The Midwest is beginning to feel like the new Norway. So is the South. Tons of fucked up grim blackness seems to be constantly seeping outward from the blackened heartland. We're gonna have to come up with some new sobriquets for these apparent movements, MWBM is now a new, more region specific USBM, or maybe ECBM, for those in the South, but the sudden onslaught from middle and Eastern America is threatening to overtake the much lauded West Coast scene, which while still represented by the few elite metal warriors (Leviathan, Xasthur, etc.), hasn't really produced the same number of outrageously creative black metal outfits lately. Much of could well have much to do with the places these guys call home. Black metal is all about isolation, looking inward, darkness and depression, and while those emotions and ideals are indeed universal, it sometimes seems more difficult to be miserable and suicidal and full of grim energy when you're wandering through green trees beneath a sunshiney Spring California day.
But whatever. All you need to know for now, is that the strangely monickered Wrnlrd (thanks to aQ pal Will for the recommendation) is from Virginia, (hail VABM!) And offers up a dense twisted blown out frenzy of utter blackness.
And it's hard to think of a better word to describe it than frenzied. The sound is so thick and gnarled, the riffs so distorted they seem to exist in a churning sonic morass, the guitars and vocals constantly on the verge of crumbling to pieces, the sound so blown out, the drums are barely audible, a flurry of beats buried way in the mix, but that drumless feel only adds to the organic sound of Wrnlrd, this epic heaving cloud of black swirling sonic mayhem, slowly and systematically engulfing everything in its path. But that's not so say the riffs here aren't amazing, they are, and the tracks are surprisingly catchy, and the overall sound is very textural, almost like someone like Christian Fennesz or Tim Hecker recorded it, and occasionally things slow down and the band lurches onto some staggering buzzy dirge, here and there the tracks spread out into near ambient drifts, the guitars ghostly and haunting, but it's all about the gorgeous wall of sound this guy can produce, managing to sound utterly frosty and grim, but also epic and majestic, woozy, drone-y, druggy and utterly and terrifyingly black.
aQ pal Will turned us on to the amazing Wrnlrd (not really sure how you pronounce that), a Virginia based one man black metal band whose most recent disc, reviewed here a few lists back, totally hit the spot, with its furious fuzzed out and frenzied twisted blissy blackness. There is definitely a tendency these days for black metal bands to get all shoegaze-y and we're not complaining, we totally love that stuff, but a handful of bands are doingmore than that, taking that sort of spaced out blissiness and twisting it all around into something more unique, and darker and noisier. Which is precisely what Wrnlrd's Cperadt was all about. A nearly drumless wall of buzzing blackness that reminded us as much of Tim Hecker or Christian Fennesz as much as Xasthur or Paysage D'Hiver.
So we were super psyched to explore the rest of Wrnlrd's catalog, starting with this one, In From The Night Herd, also from last year. The disc begins with some seriously creepy and harrowing black ambience, all haunting windswept whirs and distant moaning rumbles, ghostlike melodies drifting throughout, wraithlike and shimmery, the opening track, obviously the intro, so as track two begins, a twelve minute epic, the record shifts gears, and offers up still more thick cavernous drone. Weird, we were thinking, to have an intro after another intro, but then Wrnlrd is nothing if not weird. Then some gauzy skeletal guitars surface, offering up fragmented bits of melancholy melody, soon swallowed up by the roiling low end whirl below, haunting and creaking, almost industrial sounding. As the second track ends and the third begins, it suddenly dawns on us that this in fact an ambient disc, perhaps, since it was released around the same time, a companion to Cperadt. Which makes a whole lot more sense, and allows us to stop waiting for the inevitable black buzzing onslaught, and to enjoy the murky mysterious atmospheres on offer.
The third track, another long one, begins with chiming guitars, looped and minor key, eventually being joined by some deep glimmering reverberations in the background, the guitars gradually growing more and more distorted. Suddenly we're thinking maybe we were wrong, that in fact there is some black metal buzz here, but instead, the guitars continue to ring out, cycling through their melancholy mantra, very soothing and hypnotic, mesmerizing and trancelike, the background whirring and rumbling and eventually overtaking the forlorn guitar melody, leaving just deep smears of blurred blackness.
That blurred blackness bleeds into the brief final track, offering up a muted coda, the slow drifting sonic clouds barely obscuring tolling bells, and shards of mournful melody, soft smeared layers of disembodied guitars woven into a strangely beautiful black lullaby.
Maybe too abstract and dreamlike for the true grim throng, but perfect for anyone else into droning dark mystery and haunting otherworldy black ambience.
When we first discovered the mysterious and impossible to pronounce Wrnlrd, on the tip from an aQ customer, this one man band was way underground, with nothing but a clutch of cd-r releases, but since then, word has spread, and besides getting written up in all sorts of magazines and blogs, he's also released a critically lauded lp on Flingco Sound System, a label run by on of the guys who used to run Kranky.
And that record is fantastic, distinctly black metal, but with Wrnlrd's country and bluegrass roots showing through, and banjo on a black metal record is not something you hear every day! But in the beginning, the sound of Wrnlrd was a furious raw black blast of programmed drums and superdistorted riffage, garbled hellish vokills and snarling, swirling blackened psychedelic metal blowouts.
Mldthr is "record number 2 (Flower of 1, Cause of 4 and 7)" in the confusingly numbered discography, see the Wrnlrd website for more on that, a strange bit of numerology that is as confounding as Wrnlrd's music, and Mldthr sounds quite a bit like In From The Night Herd and Cperadt, which makes sense as those are the two numbers that follow Mldthr. That chart actually extends into the future including albums named, but yet to be recorded.
Anyway, like Wrnlrd discs 3 and 4, Mldthr is a swirling black vortex of shimmery black ambience, mechanical blasts, grinding black crunch, creepy stretches of murky black ambience, processed gurgles and almost industrial rhythms, everything raw and gritty and lo fi, blown out and super distorted and in the red, moody and muddy, with bits of found sounds, strange samples, all sorts of weird shit lurking below the surface, but to get below the surface, you have to plow through a torrent of frenzied black industrial buzz, the sound mechanical and machinelike, but imbued with asort of dizzying swirl that mkes it all feel warped and off kilter, twisted and a bit damaged. Which, if you're anything like us, is exactly how you like your black metal.
When we first discovered Wrnlrd, a mysterious one man black metal band from Virginia, we were happy enough to discover a new weird band to dig. The usual buzz and howl augmented by lots of strange ambience, plenty of noise and murk, all wrapped up in some truly unique packaging. We had no idea how weird it would, or could get.
This latest disc, at least visually is the best of the bunch, a silvery splattery logo painted right on the jewelcase, the booklet filled with strange text, images of maps and graveyards, hidden behind a gauzy vellum sheet, featuring a barely detectable image. More weirdness on the disc, and peaking out beneath the tray.
But all of that barely prepares you for the music. The fist disc we reviewed, the 4th in Wrnlrd's in-the-works 9 part series, was a dense tangle of blackened buzz and furious riffing, the next, #3 in the series, was all washed out ambience, this latest, being number 5, is in fact nothing like either. Sure it incorporates bits of buzzy blackness, and lots of strange atmospherics, but it's way more abstract, woozy, tripped out, blurry and mysterious.
21 short tracks (there's some serious number obsession going on here, check the Wrnlrd website for more) the first handful very spare, each made up of just a handful of chords, big warbly downtuned chords that strike, and then fade out sloooooooowly, leaving tons of space for stray voices, bits of country music (Wrnlrd, pre-black metal, was a serious bluegrass player), intercepted transmissions, there seem to be some drums, and even some vocals, but they're definitely indistinct, the drums a plod here, a skitter there, the vocals a buried croak, it's not really until the 6th track, that the band locks into something even remotely resembling black metal, and even then, the guitars are brittle, and seem to bend and twist like viewed through a funhouse mirror, the drums a machinelike blur buried in the mix, all beneath the same moaning doomy guitar that oozed across the first handful of tracks.
The rest of the disc staggers dizzily through all these disparate sounds, the black buzz, is peppered with Jandekian detuned guitar warble, acoustic guitars and banjos offer up little steel string tangles, beneath detuned guitar riffage, all very angular and chaotic, huge sheets of distant thunder like rumble, skittery percussion, more voices and mysterious sounds, samples, super atonal guitar weirdness, lurching deconstructed doom, thick walls of guitar buzz wreathed in tripped out FX, the whole record seemingly sounding like some black metal record left in the sun to warp and melt just a bit, and then played back on a dusty old Victrola. Like nothing we've ever heard (even on other Wrnlrd discs) but whatever it is we are digging it big time.
A Danish prog / power metal band named for Emily Bronte's classic gothic novel? Scoff if you must, but much like their last record The Shadow Cabinet, Salt is another classic chunk of over the top, epic, folk-flecked power metal. As we've mentioned before, the true test of a record is the 'why do you like it' test, where when you hear a song, or a record, without any knowledge of who it is, and thus no preconceived notions, you're forced to decide based simply on the sounds. Which is why at aQ, if we ever ask another employee what's playing, we can expect the response 'Why? Do you like it?' Which has most definitely resulted in someone claiming that yes, they do indeed like something, only to discover, that it was something they hated, or at least thought they hated.
Well, one of us was in a record store in another country, and Wuthering Heights was playing, the whole record, and it was incredible, enough that it was quickly purchased, and then obsessed over, which also meant returning home and buying EVERY record these guys ever made.
So we were pretty thrilled to discover a brand new Wuthering Heights, and we're happy to report it's just as great, bombastic, epic, majestic, over the top, like power metal should be. But Wuthering Heights definitely do their own thing, sure there's nimble super technical leads, wild rapidfire chugging guitars, soaring super dramatic Iron Maiden style vocals, but WH slip into strange folky breakdowns, breakdowns that often continue right on into the heavy bits, resulting in blasting portions of heaviness, that almost sound like super charged folk music, or death metal jigs or black metal polka... As if that weren't enough, they're also super proggy, with tons of parts, complicated arrangements, and they do all this while crafting super catchy songs. Obviously if you're into groups like Lost Horizon, Blind Guardian, Hammerfall, and other power metal purveyors, then this is right up your alley, but if you're into classic metal, epic and heavy, with killer vox and lots of solos, this might be worth checking out. And again, for power metal, this stuff is pretty weird, and thus we find ourselves digging this big time!
Some time ago (in the fall of 2006) our Andee took a trip to Japan. When he was there, he happened to visit a few (ok, many) record stores. In one of 'em, there was some amazingly epic power metal music playing. Andee and his travel buddy Josh both were instantly intrigued. It was like, the best thing they'd ever heard. Turned out it was a Danish prog-metal band called, believe it or not, Wuthering Heights. Andee bought a copy immediately. Josh too. When Andee got back to the States, Wuthering Heights was one of the "finds" that he gloated about, though his pleasure in doing so was tempered by the fact that mere weeks later, a (much cheaper) domestic USA version was released, with an entire bonus DVD disc added on! (The dvd featuring a live performance at the ProgPower USA fest in '04.)
