
