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Birchville mainman (only man) and CPP head honcho releases another gem. One 40 minute, delicate and crystalline drone. Quiet and slowly shifiting, like the sound of ice melting or a black hole forming or both. So gorgeous.

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It's really amazing how I never get tired of this BCM stuff. I think a lot of that is due to the fact that all of these records are completely different, and while the differences are subtle, you are rewarded for active listening, digging deep into the layers of sound and focusing on different patterns and rhythms, different sounds and instruments. Campbell Kneale, like Matthew Bower before him, seems to have a direct line to the primordial drone, able to summon it at a moments notice, and then channel it through all sorts of strange instrumentation. 'Home' is definitely UR-DRONE of the highest order, a very Eastern tinged raga, with plucked and bowed strings, subtle feedback and barely-there percussion woven into a seamless tapestry of head expanding sound.

RealAudio clip: Home (excerpt)

This is a compilation of the a-sides of most of Birchville's super limited lathe cut singles. From roaring blasts of distorted guitar, buzzing and squealing to gentle bowed Middle Eastern melodies to shimmering blissed out dronescapes to crackling clatter

RealAudio clip: Long Vanished Spirals

THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.

SORRY. The first Curved Earth Destroyer collected a handful of live Birchville performances, from all over the world, spanning enough years, that we were able to hear the gradual development of BCM, from more ethereal tripped out ambient drones, to something much more aggressive and almost metallic. This second installment doesn't offer the same development, or such a wide breadth of sound. It's simply a collection of various stellar performances, culled from the last three years. Seven long sets, spread out over three discs, recorded all over, New Zealand, France, Australia, Hong Kong and a couple from the USA, some of the song titles sound familiar enough that they seem like variations of songs from other discs ("Dead Call Home Their Birds" instead of the other way around, "Gunpowder Church Of Satan", etc.) but it hardly matters, the sound of BCM is so gorgeous, so epic and organic, whether it's a glistening sheet of high end shimmer, or a corrosive slab of crumbling blistering crunch, the sounds are deftly stretched into expansive sonic vistas, some sun dappled and dreamy, others blackened and harrowing. Disc 3 (no need to go in numerical order right?) features the above mentioned tracks, recorded in France and NZ, and finds BCM, aka Campbell Kneale, doing the epic Ur-drone, long tones held forever, layered and layered, both tracks washed out and shimmery, the second, almost orchestral, both completely mesmerizing, like an even more epic Sunroof! Disc 2 begins with the 29 minute "Junkshop Rainbow Superserpent", a live collaboration with 1/3 Octave Band, the first half of the track, much more folky and abstract than usual, before building to a super dramatic crescendo of bowed metals and feeding back guitars, before unwinding into a field of bell like tones, and swooping backwards FX. Tripped out and haunting. The other two tracks, recorded in Hong Kong and NZ respectively, feature still more static ambience, the first like a cd-r minimal drone version of Arvo Part, glimmering, glistening, shimmering stretches of slow drifting sounds, soft overtones, gentle buried barely-there melodies, the second, much more lo-fi, lots of static and buzz and hiss and fuzz, but beneath it all lurk little warbly melodies, wheezing layers of whir and whisper, and a deep droning rumble. Disc 1 is all USA, recorded in Rochester and Chicago, the Rochester track is nearly 25 minutes of slow building ambient clatter, blurred and smeared into long tones, a warm whirring drone over the top, all tangled up with low end melodies that creep in gradually, the percussive clatter transforming into a cloud of tinkling chimes wreathed by the increasingly corrosive buzz. The Chicago track is another wall of static buzz, this one spends its first half murky and muted, before blossoming into a flurry of whirling buzz and more distant tinkling chimes, before finally fading out into a super minimal lo-fi drift. Packaged in that instantly recognizable CPSIP wallpaper style sleeve, with three inserts containing minimal liner notes for each disc, and of course SUPER LIMITED! We did get a bunch of these, but as always, these very well might be the last copies we can get, so grab one while you can...