This is that cd, and dvd. Andee can chalk up the extra expense of the Japanese version he got as going towards the greater good of finding out about this so we can share it with all of you... Stirring, sweeping, truly powerful power metal played with virtuoso precision, blazing away at 100mph, the speed taking nothing away from their grandiose, folky melodies. And best of all, the vocals. Nils Patrik Johansson has a commanding voice, his soaring singing with a rough edge that reminds us a lot of Ronnie James Dio himself!
So, technically superb. And Wuthering Heights are also eccentric and individual enough (with their proggy/folky parts), conjuring their own fantastic world, to stand apart from the generic Euro power metal hordes. And plus, they kick ass. Heck they're even unafraid of some harsh guitar skree now and then. Definitely worthy, on the strength of this album at any rate, to join the manly vanguard of the non-cheesy (ok, slightly cheesy) and less-generic Euro power metal hordes alongside the likes of AQ faves Blind Guardian, Falconer, and Lost Horizon (RIP).
Second album from former Ozzy guitar demigod Zakk Wylde's solo Southern stoner-metal project Black Label Society. The first one was quite a surprise, revealing that not only is Zakk a man of fleet fingers on the fretboard, but that he possesses a talent for creating extremely heavy and melodic post-grunge stoner rock with whiskey-soaked vocals that blows the likes of late-model Corrosion of Conformity out of the (swamp) water. This new album is another testament to that. Definitely for fans of Acid Bath and Down! Now here's a message from the man himself, culled from an internet '80s-metal mailing list: This is a message from Zakk Wylde. To all you Society Dwelling Mother Fuckers, Wanted to let you know that Black Label Society's new disc, "Stronger Than Death" hits the street today. Go check it out! Its heavy as fuck, I'm doing this film right now with Mark Wahlberg and Jennifer Aniston called "Metal Gods" for Warner Bros. Its a metal movie from 1975-85 and it is going to kick ass. I'm doing all the guitars on the soundtrack. Nick Catanese is in the movie as well. The first single from Stronger Than Death is Counterfeit God and Mark Wahlberg plays bass in the video. Its fucking hesterical! Request the tune at radio and video at MTV. I need your support to make this
happen! Trying to get on the road with Motley, Megadeath and Anthrax. Going out with Pantera in the fall when they are done with Ozzfest. Also, Ozzy asked me to write his next disc which I can promise you will make Ozzmosis look like a BackStreet Boys cd. Send this e-mail to everyone on your list and BLEED BLACK LABEL. BLACK LABEL SOCIETY FUCK YEAH! All the best, Zakk Wylde
One of two new releases on the newly launched Psalm 88 label, an offshoot of local black metal cassette label Acephale Winter, and the first we've heard from Xarkrinur, a FIFTEEN YEAR OLD one man (boy?) black metal band from Bangladesh (!), whose warped, home-brewed, weirdly produced depressive black buzz immediately reminded us of late great weirdo black metal horde Benighted Leams. Similarly stumbling and damaged, the guitars brittle and buzzy, the programmed drums machinelike and robotic, the rhythms stiff and strangely static, but it's the vocals, a raspy, whispery growl, that seal the deal, WAY up in the mix, eclipsing the music with every foul utterance, we're also reminded of local lo-fi sort-of-black-metal wacko Fastest, a similarly delivered, super dramatic hushed vokill style. But Xarkrinur conjure up a seriously stunning atmosphere, the second track, slows things down, and gets super atmospheric, with some strange harmonic overtones, and a murky, melancholy main riff, the vocals shift too, becoming more hissy and feral, but the music, super emotional and darkly lovely, sans black metal affectation, could be some tripped out lo-fi post rock. The other two songs here are similarly split, the third another brittle blast of raw primitive buzz, while the closer is a smoldering doomic creep, with thick crumbling chords (that sound like an organ almost), the vocals more wasted and weary, a harrowing sprawl of depressive downer doom that we are digging a LOT. For sure need to hear more from this guy.
LIMITED TO 88 COPIES!!
By now, Xasthur is practically a household name. Assuming your house is a cave, or painted black, or lit by torches, or painted black with the blood of your enemies, or filled with bones and skulls and a stereo pumping nothing but black metal. And actually, Xasthur, maybe more than any other one-man black metal outfit, has crossed over into the sort-of mainstream. His washed out blurred blackmetalscapes, definitely predicting the so-called "metalgaze" movement to come. His strange murky buzz, as blissed out as any of the current crop, albeit much more muddy and moody and subtly fucked up.
Finally, Xasthur's debut gets the deluxe reissue treatment, via the fine black souls at Hydra Head. Now repackaged in a spiffy deluxe gatefold, with all new artwork, improved sound, and most importantly, a whole bonus disc, the legendary Darkened Winter Promo 01, which almost no one we know has ever actually heard, which makes sense as it was limited to about ten cd-r's handed out to friends.
First the record itself. A Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors was not in fact our introduction to Xasthur, that honor belongs to Nocturnal Poisoning, a record we still consider to be one of the all time greatest black metal records EVER. Released in 2002, that record was nearly perfect, a buzzing melancholy epic, as much about texture and timbre as songs and riffs. Atmospheric and intense and beautifully blackened.
A Gate Through Bloodstained Mirrors was in fact, the first full length Xasthur recording, never properly released until much later on Total Holocaust in 2004. And while it shares sonically a lot of what we love about Nocturnal Poisoning, it's much more raw and immediate. Less cohesive maybe, more chaotic, the recording lo-fi and way more murky, this is as dark and grim and melancholy as it gets, Buzzing riffs, rumbling bass and pounding drums are all fused into one huge organic whole, a writhing, twisting black metal beast, that swings wildly from thrashing chaos, to waltzing minor key dirges, to creepy dark ambience. The vocals are so low in the mix they just sound like another layer of fuzz, adding to the swirling roiling madness. This is everything black metal is supposed to be, intensely personal, singular in vision, utterly bleak and crushingly dark, buzzing and throbbing, hypnotic and heavy as fuck. Lots of sonic weirdness and a bizarre, very lo-fi production (tape hiss, drop outs, etc...) just add to the overall madness. The extra tracks on the THR reissue (not on the original demo) are included, demo tracks, extra tracks, covers (Mutiilation, Burzum). It would be worth it already, but then there's a whole extra disc...
The bonus disc, the Darkened Winter Promo 01, is a snapshot of Xasthur's early sound, as it was developing into the expansive epic miserable bleak beauty it would eventually become. And actually hearing this now, it's almost there, structure-wise, riff-wise, it's WAY more lo-fi, muted and muddy and smeared into blurred blackness, but all the things we love about Xasthur are already present, those mournful arpeggiated melodies, the warbly black ambience, the vocals buried in the mix, the songs heaving roiling seas of bleary black misery. The fifth track, sounds like it's from a different session, the guitars much louder, a lilting clean sound, the riffs effected, the drums a muted skitter beneath the cascading minor key chords. The final track is the heaviest, and most traditionally black sounding Xasthur recording we've heard. A definite practice space sound, the drums big and boomy (and real, not a drum machine!), the guitars crunchy and thick, the song swinging from midtempo plod to brutal black bursts, with stumbling blast beats, almost sounds like a blackened noise rock band. Almost like the Dead C covering Burzum.
What else is there to say, it's Xasthur, it's a black metal classic and there's a whole disc of unreleased material. Essential and fucking awesome.
We almost sold out of these after only a few days, without even reviewing / listing it, but then it IS a new Xasthur record, and it IS a super limited (500 copies) cassette version, and cassette means cult, in a cool oversized clamshell case, with original artwork by Hildolf from Draugar, and inside, it also contains a photocopied booklet, 3 pins and a patch! So yeah, no real surprise that those flew out of here. We did manage to get a handful more of these, but seeing as how these have been selling pretty much nonstop, who knows how long they'll last.
Beyond all that stuff, we're pretty psyched for sure. Finally, a new record from Xasthur, aka Malefic, a one man doom-ed depressive black metal machine, whose last release, Defective Epitaph was a huge hit around these parts, due in no small part to the shift from drum machine to actual drums, no programmed beats, actual kit bashing rhythms courtesy of Malefic himself, and the result was pretty stellar, creating a sound even more raw and murky and lo-fi than past efforts, but no less bleak or introspective or amazing. So now comes All Reflections Drained, soon to come on double lp, and we would assume cd, but for now available only in the very old school, very metal, and very kult kassette format. And it's very much a continuation of Defective Epitaph, from moment one, the sound boomy and reverb drenched, echoey and WAY lo-fi, loping doomy guitars, stumbling midtempo drums, and then WOAH, the sound shifts, and the drums double time it under a layer of thick low end dramatic piano, creating some strange Skepticismy drift, over the relentlessly buzzing blackness below. The mix is REALLY weird, fractured and gloriously fucked up, the sounds shifting and merging into one another, the songs too, woozy and warped and seasick sounding and a bit waltzy, the drum sound super raw and distant and for the most part buried in the mix, minus some flurries of kick drum that practically explode. The guitars are washed out and melancholic, lumbering doomily through hazy clouds of muted buzz and soft focus hiss, lots of creeped out ambience, and dark soundscaping, way less of a focus on vocals, in fact several songs in, and we barely noticed any, minus some far off clean crooning and some rumbled mutterings, the usual blackened harsh rasps seemingly lost in the swirling off kilter mix.
If anything this record is a logical extension of the direction Malefic had been taking the sound of Xasthur, like a Defective Epitaph part two maybe, but somehow quite a bit doomier, and WAY weirder, more spaced out and experimental, with a serious focus on dark brooding non-metal parts, hints of slowcore and drone abound, some parts are downright orchestral, and the sound is definitely even murkier and mysterious than ever, dripping with buzz and tape hiss, blown out low end (that sounds like a tuba or something similar) and thick crumbling distortion, but fear not troo grim hordes, it's still plenty depressive and dolorous, minor key and epic, miserable and moody, gorgeously buzzy and bafflingly brilliant.
Again, LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!!! And these will probably disappear FAST... To be sure, there will be a vinyl and perhaps cd version coming out eventually, but they won't be as kvlt as this! ----* ----* Selected New Arrivals : ----*
There are lots of remarkable things about this latest Xasthur disc. It was released on his own Disharmonic Variations label for one thing, instead of Hydra Head, his home for the last few records. It features the vocals of folk chanteuse Marissa Nadler quite prominently, which was definitely a bit of a surprise! Even more surprising is that according to Malefic, the man behind Xasthur, now referring to himself by his given name Scott, this is the very last Xasthur record. EVER. He's not giving up music, just black metal. Which might seem less surprising once you've heard Portal Of Sorrow. Whose sound is at once a continuation of the last few Xasthur records, but at the same time, a total departure. Right out of the gate, the title track, is all acoustic guitars, and cooing wordless vox, more some sort of ethereal depressive doomfolk than black metal. Haunting atonal chords, folky guitar strum, wheezing organs, everything warped and warbly and really quite beautiful. Some more 'metal' guitars enter into the picture but they just serve to add filigree to the folky gothic dirge. Pretty weird and fantastic for sure. And for sure to bum out legions of true grim black metallers. The second track is more black metal, but if anything it's WAY weirder than the first track, with what is either the worst, or best production yet, the guitars detuned and atonal, the drums insanely produced cardboard box thumps WAY up in the mix, Nadler's often wordless vocals again soaring and dramatic, while Malefic croaks along in the background, a gloriously stumbling bit of blackened freak folk buzz, moody and murky, with some serious chug part way through, but that chug is accompanied by PIANO, which renders it more some sort of blackened chamber music.
And so it goes, the whole record is not only strangely composed, but the sound itself is totally alien, it sounds accidental, but a sound this twisted and warped and idiosyncratic MUST be by design.
"Shrine Of Failure" begins with clean guitars and floppy bass, a constantly descending melody, the vocals singing right along, before the heavier guitars kick in, but instead of making the song heavier, they seem to float above the already in progress weirdness, adding a layer of distorted buzz, and alternately wild psychedelic squiggles of tangled lead guitar. "Stream Of Subconsciousness" is another washed out doomic dirge, driven by Nadler's angelic croon, and Malefic's warbly guitars, the swoonsome synths, leading to an ambient drift, and then more murky stumble. "Horizon Of Plastic Caskets" is all minimal drumming, swirling synths, distant vocals, a sort of black ambient post rock lope, peppered with Malefic's maniacal screams, which do nothing to take away from the track's haunting cinematic vibe.
"The Abyss Holds The Mirror" opens with some seriously lovely multitracked vocals from Nadler (she's credited with "choir, vocal flashbacks, vocal instrumentation") before the song proper kicks in, and it's a dirgey doomy deathmarch, with church organ, croaked demonic vocals, all set to a heartbreakingly melancholy melody, the whole second half is just organ and vocals, and is the last thing you'd expect to hear on a black metal record.
"Released From This Earth" is all struggling drumming, atonal piano pound, and more of Nadler's heavenly crooning, in some ways, this almost plays out like a Marissa Nadler record, with Xasthur as his band, no disrespect to Malefic, in fact, that's what makes this record so good, it's less about having some token guest vocals, and more about true collaboration, which is exactly what makes this record so fucked and far out and special. Even at it's blackest, it's about as far removed from black buzz and grim blast than you could imagine. Which is what keeps us from mourning the death of Xasthur, and instead has us anxiously awaiting the future rebirth, and phoenix like ascension of whatever comes next.
This Record Of The Week from last year, now available in the vinyl format, via Kemado! Limited. numbered, gatefold sleeve, download code. Here's what we said about the original compact disc edition:
There are lots of remarkable things about this latest Xasthur disc. It was released on his own Disharmonic Variations label for one thing, instead of Hydra Head, his home for the last few records. It features the vocals of folk chanteuse Marissa Nadler quite prominently, which was definitely a bit of a surprise! Even more surprising is that according to Malefic, the man behind Xasthur, now referring to himself by his given name Scott, this is the very last Xasthur record. EVER. He's not giving up music, just black metal. Which might seem less surprising once you've heard Portal Of Sorrow. Whose sound is at once a continuation of the last few Xasthur records, but at the same time, a total departure. Right out of the gate, the title track, is all acoustic guitars, and cooing wordless vox, more some sort of ethereal depressive doomfolk than black metal. Haunting atonal chords, folky guitar strum, wheezing organs, everything warped and warbly and really quite beautiful. Some more 'metal' guitars enter into the picture but they just serve to add filigree to the folky gothic dirge. Pretty weird and fantastic for sure. And for sure to bum out legions of true grim black metallers. The second track is more black metal, but if anything it's WAY weirder than the first track, with what is either the worst, or best production yet, the guitars detuned and atonal, the drums insanely produced cardboard box thumps WAY up in the mix, Nadler's often wordless vocals again soaring and dramatic, while Malefic croaks along in the background, a gloriously stumbling bit of blackened freak folk buzz, moody and murky, with some serious chug part way through, but that chug is accompanied by PIANO, which renders it more some sort of blackened chamber music.
And so it goes, the whole record is not only strangely composed, but the sound itself is totally alien, it sounds accidental, but a sound this twisted and warped and idiosyncratic MUST be by design.
"Shrine Of Failure" begins with clean guitars and floppy bass, a constantly descending melody, the vocals singing right along, before the heavier guitars kick in, but instead of making the song heavier, they seem to float above the already in progress weirdness, adding a layer of distorted buzz, and alternately wild psychedelic squiggles of tangled lead guitar. "Stream Of Subconsciousness" is another washed out doomic dirge, driven by Nadler's angelic croon, and Malefic's warbly guitars, the swoonsome synths, leading to an ambient drift, and then more murky stumble. "Horizon Of Plastic Caskets" is all minimal drumming, swirling synths, distant vocals, a sort of black ambient post rock lope, peppered with Malefic's maniacal screams, which do nothing to take away from the track's haunting cinematic vibe.
"The Abyss Holds The Mirror" opens with some seriously lovely multitracked vocals from Nadler (she's credited with "choir, vocal flashbacks, vocal instrumentation") before the song proper kicks in, and it's a dirgey doomy deathmarch, with church organ, croaked demonic vocals, all set to a heartbreakingly melancholy melody, the whole second half is just organ and vocals, and is the last thing you'd expect to hear on a black metal record.
"Released From This Earth" is all struggling drumming, atonal piano pound, and more of Nadler's heavenly crooning, in some ways, this almost plays out like a Marissa Nadler record, with Xasthur as his band, no disrespect to Malefic, in fact, that's what makes this record so good, it's less about having some token guest vocals, and more about true collaboration, which is exactly what makes this record so fucked and far out and special. Even at it's blackest, it's about as far removed from black buzz and grim blast than you could imagine. Which is what keeps us from mourning the death of Xasthur, and instead has us anxiously awaiting the future rebirth, and phoenix like ascension of whatever comes next.
What a long strange trip it's been for Malefic and Xasthur. What's even stranger it seems, is that he ended up finding a new home on the very hip indie label Hydra Head. Sure HH has released its share of dark heaviness, but black metal, especially of the ultra personal, cult and grim kind, is so concerned with staying true, and not selling out. So it's a bit of a coup that HH nabbed Xasthur. Especially after a whole mess of records on Moribund, Total Holocaust Blood Fire Death, Profound Lore and Southern Lord. There has apparently been a bit of a backlash in the true cult BM underground. But fuck 'em. Hydra Head is a killer label and Malefic probably just got tired of being screwed left and right. Plus, oh what a joy it is to watch the true grim warriors weep at the loss, their corpsepaint smearing in long grey streaks. But it really is their loss more than any one 'cuz damn if this isn't the best Xasthur record since Nocturnal Poisoning. And that's saying a whole lot considering how much we've loved pretty much everything he's ever done.
The thing With Nocturnal Poisoning is that it was this perfect mix of sorrowful melancholia and black buzz, the sound was murky and muddy and fuzzy, but above it, were delicate melodies, dreamlike minor key filigree over a bottomless black pit. It was that strange juxtaposition that made it so special. Take that pretty element away, and you're left with just another black disc of Burzum worship. It's a little like the oil paining on the cover. You could see the texture of the canvas and the individual brushstrokes beneath the art. And with the music, it was the same thing, you could see the various elements, feel their texture, see the thick grainy backdrop upon which Malefic placed all of his dreamlike melodies and murky anguished howls.
Every record after that contained similar elements, and amazing songs, but it seemed like the recordings got more brittle, lots of high end buzz, not so much of that glorious malefic murk.
Subliminal Genocide almost sounds like it was recorded right after Nocturnal Poisoning and shelved for the last few years. It's THAT heavy and dreamy and melancholy and murky and goddamn beautiful.
There's not a lot of black metal that you might consider truly beautiful, but the songs on Subliminal Genocide, aren't just blasting thrashing metal, they are gorgeous lilting laments, epic and majestic and minor key. Taken out of a black metal context, they'd sound like some sort of super emotional epic post rock, but as they are, buried under thick layers of blackened buzz and wrapped in huge swaths of fuzzy sonic fog, they become even darker and more desolate, lonely and mournful. Almost none of the record is faster than a loping midtempo, about half the tracks are slow motion dirges, downright doom, with the double kick coming in more as a thick black low end cloud than any sort of actual blast, and a handful of tracks are nothing but swirling whorls of sad black ambience.
And because of the fuzzy indistinct production, and the thick murky halo around every track, lots of Subliminal Genocide sounds like some bastardized black metal version of M83, or Tim Hecker, or a little like Jeck and Marclay spinning old scratched up Burzum lps slowed waaaaaay down.
This record is simultaneously so dark and depressed and utterly evil sounding, but also fuzzy and psychedelic and totally blissed out, it's sort of hard to imagine, especially listening to this right now, that there could ever possibly be a better combination.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
The good news: we just got a handful more of these already out-of-print "vinyls" in stock! The bad news: they're more expensive, due to coming from a different supplier. But if you didn't get one already, get 'em now, 'cause they're just gonna be even more on eBay later...
It had to happen. It needed to happen. And now it finally has. Two of the most important, and musically creative black metal one-man-hordes in the new wave of west coast black metal (NWOWCBM?) team up for the ultimate NWOWCBM one two punch. Xasthur from Southern California and Leviathan from right here in SF are blackened brothers, both exploring similar themes of hate and misery, darkness and death, but coming at 'em from completely different sonic angles. Xasthur is more about mood and atmosphere, with thick swaths of fuzzy riffery, galloping drums, rumbling bass and agonised howls of despair, all dense and dark and claustrophobic. Leviathan is much more technical and a lot weirder, but no less moody, with ultra complex and bizarrely arranged parts, insane drumming, buzzing riffery, and hints of doom and progrock mixed into his bleak and blackened metalscapes. Obviousy absolutely essential!!
On clear vinyl only and housed in a printed inner sleeve!! And of course VERY VERY LIMITED!!
Unheard recordings of proto-punk madness, primordial industrial ooze, and untrained no wave expressionism! Yes, those dates in the title speak to the timeframe for Xeerox, a shortlived conglomeration of anarchists, anti-musicians, and electronic dilettantes who had some pretty solid connections (if not overlap) with the seminal Spanish industrial outfit Esplendor Geometrico. One of the principle members of Xeerox was a feverishly enthusiastic fellow named Krishna Goineau, who fled Barcelona for Germany where he went on to found Liaisons Dangereuses with Beate Bartel (Malaria!) and Chris Haas (DAF). From the onset, Xeerox hoisted the ideological flag of punk but rejected much of the aesthetics of punk's rock revisionism. Their initial sound was an atonal fug of Sister Ray-isms glommed onto motorik drum-kit pulses with distantly megaphone barked vocals, presumably by Goineau. The grimy distortion which dominates the first side of untitled tracks speaks not only of the shitty cassettes that they recorded onto but also a glowing appreciation of Crass later blossoming into a full-throttle one-note minimalism prescient of the work that was just getting started by Rhys Chatham and Glenn Branca. Assuming the tracks are chronological, the second half of the record finds Xeerox really coming into their own with the monomaniacal march of metal bashed rhythms, insistent electronic blorps, weirdo tape-reverse effects, maddeningly repetitive guitar plucks that put us in the best kind of trance, and some torturous amplifier noise that would make Matthew Bower howl with respect. A pretty bloody awesome find; and a pretty bloody limited pressing of just 300 copies that comes with a nicely produced booklet of suitably xeroxed band photos and instructive history from Xeerox's Javier Hernandez.