MPEG stream: Dead Call Home Their Birds Live
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This is a super limited tour-only release for Birchville's recent Japanese tour. One hour long track. There's something about a piece of improvised music, when everything just clicks and the result is transcendent, spectacular, and becomes almost a living

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This is an expanded line-up (expanded from the usual one man Birchville Cat Motel) performing all acoustic recorded between 1999-2000. Sparse and clattery, with lots of random percussion, woodwinds and bowed metal drones. A clinking clanking, rattling

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Our hyper prolific buddy Campbell Kneale returns with another piece in the puzzle that is Birchville Cat Motel. Three extended tracks, over 50 minutes! The first track displays the harsher side of our normally mild mannered noisenik, with warm white noise that slowly gets its jagged edges smoothed off until the raw spiky skree becomes a warm muted roar. Track two finds us in much more familiar territory. 30 minutes of what sounds like bells and chimes, that are stretched into a warm wash of overtones and reverberations, with occasional clatter and buzz bobbing to the surface. Gorgeously meditative. Track three sounds like an indie rock band caught in Kneale's sticky web, trying desperately to pick out notes on their guitars, struggling against the thick, unyielding pull of oblivion. Shimmering feedback and rumbling drones occasionally let a stray note or chord make it to the surface, but those are quickly swallowed up by the murky morass.

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An ultra-uber-super-mega limited 7" from all time AQ noisemakers Birchville Cat Motel, released on Anthem Records, the same folks who brought us the killer Brainbombs 7" Stinking Memory a while back. The packaging this time around is no frills, a plain sleeve, hand stamped, the record numbered in gold ink (limited to 212 copies) and it's only one song, a one sided 7", but it's unlike any BCM recording we've heard yet. It kills us that it's only a 7"... It begins with a strange collection of vocalizations, duck calls, metallic shimmers, distant moans, alien rhythms, and what sounds like monkeys or maybe crickets, a dense tangle of sounds that swirl and intertwine before giving way to a propulsive metallic groove, a chugging guitar, plodding drums, but all beneath a mighty chorus of croaking frogs (hence the title?)! It sounds a bit like the main riff from Judas Priest's "You Got Another Thing Coming" looped over and over. And throw in the frogs and suddenly you've got some crazy mix of Circle's Andexelt and Sounds Of North American Frogs, and that is a very good thing indeed.� LIMITED TO 212 COPIES!!!

Outside of the Dead C, Birchville Cat Motel are one of the few original New Zealand noise musicians still making relevant noise. And like the Dead C, their sound has continued to evolve and grow well beyond the confines of 'noise music'. On 'We Count These

RealAudio clip: Shapeshifter
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The latest in Campbell Kneale's campaign to rule the world via an endless stream of releases, ALL OF THEM GREAT! This time it's a 30 minute piece recorded live in a Japanese temple, using contact mics, effects, dictaphone feedback, tapes, computer speakers and a PA. And this is austere and beautiful, we're talking Bernard Gunter territory here. Okay, maybe not that austere. A gorgeous hissy fuzzy soundscape of trickling water, gentle rainfall, and far away fog horns, that slowly bulids in intensity, while managing to remain murky and tranquil. Deep resonant drones slowly surface as do occasional clatters and clangs, and wheezing high end in the distance. Totally hypnotic and otherworldly. But we've come to expect nothing less.

RealAudio clip: Zenkoji

Another entry from the neverending barrage of gritty drones from Campbell Kneal's Celebrate Psi Phenomenon cd-r imprint, "Serene Trajectories" finds Campbell in his Birchville Cat Motel persona collaborating with fellow New Zealand sound sculptor Richard Francis (aka Eso Steel). Ostensibly, both work with "the drone", although they approach the medium in two entirely different means. Campbell prefers electric miasmas from guitar amplifiers and broken electronics, often drawing comparisons to Dead C and Sunroof; where Francis works with much cleaner techniques, digitally sculpting field recordings into textually rich dronescapes. As can be expected, this album falls directly in between those two ends of the fidelity spectrum, as flurries of indeterminant buzzings amass into thick snowstorms of raw sound while dramatic clatterings and striations burst through the stereofield with remarkable clarity and precision. Yup, another winner from Celebrate Psi Phenomenon.