Another gorgeous fuzzed out collection of washed out abstract dronescapes from aQ faves Xela, this one a four track, hour long sprawl of glistening, shimmering, crackle and hiss drenched drift. Type label head honcho John Twells, takes the sound of Xela, a sound we had previously described as "Dead C meets Pop Ambient meets Gooom" (Gooom the early home of M83, Abstrackt Keal Agram, Purple Confusion and others), even further out this time, letting the various sounds ring out, spread out, decay and space as much a part of the sound as the notes and arrangements. The amazing thing about Xela, is that it's almost not even music, it often sounds more like a manufactured field recording, sometimes recognizable - are those footsteps? the sound of running water?, the creaking of old machinery? - but just as often, a sound that is totally alien, is that the sound of strange creatures rustling below the surface of some barren asteroid? Is that a recording of magnetic fields, or of spirits or ghosts, or maybe even something there are no words for? Which is what makes the sound of Xela so magical, and mysterious.
In Bocca seems to be steeped in religious symbolism, with a mysterious sigil on the cover of the lp, Latin song titles, and even sonically, it's like a wander through the catacombs beneath some old abandoned church, as if envisioned by Tim Hecker and Philip Jeck, with plenty of loops, smears of hiss, muted buzz, fields of crackle, fragmented melodies, all drifting amidst and among all manner of sounds, footsteps, chiming bells, short wave interference, bits of guitar (?), warm chordal swirls, woven into an incredibly evocative soundscape, that most definitely brings to mind another time and place, a world of darkness and grey skies, of stone walls below the ground dripping with moisture, of dusty shafts of sunlight filtering through bent bars, painting the dirt floors blurred shades of black and brown.
The opening track is thick with distortion and buzz and crackle, its beauty sublimated by all the extraneous noise, but it's that noise that give the track its texture, that turns a drone, a drift, into something much more tactile, a sound that is felt as much as it is heard, but the second track, shrugs off all of that noise, at least in the beginning, leaving just the muted sounds of a carillon, drifting down from a crumbling tower, mournful and funereal, before from below, surfaces swirls of soft electronic buzz, which become more and more smooth and blurred, finally existing as a sheet of warm whir over the ever tolling bells.
All four tracks seem to exist as a single multi movement piece, each slipping smoothly into the next, in the third movement, the bells drift off, and over them are laid deep moaning tones, the buzz and crackle now merely a whisper, a haunting slow motion creep into a thick waterfall of pink noise, before distant drums (courtesy of the dude from Heavy Winged) announce the beginning of the final, and longest movement. Tribal, militaristic, but spare and still abstract, the drums unfurl a skeletal rhythm, while all around it, the sounds become more and more frenzied, feedback, squalls of amp buzz and hiss, cymbals explode like fireworks in a black sky, the background scribbled with electronic squiggles and jagged shards of distortion, growing more and more blown out, the drums growing wilder and wilder, buzzing synths emerging from the chaos, until the drums drop out and the track has been transformed into a spaced out synthscape, all layered and pulsing, buzzing and blissful, as if suddenly, the dank stone floor gave way, and the listener, the catacombs, and everything as we know it, collapsed inward, emerging in some otherworld, a neverending expanse of glimmering, glistening blackness, a slow motion swirl of mysterious voices and distant drones all stretched out along thick streaks of looped buzz stretching off into the void.
The cd is packaged in a normal jewel case, with quite striking, and bloody artwork, the 2lp is limited (of course) and comes in a thick chipboard brown jacket, adorned with a simple black symbol right in the center.
Couldn't really think of a much better match up. Xela, aka John Twells, who runs the Type label, and North Sea aka Brad Rose, who runs the Digitalis label, both explore similar sounds and sound making in their respective groups, as well as the various releases on their respective labels. This might be the first time these two have shared a record, but hopefully not the last. Perhaps the Volume 1 in the title does in fact hint at future volumes...
Xela gives us two track of his particular 'electronic music', and it sounds, thankfully, much like his more organic music, a bit more abstract perhaps, a lot less doomy, but just as mysterious and evocative, long sweeping soundscapes made up of sculpted hiss, and buried high pulses, ultra minimal but thick and layered, peppered with buried streaks of feedback, fragmented melodies, what sounds like manipulated samples from other songs, all manner of glitch and buzz, deftly woven into two movements, the first, noisy and staticky, powerful and intense, but still strangely pretty, the second, much more abstract, beginning as a whisper, a barely there drift of found sounds, before drifting forward, and accumulating various sounds as it goes, building to a strange and haunting piece of active ambience, very cinematic, haunting and again, in it's own difficult way, quite lovely.
The North Sea continues on in the same direction as the last few releases, ditching much of the folk and flutter, for churning low end crunch. At this point it does seem that perhaps the title Electronic Music was not necessarily meant literally, cuz at least to our ears this sounds like big heaving slabs of downtuned guitar, glacial doomdronedirge, roiling swirls of rumble and buzz, eventually breaking down to something much more ambient, an ominous blackened drift, rife with bits of electronic glitch and swirling space-y FX, before finally transforming into something much more blown out and blissful, a sort of static soft noise jam equal parts Tim Hecker and Aidan Baker, smeared and blurred into one smoldering expanse of soft focus heaviness. Quite gorgeous.
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES. Housed in plain white sleeves, hand stamped, the text mostly in Cyrillic.
Whoah, man. A seriously trippy, dark and clangorous document here from the (very literally) cult group of early '70s rockers called Ya Ho Wha 13. Of all the many albums that the legendary Father Yod and his band of freaky communal-living hippies made back in the day (most but not all of 'em compiled into the massive Aquarius-beloved 13-disc God And Hair box set that came out in Japan some years back), it's always been THIS one that we at AQ (and pretty much every other reputable source too) have heralded as the absolute heaviest and best of the bunch. An essential item for anyone into far-out freeform '70s psych weirdness. And it's got an unbeatable title, eh? Penetration, An Aquarian Symphony. How can we not dig that? So we're quite stoked that the UK's Swordfish label has reissued it on cd for those who haven't got and/or aren't ready for the box set (which may or may not still be available anyway, inquire if you're curious). The four tracks here (including one entitled simply "Ya Ho Wha 13") venture from droneing spacey effects laden soundscapes with eerie Eastern-sounding vocal wailing to full-tilt throbbing, percussive tribal lift-off frenzies complete with stabs of heavy guitar distortion. Throw in some whistling to add an off-kilter spaghetti western soundtrack vibe and you've got Penetration. A damaged, dense, intense, quasi-religious psychedelic California-krautrock experience. Even the mellowest parts are still pretty edgy. This 1974 recording is definitely to be considered a cosmic precursor to everything from the drum circle discs of the Boredoms to the improv rock of Reynols to the neo-hippy clank of the No Neck Blues Band. Amazing. Just what you need before checking out the new DVD documentary on the Ya Ho Wha family that we also just got in (to be reviewed next time around, with luck).
For all the things that are truly great about working in a record store, on of the only real bummers is that sometimes it's kinda hard to be surprised by new music, in most cases, we know when a record is coming long before it's out, and often we get to hear albums before they're released, so some of the musical excitement we grew up with is gone, and we sometimes really miss that thrill of making a special trip to the record store only to discover some record you didn't even know about. So when it does happen, we freak out big time. Similarly, being the music nerd obsessives we are (and most of you are too), we're constantly on the hunt for new sounds, and for new favorites, and the one thing we DO still experience, is stumbling upon a record, and being blown away by the crazy cover art, or the weird name, or both, only to find that the music inside more than lives up to that unspoken promise, which is precisely what happened with the oddly monickered Yamantaka // Sonic Titan (and yeah, that double back slash is part of the name), not a split between two bands, but a duo, who the label describe as being a "pan-Asian cultural collective" based in Canada, whose two person lineup is expanded to eight members for this record, and whose eclectic lineup includes a traditional Mohawk singer, and the sound, WOW, not just a pleasant surprise, but a total revelation. The label describe YT // ST as being "for fans of Boredoms, Flower Travellin' Band, Taj Mahal Travellers, Deep Purple, J-Pop and Chinese Opera", and whenever you read such an over the top impossibly rad comparison, you sort of feel obligated to call hyperbole/bullshit, but the weird thing, as impossible as it seems, we might have come up with something similar, although we would add something about math rock / post rock / noise rock, and would definitely include Blonde Redhead, the vocals are occasionally a dead ringer for Kazu Makino, albeit much more washed out and druggy, and there's definitely some of the hyper Magmoid prog of Hundred Sights Of Koenji / Koenjihyakkei going on, but not so hyper, a little more toned down and stretched out into woozy rhythmic mesmer. As with all great records, this stuff is actually really difficult to describe, although odds are by now, some of you are already flipping out over the above comparisons.
The record opens with a brief bit of ritualistic ambience, the sound of rainfall and distant thunder, reverbed vocal harmonies, like the chanting of some astral female monks, all swirly and druggy and ethereal, which leads directly into "Queens", which unfurls in a haze of strange looped voices and whirring Deep Purple like organs, the vocals come in, and the sound is transformed into a sort of psychedelic indie rock, the melodies though reminiscent o seventies British acid folk, the rainfall present throughout, haunting and liturgical, epic and mysterious, and then the drums kick in, super distorted, in-the-red, the guitars coalesce into some serious riffage, splintering off into psychedelic swirls, the sound blown out, but dreamily so, until the blown out indie rock haze devolves into some seriously heavy, churning mathy pound and crunch, the vox processed into dizzying loops, blurred into the organs and the swirling psychedelia. So good. Imagine a way heavier, mathier, tripped out psychedelic Blonde Redhead and you might be close. But it only gets better/weirder from there.
After a brief bit of ethereal haze, that sounds like a grittier spaced out lo-fi take on Kate Bush / Cocteau twins, those British folk melodies here rendered in thick corrosive streaks of warm woozy guitar buzz, underpinned by powerful drumming, the sound coalescing into a brooding ballad, heavy and dark and broodingly beautiful.
But then comes "Reverse Crystal // Murder Of A Spider", which feels like the record's centerpiece, beginning with a grinding, crumbling bit of blurred orchestral swell, wreathed in clouds of decayed FX and fractured muted rhythms, the song explodes in a twisted mathy progged out frenzy, like the Ruins meets Nomeansno, only to immediately blossom into a super distorted heavy post rock lope, and then the soaring crystalline vocals come in, and the song is transformed into a bass heavy math prog groove than manages to be impossibly catchy at the same time, with what sound like wordless vocals unfurling a gorgeous and irresistible melody over some serious organ drive prog that sounds almost carnivalesque at times. After a brief tangle of abstract noise and processed tape, the song shifts into its second movement, a muted, rhythmic, almost krautrocky groove, that sounds like This Heat by way of Tortoise, and as the song progresses, the drums distort, the sound gets darker and heavier, the vocals surface adding a swirling spectral layer to the churning rhythmic low end below, before gradually getting more and more abstract and then finally fading out. YT // ST manage in one song what most bands can barely pull off on a whole record.