RealAudio clip: Serene Trajectories

Second release from Bird Of Omen, the new-ish project from the man behind Monument Of Urns, whose gorgeous blackened doom, spread out over six super limited cd-r's, was a huge favorite around here. And as we mentioned in our review of Eulogy, the first Bird Of Omen, the sound, while still ominous and doomy, was well removed from the crumbling distorted sludge of Monument Of Urns, and instead trafficked in something more akin to groups like Barn Owl and Earth - dusky and atmospheric, haunting twang-flecked drone-folk. On What Was Once There Is Now Gone, the sound of Bird Of Omen seems to have bridged the gap between the two groups, taking the more refined melodic sound of Eulogy, and adding some seriously abject atmosphere, the opening track here a hauntingly harrowing creepy crawl, a moody, mournful, melancholy sprawl of distant black metal guitar buzz, blurred into dreamy smears of sounds, laced with delicate piano, and intense minor key chords, beneath which seems to lurk a gristly buzzing low end synth. It's so atmospheric and cinematic, it sounds like it could be the score for some super austere arthouse horror flick, in fact it has a sort of Carpenter credits vibe, especially, when the helicopter synth pulsations surface, and things get a tiny bit kosmische, still within the context of the blackened ambient moodiness. The bridged gap is even more evident on the second track, which explodes immediately into full on doom. Churning, crushing slow motion dirgery, but dragging some of that opening track atmosphere with it, the choppy rhythmic pulsing synth, the blackened shadowy swirls, all draped over a glacial tarpit trudge, that distant black metal buzz slightly more prominent, and endless sonic death march, that eventually sheds much of the crumbling buzz, leaving just the pointillist piano, and atmospheric shimmer of the first track, the outro returning to that funereal creep that started things off, before one more blast of blurred downtuned slo-mo doom-sludge, but again, while it's all churning heaviness, the sounds are muted, and blunted and smeared into something weirdly atmospheric, washed out and a little woozy, shades of Finnish doomlords Skepticism for sure, but BoO's sound is more caustic, building to a fierce noise drenched coda, before winding down into a strange bit of droned out mesmer, replete with weirdly effected twang, and gristled ominous thrum. Once again, fucking amazing stuff. How some big label hasn't swooped in by now we'll never know, both Monument Of Urns and Birds Of Omen and pretty much everything this guy does, definitely deserves much more widespread exposure, but for now, grab this, and anything else you can get your hands on. You won't be sorry. Like all the Urns releases and the other BoO, fantastically elaborate handmade packaging, an oversized full color sleeve, with a printed vellum outer cover, released on the artist's own Hand Hewn Timbre label, and yeah, probably pretty limited...

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THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.

SORRY. Somewhere between the tape decay experiments of William Basinski, the faded memory soundtracks of Leyland Kirby's Caretaker, and the sprawling sonic shadowscapes of Stars Of The Lid, lies Bird Traps, aka Marcus Skinner. His guitars, organs and field recordings are fleshed out by a proper string section, and the results are sublime, with the strings front and center, Skinner composing and adding coloration, subtle sonic backdrops to the aching, mournful string arrangements, the whole thing managing to evoke much of the same mood and mystery as those above mentioned artists, but without distortion or decay. On the surface, the sound of Bird Traps is like some string quartet, frozen mid performance, and suspended in amber, the sounds slowed down to a crawl, and unfurling like the score to some heartbreaking time lapse film, a melancholic threnody, simple and stirring. The first two tracks are truly majestic, it's not hard to imagine the sound here as the score to some visual survey of sweeping plains, massive canyons, snowy peaks, but it's only on the second track that the machinations behind the scenes slowly drift to the fore, a little bit of looped whir here, of subtly static shimmer there, all the while, the strings continue to soar, the arrangement spread out into delicate chordal swells, heady and hypnotic, and with a depth not easily perceived with a glancing listen. In fact, Bird Traps seem to function in two distinct manners, perhaps not intentionally, one, simply as gorgeous, cinematic string based loveliness, the other, some serious deep listening, with headphones. Tracks like "Minor Tapestry" begin to sound more like Phill Niblock, with constantly shifting overtones, layered drones, all deftly woven into the otherwise placed stringscapes. Not surprisingly, "Loose Knit" might be our favorite track here, it's the one where the strings take on a bit more of a supporting role, the dynamics as such, that they ebb and flow, leaving wide open space for choral like organs, and for the sibilant murmur of random field recordings, all adding grit and texture to the tracks haunting, drone out drift, before returning to something a bit less shadowy for the closer, which again, finds the sound slipping into something approaching a more modern minimalism / drone arrangement, but those strings, they keep the sound alive and seemingly expanding ever outward, a sonic time lapse blossoming, sun dappled and dreamlike, mesmerizing and impossibly, and mysteriously beautiful.

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Many folks were disappointed when Cotton Casino decided to drop out of the Acid Mothers Temple. And it wasn't just lecherous psych rock nerds who would no longer be able to ogle the tiny chain smoking, perpetually scowling waif, stationed stoically behind her synthesizers. No, she also happened to contribute some of AMT's most appealing elements with her burbling blooping bleeping space rock synths and her angelic ethereal otherworldly vocals. This is only her second proper, non cd-r release, post AMT, and her first release as Birds, with her musical partner Per Gisele Galaen who had previously played in the groups Sloburn and Del. And damn if this isn't the lovliest AMT related record we've yet heard. As one might imagine, the focus here is Cotton Casino's voice, at once totally delicate and tentative, but at the same time dreamy and haunting. However, it's the surrounding sounds that really make this record special. The record opens acapella, with Casino's quavering vocals sounding like a timid girlish singer in some sort of creepy opera, which only gets creepier once the music comes in, hauntingly strummed guitars that blur into a shimmering minor key backdrop, while tiny electrical impulses whoosh to and fro in the background. After that the record drifts like an unmoored ship, down a dark stream through a dark and ominous forest, the sounds throughout moody and melancholy, with slow motion strings swooping in morose minor key arcs, Casino gurgling like a baby, her bandmate Galaen singing in a barely audible deadpan over swirls of space-y sound effects, the sounds of running water, delicate melodies playing on a heavily reverbed piano far in the distance, the buzz of steel strings ringing out like an electric sitar, dizzying synth melodies careening from speaker to speaker interrupted by wild squalls of full on ultra distorted Japanoise guitar skree, gorgeous folky acoustic guitars beneath Casino's hypnotic sing song vocals, extended stretches of warm droning rumbles, playful Moog melodies and more of that Casino bloopy space synth, sounding almost like Perrey And Kingsley, and finally the whole record finishes off with a six minute blast of full on wall of guitar meltdown, noisy and punishing, but at the same time completely hypnotic, like getting buried in warm wet sound, feeling it fill your ears and your eyes and your mouth, so all you can see or hear or taste is GUITAR, roiling and swirling and pulsing, slowly fading and drifting into space, leaving only a battered old piano, playing a simple melody, accompanied by Casino's barely there angelic purr. Gorgeously packaged with original Pete Fowler artwork (Andee sports several Fowler tattoos in fact!), an image of a pink smoke breathing, wooden helmeted, long stripey armed, black bearded demon, surrounded by birds and squirrels and hairy horses, all rendered in blurred out 3-D on one of those cool three dimensional stereo lenticular cards. Wow!