"Hoshi Neko" starts off sounding almost like some alien Christmas carol, a music box melody over a hushed tinny rhythm, all blurred with FX, and then in come the big distorted drums, and the band locks into a dark sinister groove, that almost sounds like a heavy creepy Stereolab, the vocals here are dramatic, transforming the song into what sounds like some classic sixties girl group songs reimagined as some sort of rhythmic post rock churn. "A Star Over Pureland" is the other long song on the record, and in some ways is competing with "Reverse Crystal // Murder Of A Spider" for sonic centerpiece privileges, and definitely makes a good case, although it's less fully formed songwise, instead it's a killer mathprog workout, the drumming particular, intricate and intense, while the guitars grind and crunch and howl, occasionally splintering into full on psychedelic squalls, there's definitely some sort of White Heaven / Fushitsusha classic Japanese psych going on here, but filtered through groups like Aluk Todolo and the Psychic Paramount, the track constantly morphing, locking into a very Ruins-y groove about midway through replete with strange effected vocal barks, wild Yoko Ono like warbly wails, and some thick buzzing bass, only to return to that strangely hypnotic lurching and stuttering groove and riding it out until the end.
Finally, the record closes with the awesomely and evocatively titled "Crystal Fortress Over The Sea Of Trees", which opens ominously like some sort of John Carpenter cinematic creepfest, but instead launches into some serious mathy post rock, only to have that Carpenter-y synth return, to help the song transition into something more swirling and surreal, but it only briefly, as the drums crash right back down, and the song returns to that opening post-math-psych-prog groove, the sound noisy, with all manner of guitar shards and fragmented melodies and bits of keyboard and strange voices swirling all around it, the song building to a strangely choral sounding drum and vocal coda, before devolving into burst of bass buzz and drum pound before clipping out abruptly, leaving a long stretch of near silence, a barely there distant blur of tinny vocals and ghostlike shimmer.
Definite contender for record of the year, it's available on both cd and lp, the vinyl limited to 500 copies...
Holy shit!!! This has to be our krautrock (re)discovery of the year. Definitely contender for krautrock reissue of the year!! We have been listening to this NONSTOP since it came in. We had heard OF Yatha Sidhra, a German group whose only record, A Meditation Mass, was released in 1974, but until now we had never actually heard it. Apparently the record was massive flop which is utterly shocking hearing this now. Everything we could want in a krautrock record, loooong tracks, simple tribal percussion, flute all over the place, simple effected guitar, crooned almost chantlike vocals, squalls of totally heavy super distorted freaked out psychedelia, wild drumming, tons of effects, as well as long stretches of tranquil drift and fluttery folky shimmer.
The opening movement of the Mass begins with all manner of rumbles and drones, before it slips into a lilting laid back groove, all soft guitar curlicues, spare percussion, warm languid bass, and flittering flute, the track drifts lazily, occasionally erupting into ultra brief psychedelic blowouts, the flute howling, a cacophony of frenzied drumming, only to settle right back into the mellow drift. The second movement is a little more active, the drums more propulsive, piano draped over deep dubby bass, and the flute fired up and swooping wildly, jazzy but still pretty krautrocky.
The third movement is probably our favorite, clocking in at 12 minutes, the song starts out by returning to the opening groove, loping bass, fluttery flute, spare guitar, the drums a bit more aggressive, some angular guitar solos, all wrapped up in tripped out FX, eventually the song shifts into a more upbeat shuffle, the drums getting wilder and more chaotic, the guitar going nuts, spitting out psych leads all over the place, until the band locks into a serious blowout, the guitar white hot, the drums freaking out, the bass swooping back and forth, everything doused in so many effects the whole track seems to crumple and crumble under the weight, flanger and phaser and echo have everything totally tripped out and druggy, the drums and flute engage in a wild battle, a free jazz krautrock psychedelic frenzy, before finally simmering down, and slipping into a super soft lazy lope, the flute floating over a deep bass and minimal drum workout, finishing off with another drum vs. flute freakout, everything again dripping with echo and delay, as of the whole band was slipping deeper and deeper, moving further and further away.
The final movement, revisits the opening, the band slip smoothly back into that original groove, the guitars way more effected, the drums a bit more tribal, the flute still drifting above it all, the whole band locked into a totally dreamy, blissed out krautdrone drift, with the instruments dropping out one by one, eventually leaving just the guitar, wreathed in effects to shimmer and finally fade out.
So freaking amazing. Boggles the mind that these guys, and this record aren't spoken of in hushed reverence and worshipped along with Can and Faust and all the other krautrock legends. Hopefully that will change with this reissue, and even if it doesn't, at least we know how mysterious and magical A Meditation Mass really is...
Packaged in a super spare digipak, with a big book of liner notes (in English and German) and a bunch of photos.
!!!COLD CAVE ALERT!!!!
Hopefully that got your attention, not only because the world seems to be going totally batshit for minimalist synth poppers Cold Cave, but ALSO because we only have a scant 15 COPIES of this pre-CC group, and it's looking like that will probably be it for all of history, or until someone else decides to come along and reissue it. So you probably want to act now or miss out.
Ye Olde Maids follow a similar path as Cold Cave, in fact you might be hard pressed to tell the difference. But hey, we're not complaining, because like everyone else, we're too busy digging these propulsive, gloomy as hell lo-fi jams. Like Cold Cave, you might want to compare this to New Order or the Cure in terms of atmosphere and in their overall approach. It's easy to see that this is where Wes Eisold began to solidify all his new wavey inclinations after years of playing in hardcore bands, though the songs definitely stand strongly enough on their own. Things are probably a little more noisy and disjointed than what has been perfected with Cold Cave, but for those who can't get enough CC, you will definitely want to grab this one fast. Did we mention that we had only 15 copies?
Be warned. This is another one of those tiny, tiny, tiny editions from Digitalis; and it's undoubtedly out of print from the source. Yek Koo is the solo project of Helga Fassonaki, the Los Angeles half of the trans-Pacific duo Metal Rouge, who blew us away with their last record on Root Strata. She follows a similar path as Metal Rouge on Psychic Atonement For Land Deaths, mining a deconstructed post-Krautrock vein all the way down to its droning core. It's all voice and lapsteel on this album; and not surprisingly, she shares more than a few similarities to the freeform atmospherics of Heather Leigh Murray (Taurpis Tula, ex-Charalambides) or even to the earlier Grouper albums. Much to her advantage, Fassonaki uses her voice with a restrained panache when it comes to these distant siren songs bathed in thick clouds of reverb and delay. The lapsteel itself melts into magical cascades of bliss out drones, roughly swirled ambience, and sustained chords. Everything comes together into three gorgeous longform pieces of seductively creepy feral drone work. Fans of Fursaxa, Grouper, and Charalambides should not miss this one! LIMITED TO 81 COPIES!!!
It's hard to believe these guys broke up close to two years ago, they keep a higher profile than most active bands, and they definitely release more records than lots of proper not-defunct outfits, but we're not complaining, amongst the many floorcore bands out there, these guys definitely shone brightly, whereas most were content to just plug in a rack of effects and make an ear splitting racket, these guys always did more with their noise(s), sometimes subtly, sometimes not so, even at their noisiest and most abrasive, they infused their crunch and skree with melody and texture, and were definitely capable of crafting some moments of sublime beauty, which is where this newest, and supposedly final Yellow Swans release positions itself. Gorgeously ambient, but Yellow Swans ambient, which means rife with strange layers, and sublimated rhythms, noise, but soft noise, the first track explodes in a cloud of grey noise, but it never gets too harsh, instead the duo soften the edges, add a lurching buried pulse, wrapping everything in a gauze of smeared melody, and woozy shimmer, it almost sounds like krautrock broadcast via shortwave and played back on a wax cylinder, but at extremely high volume, gritty, and hissy, but washed out and dreamlike, all wrapped around a skeletal rhythm, looped and mesmeric, it's only 4 minutes, but we definitely could have dug this track stretched out to fill up the whole record. The 13+ minute "Opt Out" begins all spaced out and dreamy, lots of shifting textures, undulating layers, hazy chordal streaks way off in the distance, eventually building to a white hot squall of psych noise, that is definitely harsh and heavy, but within the chaos of colliding sound particles, rhythms skitter subtly, melodies loop and intertwine, it's almost like pretty Merzbow, if that were even possible, which it seems it is...
The rest of the record dials back the noise, instead opting to drift and shimmer and creep, letting the sounds ooze and sprawl, sending notes into the ether, like sonic flower petals drifting on a swirling churning black stream, bits of guitar chime and ring out, the recording glitches out, sound cut out, throb, and pulse, swells of almost SUNNO)))-like buzz surface and then dissipate, streaks of near pop ambience hover over bells and chimes, and looped melodies, fractured chunks of warm whirring sound, crackle and hiss and rumble crafted into crystalline expanses of prismatic glow, long ominous drones unfurl into hushed black ambience, shot through with warm, languid psych guitar skree, with the tracks occasionally building to a howling lysergic speaker shredding climax, but just as often splintering into warped shards of melted muted melody, and allowed to drift lazily and slowly settle into the darkness below, or rise to the heavens above. So gorgeous. These guys are definitely missed.
The vinyl version (and ONLY the vinyl version) includes a bonus disc, featuring 70 minutes of extra music, including what sound like reworked and extended versions of some of the songs on the record proper...
This is a split between the curiously monikered Yermo and the also curiously monikered M.C.M.S. But they seem to be a perfect match and this is possible one of the best discs in this series. Yermo presents one thirty minute piece, a wall of shimmering
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We went a little nuts for the skewed not-quite-black-metal of the oddly monickered Yoga, whose split with Ghast we reviewed a while back. Their sound not really buzzy and brutal as much as warped and twisted and blackened, more like a blurry shadow of black metal, the murky muddy underbelly of a sound more traditionally buzzy and black. Or as someone here opined, it's not black metal, but it wouldn't exist without black metal.
We'd been anxiously awaiting more, having played that split to DEATH, this full length definitely one of our most anticipated records of the year, and an inevitable Record Of The Week. The band do not disappoint. Once again, exploring all manner of spaced out otherworldliness, the blackness more implied, the buzz doused in druggy FX and wrapped around twisted streaks of fragmented pop and sprawling deconstructed dronemuisc. The core of the sound a sort of blissed out, uneasy, lo-fi dronescape, infused with fragmented riffage, pounding drum detritus, and super effected howling vox. There are definitely moments on Megafauna where Yoga begin to resemble an actual and proper metal band, but even then the sound is ragged and off kilter, effects swooping and swirling, the repetitive buzz becoming mantra like, the various strands of melody unraveling before your ears, like a live, metal, Disintegration Loop, with sounds crumbling and falling to pieces, the sound of dissolution and destruction rendered in abstract sound.
Imagine Tim Hecker or Philip Jeck, filtered through a grim black bedroom black metal aesthetic. Or better yet, Jeck in full corpse paint, hunkered over a row of black turntables, candles guttering in the evening breeze, lit from below like some hellish visage, the sounds emanating from his warped vinyl manipulations, being these: fuzzy, gauzy smears of indistinct shimmer and ghostly shadow, haunted music box missives, grim buzzscapes underpinned by heaving swells of crumbling blackness, abstruse sonic alchemy begetting bursts of almost orchestral crush, as well as long stretches of fun house mirror hum and whir, all gathered into a loose songsuite that oozes and drifts, interrupted only by the occasional squall of buzzing metal pound, either looped and frenzied sounding, or lurching and doom-ic, the drums a murky plod, the guitar slippery and shimmery, the riffs melty and viscous, the arrangements endless and lysergic, the sound washed out and shoegazey, a sort of hybridized black metal space rock trip out, that may lumber or blast or crunch, but always eventually slips back into a sound more abstract and metaphysical, psychedelic and darkly dreamy. Yeah!