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We've been waiting for this one for ages. And thus, are having a lot of trouble figuring out what exactly to write about it. We've literally been obsessed with this band and these records for more than two decades, and one aQ-er in particular was even in a band who was heavily influenced by the late great Bitch Magnet. In the realms of late eighties / early nineties postrock / postpunk / mathrock, there's a very elite pantheon, made up of names you no doubt recognize or at least should: Slint, of course, Rodan, Codeine, Bastro and of course Bitch Magnet, who amongst those band might be the least well known, and perhaps the most unfairly under appreciated. The various members of BM would go on to other bands we love, bass player and vocalist Soo Young Park would form Seam, guitarist (and aQ pal) Jon Fine would go on to form Coptic Light and Vineland (and play briefly in Don Caballero), and drummer Orestes Morfin would end up playing in Walt Mink. But it's Bitch Magnet that was the perfect combination of the three, creating a sonic template for much to come, and creating one of the most incredible bodies of work in underground rock. An impossible hybrid of progged out mathiness, moody introspective indie rock, brooding slowcore, and an almost metallic heft, woven into actual songs that would and will stick in your head forever. They wrote the sort of parts that were effortlessly catchy, some crazy weird time signatured progmath breakdown could be as hooky in their hands as a jangly bit of melody or a soaring majestic chorus, and it's precisely that magic ingredient that makes this stuff sound as good now as it did 20 years ago. This new collection features tons of bonus tracks, but really, those are mostly of interest to folks who already love Bitch Magnet, and everyone who already does is definitely gonna want this, for those tracks sure, but also just for a new remastered fancy versions of the records you already treasure, cuz Bitch Magnet were one of those rare bands that engendered crazy obsession and slavish worship from their fans, who were eager to offer up both. For the rest of the folks out there, who somehow missed out on BM the first time around, or were perhaps too young at the time, the records proper are more than enough. The Star Booty ep, originally released in 1988, finds the band at their most indie rock, they're still heavy, and a bit mathy, but way more indie rock / post punk than anything, in fact much of this record is downright poppy, maybe more along the lines of other contemporaries like Superchunk and Squirrelbait, jangly and crunchy and hooky as hell, for many of us, this was our first exposure to Bitch Magnet, and it didn't take us long to realize we had a new favorite band. But it was really the following year's full length Umber that sealed the deal, and like Slint, must have launched a million copycats, cuz holy shit, Umber is a monster, the band way more mathy and heavy, opener "Motor" starting things off with a wild squall of chaotic drumming and dive bombing guitars before launching into a song that sounds like a more aggressive version of something off Star Booty, but then there's "Navajo Ace" which to this day remains one o our favorite songs from that era, with its crazy opening the weird times bass drum groove, the off time guitar chug, the swirling high end guitar crunch, and then when it launches into the meat of the song, blasting and pounding and furious, only to suddenly switch times again, only to switch it up again and lurch right back into it, the vocals sung/spoken, very Slint-y for sure, we won't postulate which came first, doesn't even matter, similar styles, two dramatically different results, and from there on out Umber doesn't let up for a second, the band trying their hand at all sorts of sonic variations, the Codeine-esque slowcore of "Clay", the almost Spacemen 3 sounding hypnorock of "Joan Of Arc", albeit a bit supercharged, the woozy bass driven dirge of "Douglas Leader", the almost "Just Got Paid" Southern sounding riffage on "Goat Legged Country God", the crazy catchy indie rock of "Big Pining", the almost Lemonheads sounding indie jangle of "Joyless Street", the metallic mathy bombast of "Punch & Judy", the very brooding Slintiness of "Americruiser" (is that where Urge Overkill got the name for their 1990 album of the same name? Hmm). At the time, we were fairly sure nothing could beat Umber, it was practically perfect, a brilliant balance of catchiness and heaviness and mathiness, we continued to think that at least for another year, when Bitch Magnet released their final album Ben Hur, and all it took was one listen to the nine and a half minute opener "Dragoon" to convince us once again, that NOW nothing could get better than this, which was sadly proved true when the band called it quits. But what a way to go. "Dragoon" has such an epic opening, all big ringing chords, and spaced out pounding drums, it's the sort of stretched out tension that could go on forever, but when the song proper kicks in, it's easy to forget all about that, some killer angular riffing, insanely powerful drumming, crazy catchy melodies, and this time a HUGE production to match, everything sounding massive and heavy and appropriately epic. It took ages before we could stop listening to "Dragoon" and make it to the rest of the record, but once we did, like Umber before it, it pretty much killed from front to back, the band again, much more varied than folks probably give them credit for, mixing a dark brooding slowcore, with their particular brand of post punk mathiness, and hooks galore, definitely hints of what was to come in Seam in some of the melodies and vocal parts, but here, they are woven perfectly into Fine's dense guitars and Morfin's impossible drum damage. We could go through Ben Hur also, song by song, but trust us, once you're a song in, you won't want to stop until it's over, and then odds are you'll just want to start again. It should be noted that Bitch Magnet are one of Andee's favorite bands OF ALL TIME, and the other folks of similar age around aQ hold similarly strong sentiments about these records, and the fact that listening to them now, we can still hear the influences these guys are having on new bands twenty years later speaks volumes. Absolutely essential and utterly and wholeheartedly recommended. Super fancy packaging too, the 3cd version comes in a 6 panel digipak style sleeve, with the album covers reproduced on the jackets, with an attached booklet featuring tons of live photos and flyers. The 3lp version come in massive triple gatefold jacket, with the inside 3 panels covered in rare photos and flyers, while the actual lp sleeves feature reproductions of the original album covers and the track listings. The lp version also includes a download coupon as well. And for the eagle eyed out there, look for the tUMULt logo on both, while this is not an actual tUMULt release really, it is at least in spirit!

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The powerbook has pretty much replaced the razor tape splice as the primary instrument for musique concrete, and Heimir Bjorgulfsson's laptop has been a extra busy machine in expediting this transference from old to new. Outside his work in AQ-faves Stilluppsteypa, Heimir has produced his first solo recording, this cute 3". An alien array of mutable clicks and pops corrode a digital arena where the high frequency damage of Ryoji Ikeda meets the hypnotic malevolence of John Duncan. Very good!

We first heard these Portuguese psychedelic space rockers via their super limited Record Store Day release on Permanent this year, that we were never able to get enough of to review (although we might have a couple in the store still, if you want one, just ask!), so we were psyched to get this new one on Cardinal Fuzz, and on first listen we were actually reminded of Swedish afro-psych outfit Goat, the sound driven by thick buzzing bass and loping tribal drumming, over which, thick, distorted guitars soar and howl, not so much riffs, as thick gouts of sound, blurred arcs of psychedelia, shaped into strange Eastern melodies, the track spreading out over a whole side of the lp, eventually, a few minutes in, the drums exploding into something more rocking and propulsive, the guitar following suit, the result a wild, tranced out heavy psych groove that explodes into a wild squall of psychedelic heaviness, before settling into a stripped down drift, all spidery guitar melodies and that thick bass buzz, but now joined by jazzy sax, giving it a sort of jazz-psych vibe, which quickly builds to another Goat like psych-funk blowout, all dizzying guitar freakout, and churning hard psych heaviness, with the horns swooping back in for a kick ass, free jazz / hard psych finale. The flipside is another blast of groovy psych, the guitars blown out and gorgeously in-the-red, the bass again thick and buzzing, the drums loose-limbed and sort of funky, the band again, slipping easily from churning metallic crunch, to soaring, almost progged out majesty, to super melodic pop flecked jangle, to stripped down psych-funk, and then back to tranced out wild psych freakout. So good. And so absolutely recommended for fans of Goat and other spaced out psychedelic groovers... Like all Cardinal Fuzz releases, this is extremely limited, and we're one of the only places in the US carrying it, so these are likely the last copies we'll be able to get. Comes housed in a super swank full color jacket, pressed on clear red vinyl, with NO download.

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THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.