Originally released as an ultra limited cassette, and then available on cd as half a split with Canadian blackened doom noise outfit Ghast, and now finally available on vinyl for the first time...
Yoga is a pretty unlikely name for a black metal band. But then Yoga are a pretty unlikely sounding black metal band. So much so that we're not even sure they really are black metal. Or metal at all. But they are. Sort of.
The sound of Yoga takes the lo-fi practice space recordings of grimmest of the BM outfits, and combines it with the murky muddy noise drenched blur of bands like Wold. But then take it even further rendering their sound so muted and lo fidelity that even when they're blasting furiously, it still sounds like a busted music box or an old black metal 78. And then there's the fact that Yoga spend a good amount of their time not blasting blackly, but instead, crafting synth heavy Goblin style film music, all throbbing bass and buzzing synths, creepy minor key melodies and tons of haunting ambience. Those songs too are wreathed in a foggy night-on-the-moors sort of murk, which ties those songs closely to the more blackened ones.
The strange combination of grim and Goblin, the tripped out fucked up recording quality, the damaged arrangements, the looped hypnotic vibe, turn Yoga into something totally out there, most likely way too abstract and psychedelic and deliriously lo-fi to appeal to folks looking for grim buzzing blackness, but for the rest of you, if you can try to imagine some impossible mix of Philip Jeck, Wold, Goblin, the Skaters and some of the super weird EEE unblack bands, all produced by John Maus and Ariel Pink, then you're gonna flip out over this stuff for sure...
We're all big time Radiohead fans, and thus were pretty into RH frontman Thom Yorke's Eraser record, what could very well have been a proper Radiohead record, but instead turned out a more electronic stripped down gem, lush and dark and dreamy, his voice drifting ethereally over all manner of drift and buzz and skitter.
It seemed inevitable that some of the tracks would get remixed, and whattayaknow, soon there was indeed a serious of remix 12"s, and lo and behold, the remixes were almost better than the originals, the lineup of remixers featuring a who's who of aQ faves: Burial, The Bug, FourTet, The Field and more.
It's worth it for the Burial remix alone - murky and dark, the rhythms skittery and mechanical, plenty of distant whir and drone, thick squalls of buzzing dubstep bass. It has us wondering what that second Burial record would have sounded like had Yorke been picked to contribute all the vocals. Pretty amazing we'd guess. And yeah, while we can barely get ourselves to stop playing the Burial remix over and over, the rest of the disc is pretty excellent as well. Surgeon adds a thick glitchy house-y groove, and makes Yorke's mysterious humming the main melodic component. The Bug doesn't go all ragga like we expected, instead taking the 'hit' from that record, adding plenty of record crackle, and a super spare beat, rife with all sorts of old school filigree and lots of heavy crunchy bass. FourTet add all sorts of tribal rhythms, adding soft swoops of backwards melody, and a lush glimmering gauze over the whole song, letting the vocals soar WAY up top over the mix, the instrumental mix reminding us a bit of vintage Tortoise. The Field totally reinvent "Cymbal Rush" chopping it up into a gorgeous Oval like stuttery soft house, dizzying washed out and melodic, total Kompakt bliss, the original barely recognizable unless you know to listen for it, so good. Christian Vogel adds a heavy motorik beat, and a thick backdrop of processed chiming guitars, dipping the vocals in effects, the result very looped and lush and hypnotic. Modeselektor pull their track totally apart and reassemble it into a strange jagged stutterscape, glitchy and skittery, with warm fuzzy bass, super processed vocals, and some seriously twisted arrangements, quickly becoming another favorite mix. The Various remix finds the original chopped and looped, so it almost sounds like the signal is dropping out over and over, creating a woozy moody pulse, the melody fragmented and abstract. And finally, Christian Vogel has another go on the same track he remixed earlier, crafting a whole array of new beats, using just the barest bits of the original song for texture and melody, a killer choppy groove, with little flurries of glitchy skitter, bit for the most part, pretty minimal and hypnotic.
Definitely essential for the Burial mix, and The Field mix, but dig into all of these reimagined versions, and enjoy one of the very few remix records that is the perfect compliment to the original, as well being a fantastic record in its own right, one that just might be better than the original.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
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One of a whole batch of new releases from UK psych label Cardinal Fuzz, this is the first we've heard from You're Smiling Now But We'll All Turn Into Demons, or Demons for short, a double lp reissue of a 2009 cd, a sprawling collection of fuzzed out hard-psych swagger, big fuzzed out riffs, wild drumming, laid back box, and of course plenty of swirling psychedelic shred. Unlike a lot of groups doing the whole space psych sound these days, Demons are less about spaced out drift and more about the ROCK. Think Blue Cheer or the Heads, a little Black Sabbath for sure, chugging, churning, riffy crunch, but still laced with plenty of psychedelic trip out, with some songs slipping into catchier almost groovy psych pop ("Nervous - Alive"), others getting downright grungy "2009"), and others still sounding near metallic and stonery and doomy (check out "Alpha And Omega").
Wah wah guitars galore, swirling FX, some Spacemen 3 like druggy drift, all wrapped around tranced out riffage, motorik hard rock drumming, and set amidst some short pop gems, as well as some epic wasted, drug doom stoner creep mega-jams ("Prismatic Reflections"). WAY recommended for all you retro-space-psych-hard-rock headz... but some reason we're one of the only stores in the US carrying Cardinal Fuzz stuff, and this stuff goes crazy quick, so grab one before they're gone.
LIMITED TO 350 COPIES!! Housed in a full color jacket with a printed insert, and NO download.
Prepare yourself, this could get kind of META. So Joe Pernice, looooongtime aQ fave (Scud Mountain Boys, Pernice Brothers, Big Tobacco, Chappaquiddick Skyline, etc.) will be publishing his first novel this year. In that novel, the narrator is in a band called The Young Accuser, THIS band. After the FICTIONAL narrator, leaves this, his FICTIONAL BAND, they record a FICTIONAL song and send it to the NON-FICTIONAL Sub Pop label. And like they say on the Sub Pop website: "This is the non-fiction version of that fictional single". Phew.
So basically, Joe Pernice and some pals cooked up this 3 song 7", ostensibly a record by the band from his novel, and heck, it's really awesome, BUT, not like anything you might expect from Mr. Pernice. The Young Accuser sound straight out of the eighties, a fuzzy power pop college rock, that reminds us of the Replacements, the Mice, and Guided By Voices BIG TIME. Super lo-fi production, distorted vocals (which are often a dead ringer for Bob Pollard), blown out bass, wild drumming way down in the mix, and some bad ass HOOKS, total rad eighties classic power pop indie rock. The B side is a bit more snarly, and even more lo-fi, culminating in the brief slip of a final song, the only track here that really sounds Pernice-y, with strummed clean electrinc guitar, Pernice's high plaintive croon, a gorgeous lo-fi ballad not that dissimilar to those Replacements tracks that were always tucked amidst the more rocking jams, "Answering Machine", "Skyway" and the like.
Cool stuff, with a totally bad ass vintage Sub Pop singles club sleeve. ----* ----* Compilations : ----*
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Part two in the Young Widows four part split single series, with cool glossy psychedelic covers that will fit together into one big puzzle, once you have all four. And hell, so far, we can see no reason not to want all of them. The first one, was a split with Bonny Prince Billy, both sides ruled, the YW song in particular, we mentioned that it was way too good to have been left off the record, but here we got again, with another killer jam, that sounds way too good to be an album reject (although you could look at it more as a single A-side!), anyway, Young Widows kick out the super thick, nineties style post/math rock heaviness, all churning bass and pounding rhythms, some scary effected vocals, the sound very Shellac-y, which is in no way a bad thing, short, sharp, heavy as fuck, and catchy as all get out. Beginning to think these guys might be one of the best sort of noise rock bands going.
Teamed up here with Japanese spazz rock legends Melt-Banana, who begin with some awesome progged out rock opera slow build, all skittery drums, squiggly keyboards, epic guitars, which suddenly changes gears and the band are spitting out their instantly recognizable fractured bouncy chipmunky prog pop, this time rife with all manner of wild guitar weirdness, outer space electronics (at least that's what it sounds like, could be more guitar) and some crazy crazy HOOKS!
As always, super limited, number two in the series, another winner, plenty to keep us satiated while we wait for parts 3 and 4!
Finally, the record that nearly ruined Neil Young gets a proper cd release! And what better time than in the current electro-resurgence, retro-eighties new wave craze!!! Every band and their mother are now singing through a vocoder, but Neil was doing that shit 20 years ago!!! And people HATED it. 'Trans' was his worse selling record and had everyone predicting the end of Neil Young. But as always, people just don't get it. This record is awesome (though that opinion is not universal among AQ-staffers, we must admit). The first track starts out like any old Neil Young record, good old rock and roll, lulling you into believing nothing has changed. But track two kicks into future-gear, transporting us to 'the future' of music as it could only be imagined by folks in the eighties. A world of robots and robot cars and 'futuristic rock and roll' where everyone sings through vocoders and all melodies are played by wheedling little computers (or guitars rigged to sound like it). And weirdly enough, it's sort of a dark depressing, melancholy world. The melodies are mostly minor key, the emotions evoked are mostly -not- happy, and maybe the future is not so bright after all. That's part of the charm of 'Trans'. All kitsch value aside, this is a really cool record. With some of these songs, you'd think you were listening to that new Flaming Lips album, maybe. Great songs, catchy melodies, all sort of wistful and morose and sorrowfully dreamy -- in a futuristic sort of way!
The first thing you notice on Relayer is that oh so familiar Bower 'shimmer' from so many Skullflower/Total/Hototogisu/Sunroof! records. But this collaboration with Richard Youngs keeps things firmly in 'shimmer' without ever pulling out the stops and letting loose with a torrent of free-noise-jazz-skree as both are wont to do. Youngs contributes his usual melodic playfulness adding an almost festive/Christmas-y feel. The whole record in fact exudes that sort of vibe, shimmery dreamy ambience, with curious but appealing instrumentation like calypso casio beats, noodly keyboard melodies, steady ch-ch-ch rhythms, far away guitar freakouts, and all sorts of hum and buzz. Noise-y but joyous and warm. Almost new-agey but in a good way. A VERY GOOD way. Maybe think George Winston on peyote!! Or a Total record on Windham Hill. Sounds bad maybe, but coming from me (Andee) you know those comments are high praise indeed. Really really great!
RealAudio clip: "Eagle Like A Fly" [/audio/youngsbowereagle.rm]
RealAudio clip: "Iridescent Hosedown" [/audio/youngsbowerhosedown.rm] ----* ----* Incredible String Band Reissues : ----* England's Incredible String Band were a late sixties / early seventies outfit who blended folk rock, psychedelia, and Eastern ethnic musics.