SORRY. We've never seen Black Boned Angel Perform live, but judging from the photo on the insert of this disc, the band might owe SUNNO))) some royalties, as the image features one of the Black Boned Angels (yep, now there are three) in a monk like robe, wielding an axe, but also poised to strike a drum! But fuck it, robes were a part of rituals long before SUNNO))), and BBA have their own ritualistic thing going on. Especially considering someone is simultaneously playing guitar AND drums. The trio of BBA, now featuring not only main man Campbell Kneale on guitar, drums and tapes, and James Kirk on guitar and "amprifier worshippo" (?), but also now Jules Desmond on bass guitar, offer up the first recorded evidence we've heard of the three piece BBA on this here super limited TOUR ONLY cd-r, we got all the copies the band had left after their Australian tour, so once these are gone, that's it. One single track, 34 minutes, beginning with nine minutes of washed out staticky buzz. For a minute there (actually for 9 minutes) we thought this might be it. One long buzz. Which would be fine, we love that stuff, but right around the 10 minute mark, the band kick into a slow motion doomy plod, the guitars thick and viscous, the drums a simple occasional plod (dude is also playing guitar!), the trio lurch and lumber, a woozy, spaced out tar pit dirge, the guitars throbbing and crumbling, eventually, blurring into a nearly static whirl of low end sound, an industrial soundscape of muted clatter and textured buzz, smeared into a slowly decaying outro. Again, this is CRAZY LIMITED, pretty sure it's OUT OF PRINT, and thus these are most likely, the last copies ever...

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Okay. We screwed up. It happens. What can we say? Sometimes we're easily confused. We get SO many records every week to listen to and review, hundreds in fact. But also, people don't always make it any easier. We recently got two discs in the mail, both with remarkably similar packaging, one WAS actually a reissue, of Matthew Bower's Mirag disc, a new version of a long out of print cd-r, the other, we now discover, is NOT in fact a reissue, but a brand new record, with -almost- the exact same title as the cd-r we wrongly assumed this was a reissue of. Arghhh. So anyway, enough of the scrambling to cover our screw-up-prone asses and on to this maginificent slab of murky malevolence. BBA fans know what they're in for, a serious blackened pummeling, huge roiling washes of downtuned black tar riffing, swirled and smeared into epic waves of darkdarkdark ambience. Bookended on both sides by some Birchville style shimmery dronescaping, but those merely serve to ease you in, and ease you out, of this bottomless black pool of corrosive suffocating heaviness. Only twenty minutes long, but we're not entirely sure we could handle much more, even though we do pretty much wish this record would go on forever. Nothing but punishing blackness as far as the eye can sea. Nothing but rumbling crunch as far as the ear can hear. A never ending metallic drift into a swirling black hole of gloriously brutal doomdronedeathdirgesludge. Packaged in swank silver ink on black sleeves!

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A while back we got a handful of limited 3" cd-r releases on a label called Battle Cruiser, which just so happened to be a side label of Celebrate Psi Phenomenon, run by the very prolific and very loved around these parts Campbell Kneale. They were super limited, only 30-80 copies of each and we only got 10. The best of the bunch was a little black gem by the name of Black Boned Angel. BBA was Kneale's foray onto massive, pummelling metallic sludge and man was it good. Shame we only ever had ten copies. Well, thanks to our pal Dave at 20 Buck Spin, we all get another chance to pick this up. And the ten of you who got the first version will probably also want to get this because: A. It's not a cd-r, it's a real cd. B. There's a twenty minute bonus track! Fuck yeah! But what does it sound like? Black Boned Angel is a crushing salvo of sub-bass, low end, Earth / Sunn 0))) / Skullflower / Corrupted deathdirgedrone, but filtered through Kneale's Birchville Cat Motel high end ambient, shimmering skree, free noise sensibilities. Guitar tuned so low, the strings droop all the way off the fretboard, amps with the treble controls removed to make room for even more bass knobs, amps dipped in hot tar and pointed at the center of the earth, waves of low end rumble slowly rolling and decimating everything in its path. Hollowed out skulls, pounded mercilessly, beating out a primitive barely-there rhythm from the black abyss. Mysterious incantations, hardly audible from beneath the massive slab of sonic sludge, seem to invoke the very same bass-heavy demons threatening to smother and bury them with this very recording. Totally essential.