Very sixties, very hippy -- they played at Woodstock, in fact. With their folky male and female vocals and expertise with a plethora of exotic stringed instruments, a shorthand description might be that ISB was kinda like Fairport Convention with sitars, and crazy costumes. But then, as they say, there's more: their music encompasses traditional British folk, Indian ragas, Dylan, blues, country, hoedowns, etc. -- an eclectic stew indeed. Sometimes ISB can come off as a little *too* varied: you might be digging some Eastern drone track and find an abrupt switch to, say, music-hall country a bit jarrring. But that just means there's plenty of different things on these discs to like.
We're always mentioning ISB in reviews of other folk-psych albums past and present, from Forest and Trees to P.G. Six and Tower Recordings, so it's nice to finally get these listed in our catalog...definitely if you're into that British folk-psych vibe you need to investigate this band if you haven't already!
Woah, this is some seriously filthy and hateful, damaged and demented, utterly raw black metal primitivism. A collection of long out of print demos from the tongue twistingly titled Zarach'Baal'Tharagh, a band/man the label refers to as "The French master of bedroom black metal", and who are we to argue.
Right off the bat, we should just say, that all of you who are into the weirdest of the weird, the damaged, retarded, stumbling, freaked out what-the-fuck black metal we can't ever get enough of, a la Necrofrost, Furze, Dead Reptile Shrine, Striborg, then this is pretty much ESSENTIAL.
The sound will also definitely appeal to folks who dig the ultra personal grimnity of the French Black Legions, but Zarach'Baal'Tharagh takes that sound, and douses it with noise, lets riffs unravel, lets rhythms unwind, songs collapse, and then suddenly seem to fall back together, the drums blast and splatter, stumble and shuffle, the guitars roar and buzz, the vocals a paint peeling rasp, and then there are the leads, wild and dizzyingly off kilter, somewhere between actual shredding and completely random noodling, but all wound up into the buzzing swirl, it sounds perfect. A massively head spinning unhinged blackened assault.
The slow parts are gorgeous and creepy, the guitars wavery and warbly, the drums a stuttery tattoo, some tracks are killer stretches of FX drenched ambience, vocals reverbed and delayed into strange sonic echoes, everything including the blasts of black are muddy and murky and ultra lo-fi.
The record is separated into three parts, Primitive Era, Apocalypse, and maybe our favorite El Borak, the harshest and heaviest of the bunch, the guitar supercharged, the four parts of El Borak, laced with completely wacked Buttholes Surfers style leads, spidery and chaotic, the four parts together forming a totally mesmerizing chunk of looped sounding black buzz, with some AWESOME riffing, but the riff is locked into an endless black groove, over and over and over, the whole thing dragged into some completely other dimension by the damaged lead guitar. So fucking awesome. Some of us around here can't help but think (even though technically this stuff is not 'new') that this could very well be a contender for black metal record of the year. At the very least, damaged demented outsider what-the-fuck black metal record of the year. Either way, totally recommended.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
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This is the hip hop record of the year without a doubt. Fuck that Common record (yawn). This record even manages to outshine the completely excellent Dead Prez record. Hard to believe that a record this fucked can sound so good. Even the bad bad cover art can't keep this record from shining. Stuttering hiccupping beats, bizarrely off time loops, smooth but rapid fire vocal delivery. This is the first record in a while to take the 'old skool' formula, nothing but loops and beats, and turn it inside out, making it completely off kilter, but still keeping it funky and totally catchy.
Awesome garagey/glammy '70s hard rock that sounds like a demented Led Zeppelin some of the time, featuring frontman Fred Cole, future co-founder of the legendary Pacific NW punks Dead Moon! For as big of proto-metal, '70s rock nerds as we are here at aQuarius, we don't understand how we'd somehow NEVER heard of this band until quite recently. And it's not like this is a new cd reissue, in fact, it apparently dates from 1994! When we got clued in to Zipper, we tracked it down, thankfully one of our distributors still had a supply in stock, so here it is, gotta share it with those of you who haven't heard Zipper either. Well, it's nice to know there's always some new but old gem out there we haven't yet heard.
So, Zipper's sole album, originally released as a private pressing (by the Cole's own "Whizeagle Records") in 1975, features nine cuts of high energy ramalama and bluesy grunge. The album opens with a bang, the song "Bullets" being the one that immediately made us think Led Zeppelin, with extremely lewd & lascivious lyrics delivered in what sounds like an exaggerated parody of a lemon-squeezin' Robert Plant. The sexual innuendo here is pretty outrageous / hilarious if you pay attention ("wanna stuff my face in your swimming hole, stroke it so hard I'm gonna break my pole", for example) and the guitars riff it up with wild abandon.
Cole's over the top vocals are big part of Zipper's sound, for sure, and at first (before we realized it was Fred Cole singing) we were kind of taken aback by his style, sneering and screeching, part Percy, part Mick Jagger, often doing a scrappy, campy falsetto that makes us think of Wayne Kramer warbling "Rambing Rose" on the MC5's Kick Out The Jams! Overwrought and ridiculous, but damn it works, with the downer epic "Face Of Stone" ferinstance being truly emotional wrenching. Some big influences are probably late '60s Stones, Zeppelin of course, perhaps early Detroit-era Alice Cooper, and maybe a bit of Black Sabbath. There's some sweet aching ballads, some lumbering blues rawk blasters, some glammed-up punkers, and even a '50s style raver. Good stuff - for raunchy, kickass, low-budget heavy jams from the garage circa '75, look no further!
(Sometime soon, we'll also have to review the reissue of the excellent album by Fred Cole's even earlier band from the sixties, The Lollipop Shoppe, a band whose cutesy name belies their seriously gloomy vibes.)
Battle Of The Peak is the crushing epic debut release from this Tolkien-esque psychedelic prog-doom noiserock from Portland, whose debut is in fact fucking amazing, not just sonically, but visually as well, more on the over the top ridiculous packaging in a second, cuz musically, it's hard to imagine an aQ metalhead who wouldn't freak out over there guys, epic, sprawling 15+ minute songs, classic metal riffing, big pounding drums, yowled bellowed vocals, the whole thing straddling the lines between classic metal, doom, noise rock, and black metal buzz, which makes sense as the mastermind of Zirakzagil is also the man behind two Northern BM bands of note, whose most recent records were both reviewed on the aQ list not too long ago, but Zirakzagil is a whole different beats, the band unfurling long stretches of tranced out riffing, surprisingly melodic, super dynamic, lurching stop/starts, some seriously soaring leads, at times it sounds a bit like the Fucking Champs, slowed down and stretched out into some psychedelic noise rock doom, at other times it's full on metallic prog, intricate, tangled arrangements slow builds, dense, and intense, the drumming super wild and chaotic, the songs will chug and churn, before slipping into some super melodic passage, and some of the leads, super emotive old school classic shreddery, and while there are vocals, bellowed bearded noise rock howls, most of the record is instrumental, the instruments doing all the heavy lifting, whether it's heaving swells of churning riffage on opener "The Birth Of The White Wizard", the woozy psychedelic shuffle of "Durin's Bane", or the weird mathy psychedelic breakdown near the end of "The Endless Stair", which ends up sounding like a more metal, and more mathed out Don Caballero!
This rules! And it's DEFINITELY not black metal, heck it's really not even that doomy, it IS sludgey, heavy, mathy, proggy and totally epic!
And speaking of epic, the packaging is ultra epic, and NERDY! The title and the cover art are of course beholden to Lord Of The Rings (where would metal be without Tolkien?), but then that stuff is designed into a faux Nintendo game cartridge, the fonts, the label log, the layout, the oversized clamshell case, it looks just like a Nintendo game, and open it up, and the liner notes are deftly worked into the game's instructions, even including a picture of the game controller, adorned with the Zirakzagil logo! Includes a patch and a sticker too. And of curse, EXTREMELY LIMITED! ONLY 98 COPIES, and we have about a dozen...
Now available on lp! Ultra thick vinyl, super heavy weight gatefold sleeve, and most importantly, AN EXCLUSIVE BONUS TRACK!!!! Limited to 1000 copies, so these probably won't be around for long. Here's our review of the cd from when we first reviewed it a few years back:
If there was ever a band more "AQ" than Zombi I'd be hard pressed to think of it. Take two guys, both obsessed with horror movies, particularly those by director Dario Argento, and even more specifically the Argento soundtracks by Italian prog outfit Goblin. Give these two guys a drumkit and a massive arsenal of synthesizers, and sign them to Relapse. And what do you get? Basically, a record we just can't stop listening to. And songs that are just BEGGING to accompany some gruesome footage of disemboweled corpses, dark stormy nights, windows covered in flies, and screaming barefoot girls in nighties running through graveyards in the pouring rain. Not that the music of Zombi is THAT scary, it's just so evocative, and SO reminiscent of Goblin, it's hard not to try to envision what kitschy eighties European horror movie these tracks might have come from. Sonically, the simplest description and the one that should have most of you rushing out to pick this up straight away, would be Goblin meets Tortoise. Yep, post rock horror movie soundtrack music swathed in ominous synthesizer buzz and electronic drone. Maybe a more accurate description though might be: long lost Goblin tracks performed by AQ faves Heldon, with all the requisite swooshing spaciness, haunting minor key melodies, propulsive krautrock rhythms and thick fuzzy synths. The synth soundtrack music of John Carpenter is also an obvious influence, but again, put to use in a post rock context. Whichever way, you NEED this!
Another gorgeous and mysterious collection of lo-fi, ritualistic, minimal, otherworldly psychedelia from Asa Osborn, aka Zomes, one time guitarist for legendary Baltimore hypno rockers Lungfish. And like his former bandmate, Daniel Higgs, the repetition and trancelike orchestrations of those Lungfish songs carried over to his new project. Higgs of course blossomed into a strangely inspiring psychedelic shaman, a wandering troubadour, as likely to perform a laughing solo as he is to do a whole set of solo jaw harp, Zomes became similarly shamanistic, with the minimal cyclical heavy rock of his former outfit transformed into something altogether more hushed and mediative, a series of miniature tone poems, simple melodies, spare arrangements, skeletal rhythms, each track, a simple, slow shifting soundscape of warm whirs, and muted thrum, of ethereal shimmer and bleary shuffle, of reverbed celestial drift and slo-mo kraut-drone dirgery, all the tracks woven deftly into a haunting alien songsuite, a hazy soundtrack to outer space drift and innerspace exploration.
Even more than Zomes' debut, Earth Grid manages the impossible task of being both even more simple and sparse, while being more rich and lush, and somehow more polished.
Earth Grid plays almost like a collection of fragments, each a glimpse into the ether, a peek behind the curtain, any of these songs could have been stretched out to sprawling trancelike raga lengths, but the economy in composition and instrumentation extends to song length too, with each impossibly catch sonic shard leaving us wanting more, at least until we're engulfed by the spirit and sound of the next brief bit of repetitive and meditative lumber and drift.
The record begins with "Openings", which is maybe the most 'rock' sounding Zomes track yet, and almost sounds like a Lunfish song slowed down to a crawl, the beat distorted and lumberingly propulsive, while the main melodies wheezes over a thick undulating buzz. "Pilgrim Traveler" is also drenched in buzz and fuzz (as is much of Earth Grid), and again harkens back to Lungfish, a woozy melody drifts over some thick lugubrious riffing (and it's strange what a similar melodic sense Higgs And Osborne have, must be all the years spent in a band together, cuz much of Earth Grid could easily be translated to Higgs' current sound).
"Melody, The Prism" is one of our favorites, a murky muddied beat, buried under some dark dreamy
low end thrum, a creeping, ominous krautrock lumber, but laced with sweet little melodic trills, but then there's "Stark Reality", a similarly gauzy rhythmic sprawl, and "Youth Of The Beast" which is Zomes at its doomiest, but interspersed amidst all this dark energy, there is plenty of light, dreamy, drifty, sun dappled kosmische folk drift, languid tangles of layered soft buzzing melody and lush expanses of blurred fuzz drenched krautdrone shimmer, at times sounding a bit like the cosmic alien folk of Amps For Christ, and at others, more of a sweetly serene, ethereal swirl, all washed out and spectral, and so fantastically dreamy.
Super striking minimal psychedelic cover art, geometric designs in white tape on a black background. The lp version includes a download coupon too...
The magic of the band Lungfish, was that they didn't approach their songs like songs. More like loops or pieces. Each of their 'songs' was a single riff, locked into trancelike repetition, rife with subtle tonal variation, but ultimately, almost static and incredibly mesmerizing. The band somehow propulsive while managing to not move forward, but instead looping in on themselves. Even Lungfish offshoot duo the Pupils displayed the same affinity for repetition, almost like a stripped down acoustic Lungfish, letting the vocals of frontman Daniel Higgs carry the melody, while the guitar and rhythm formed the mesmerizingly repetitive support.
So when Higgs took off on his own, his music was appropriately cyclical and looped and trancelike, so it seemed the root of Lungfish's sound was in fact to be found in the personal soundworld of Higgs. Or so we thought until now.
Zomes is the solo project of Lungfish / Pupils guitarist Asa Osborne, and the sound nears a remarkable resemblance to the solo work of his ex-partner Higgs. Short tracks, each centered around a single melodic figure, the sound allowed to shift subtly, but ultimately locked into a mesmerizing loop. Whether it's heavily effected guitar, simple muted tribal drumming, chiming guitar harmonics, whether the sound is dense and fuzzed out, or spare and spacious, Osborne conjures up a gorgeous world of trancelike sound. Maybe we were premature in declaring Higgs the music shaman of Lungfish. Perhaps the power of Lungfish stemmed from the shamanistic energy of two like minded musical seers. Zomes seems to make that abundantly clear. However, where much of Higgs' solo work is steeped in crumbling distortion, glowing with a burning intensity, Osborne's sounds seem to do just the opposite, to lope lazily, to drift dreamily. Just as powerful, sometimes almost as intense, almost Lungfish like once in a while, certainly just as mesmeric, but instead of threatening to crumble or explode, they are content to just spread and sprawl, sun dappled and dreamlike, the sound lush in its lo-fi hiss and buzz, the actual instrumentation simple, often a single guitar, and a single drum, sometimes even less, but it's the melodies, it's the timbre and the quality of the recording, the immediacy, the subdued power lurking within these slow soft spirituals, the reveals Osborne to be the musical shaman his past outfits have only hinted at. So gorgeous and sublime, mysterious and so so powerful. Zomes has been spinning NONSTOP around here over the last few weeks, and once you finally immerse yourself in the sounds of Zomes, it won't be difficult to see why. Now we can't seem to stop fantasizing about them reuniting, not as Lungfish, but as some impossibly mind expanding ritualistic future trance space bliss innerspace drone duo. Maybe someday...
In dedication to avant filmmaker Kenneth Anger (Lucifer Rising, Scorpio Rising, Invocation Of My Demon Brother, Fireworks, etc.), Zorn has composed "IAO", an epic seven-part suite inspired by the cult auteur's work as well as the Thelemic theology of Aleister Crowley. Through the seven segments, Zorn's latest masterpiece reflects upon the many facets of Alchemy, Metaphysics, Mysticism and Magick, dramatically shifting through newer, unexplored musical dimensions. With assistance from the talented crew of Jamie Saft, Mike Patton, Cyro Baptisa, Bill Laswell, Greg Cohen, Jennifer Charles, Rebecca Moore, Beth Hatton and Jim Pugliese, Zorn furthers his personal exploration of tenebrous sound. From minimalist generative electronic dronings to faux exotic percussive mantras, ritualistic pagan choral seances to full on death metal blowout, "IAO" is possibly Zorn's most ambitious work to date. And he succeeds in crafting a wicked mÈlange of alchemic erraticism, mystical beauty and diabolic witchery. Not since "Grand Guignol", maybe "Weird Little Boy", has Zorn spawned a torturous and stark behemoth of such exquisite magnitude. And I never thought I'd see a Tzadik record with a huge pentagram on the back! Fuck yeah!
So by now everyone knows how great the New Pornographers record is. I mean, the label sold out of 'em in a matter of months, it got written up in the New York Times, and we've sold tons of it. And while some of the credit goes to Neko Case's sublime vocals, the songs, and the vocals of lead pornographer Carl Newman, remind us of a band we were raving about 3 or 4 years ago, and that coincidentally featured one Carl Newman on vocals and keyboards. Zumpano put out two records of absolutely perfect pop, with enough musical bite and lyrical savagery to keep it interesting, even after all this time. Unlike all the pop groups that stole liberally from the Beach Boys and the Beatles and Supertramp, Zumpano, while obviously indebted to the above, dug much deeper and/or much farther back finding influences in the Zombies, Kinks, Chicago, Redd Kross, Jimmy Webb and even Neil Diamond. Amazing musicianship, crystalline production, beautiful harmonies, and some of the catchiest kick ass songs we've ever heard. Here's what we had to say about 'Goin Through Changes' way back on AQ list 38:
"THE pop record of the year. An amalgamation of all those AM radio anthems you heard day in and day out as a child yet it's somehow still wholly original. A pinch of Jimmy Webb, a dash of Chicago, a little Kinks, a little Zombies. Horns!... Piano!... Harmonies!... Somehow it still rocks!... Andee and Byram swear by this record & even Windy loves it. Allan loves it too but Andee refuses to believe him."
All of you that love the New Pornographers record should definitely give Zumpano a try, if you haven't already!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
So by now everyone knows how great the New Pornographers record is. I mean, the label sold out of 'em in a matter of months, it got written up in the New York Times, and we've sold tons of it. And while some of the credit goes to Neko Case's sublime vocals, the songs, and the vocals of lead pornographer Carl Newman, remind us of a band we were raving about 3 or 4 years ago, and that coincidentally featured one Carl Newman on vocals and keyboards. Zumpano put out two records of absolutely perfect pop, with enough musical bite and lyrical savagery to keep it interesting, even after all this time. Unlike all the pop groups that stole liberally from the Beach Boys and the Beatles and Supertramp, Zumpano while obviously indebted to the above, dug much deeper and/or much farther back finding influences in the Zombies, Kinks, Chicago, Redd Kross, Jimmy Webb and even Neil Diamond. Amazing musicianship, crystalline production, beautiful harmonies, and some of the catchiest kick ass songs we've ever heard. While this record predates the AQ list, it's equally as amazing as recor number two, which we reviewed on AQ list 38:
"THE pop record of the year. An amalgamation of all those AM radio anthems you heard day in and day out as a child yet it's somehow still wholly original. A pinch of Jimmy Webb, a dash of Chicago, a little Kinks, a little Zombies. Horns!... Piano!... Harmonies!... Somehow it still rocks!... Andee and Byram swear by this record & even Windy loves it. Allan loves it too but Andee refuses to believe him."
All of you that love the New Pornographers record should definitely give Zumpano a try, if you haven't already!
BACK IN STOCK!
We tend to check out most new stuff on Planet Mu, and we dig most of it, our recent Record Of The Week from Vex'd was on Planet Mu, the recent Starkey, Milanese, Distance, Legion Of Two, another Record Of The Week, there's also Boxcutter, Shitmat, Venetian Snares, Pinch, Virus Syndicate, we could go on, but the last thing we would have expected on Planet Mu was a POP record, but that's pretty much what this is. Sort of. It's definitely poppy, with hooks, and verses and choruses, vocals, the whole pop song nine yards, but it's all wrapped up in stuttery synths, thick warbling bass buzz, streaks of squelch and glitch, the opening track has all the makings of a killer dubstep jam, but then the vocals come in, and BAM, it's some sort of glorious new wave prismatic synth pop.
And that's pretty much how the whole record works, stripped of vocals, this would be some kick ass avant electro dubstep record, but the vocals transform it, allowing for strange arrangements, long stretches of tinkling piano and hushed vox, bumped up against, thick dubstep bass warble and lurching stuttering fuzz synth grooves, the vocals too are all over the map, pitched up into weird helium-ed falsettos, unfurled in dramatic breathy croons, or totally belted out, and the music reacts, slipping from slithery minimal drift to angular jagged electro crunch, to lumbering lowslung bass groove, to strangely orchestral abstract weirdness, to total eighties synth rock, to twisted lysergic synth-psych pop, and beyond.
And it's not just a case of throwing in some vocals, these are SONGS, POP songs, vocal driven in most cases, composed to be POP music, just strangely assembled into unlikely shapes and sounds, the hooks impossible to resist, the catchiness impossible to deny, this is easily one of the weirdest and coolest electronic pop records we've heard, a dizzying mishmash of various tropes from genres we love, dubstep, new wave, electro, synth pop, woven into a twisted sort of quirky dub-buzz-electro-synth-stutter-fuzz-pop that we just can't stop listening to...
It took us a while to suss out the name of this band, as the way it's written is actually a series of lines and dots and squares, which somehow equate to Night Toilet. It's almost better not knowing, as the music here is much better represented by the mysterious Morse code like moniker, a sprawling collection of abstract guitar/drum experimentation, that ranges from the spare, minimal, skeletal kraut-pop of the opener, all simple abstract drumming (apparently played by two drummers, sharing one and a half drum kits simultaneously), the guitars clean and shimmery, spidery melodies, pocked with the occasional chordal soft squall, to dirgey NZ style noise rock, all knuckle-dragging drum thud, and wild tangles of guitarnoise, sputtering, stuttering, avant-rhythmic doom-dirges that occasionally blossom into something much more fierce, as often as they (d)evolve into something more blissed out and dreamy, whether that be long stretches of softly tangled kosmiche shimmer, of abstract, nocturnal ambient drift...
Some good band math might be Dead C meets Aluk Todolo meets Geronimo? Or This Heat meets Bastard Noise? But then all the pretty parts should appeal to fans of all strains of drifty dreaminess... Grinding, crumbly, noisy, loose, free, but also dense and driving and repetitive, circular and mesmeric, hazy, atmospheric, cinematic, there even seems to be what sounds like horns, bleating forlornly on some of the tracks, we won't say too much, cuz we only have THREE copies. And can't get more, but wanted at least three of you our there, with a thirst for abstract instrumental drone-noise WTF outsider damaged psychedelia, to get a chance to get your hands on one of these. The packaging too is over the top: super thick, gatefold sleeves, paired with a heavy two sided silkscreened chipboard insert. Grab one quick if you can, before they're gone for good.