MPEG stream: Supereclipse 3

We always sort of assumed Black Boned Angel, the alter ego of Birchville Cat Motel's Campbell Kneale, was just that, an alter ego, a one man exploration of things dark and drone-y and heavy, the sort of stuff that was maybe TOO day for his day gig in BCM. But here, on the latest BBA, Kneale has teamed up with fellow Kiwi noisemaker (and longtime aQ customer) James Kirk for something just a little bit different. One single hour long song, that begins with all manner of barely there ambience, distant resonant rumbles, keening high end, fluttering chimes, super super minimal, tons of space. Eventually, the guitar comes in, but not crashing or exploding, instead, it comes in strumming dolefully, unfurling deep sorrowful chords, that are allowed to ring out, building a spaced out minor key melody that drifts in a melancholy haze. The sound is really quite pretty, some sort of post rock, minimal slowcore, think Dirty 3, or Low, but even slower and more abstract. And this goes on for nearly 30 minutes, lulling the listener into a soporific daze. But c'mon, this is BLACK BONED ANGEL, at about the halfway mark, the hammer falls, and the duo unleash a torrent of digitally processed distortion that buzzes and rumbles, all draped over a throbbing industrial crunch, until what sound like real drums join the fray, splattering out a spider web of disjointed beats beneath the nearly static undulating layer of undulating grinding buzz. When the buzz does shift, the chord change feels massive, the melody locking in tight, before slipping back into a metal-Niblock blur. Eventually, the song ramps down, the guitars fade away leaving high end traces of what came before, keening streaks in the sky, shimmering lowend shadows underpinning coruscating arcs of distorted skree, eventually smoothing out into a soft, warm whirring blur that drifts off until the end. Gorgeously packaged in a black on black digipak. Another winner from Kneale and his (for now) partner Kirk!

MPEG stream: The Endless Coming Into Life

Birchville Cat Motel may be dead, only to be replaced by the quite similar sounding, but much more massive and electronic flecked Our Love Will Destroy The World. But thankfully, Black Boned Angel, the other long running musical project of Campbell Kneale, lives on, with not one, but TWO new releases this list. The other, a second collaboration with like-minded musical heavies Nadja, and this, the latest full length after last year's devastating The Endless Coming Into Life. Verdun, named for the legendary battle presumably, is almost like an Endless Coming part two, dialing back the sheer heaviness and exploring space and dynamics, but in the process, somehow sounding so much heavier. Three long songs, all tracked as a single 52 minute epic, takes ages to get going, which is just fine, in doom as in life, it's not about the destination it's about the journey, and BBA's journey is a death march through burning fields and soot filled skies, but that's a few minutes away. A slow slow slow build, all barely there ambience, before some massive drums kick in, and then it's JUST drums, pounding away, in a spaced out vacuum, spare but punishing, and then THE RIFF, a massive one, the sort of riff, that once written, becomes a part of the writer, and soon after the listener. Sleep has a few, Sabbath has lots, now BBA has one, a slow, slithery crawl, a handful of notes spread way out into a dark descending minor key melody, the drums, just there to drive it home, as this is the sort of riff that needs nothing else, the sort of riff any metalhead could listen to looped over and over and over forever. About 12 minutes in, the tone changes, some high end shimmer sneaks in, sheets of feedback, the riff is pulled apart, various notes left to ring out, the drums a little more active, before everything drops out completely, leaving just a distant keening riff, left to moan and groan, to ring out, mournful and so so doomy, at about the half hour mark, the main riff returns, but this time it's been transformed into something strangely melodic, almost like power metal played at 16rpm, epic, but still so slooooooow, building ever building, eventually crumbling into a swirling bit of noise and crumbled buzz, and a gorgeous classical chorus, a choir of voices just below the churning distorted surface, totally epic and weirdly haunting, the sounds of warfare, guns and planes and explosions, surfacing from below the sprawling low end rumble, eventually taking over completely, the last few minutes a harrowing collage of death and destruction, of bombs and the cries of the dying. Definitely a different beast than many of the older BBA records, which blended the kitchen sink drones of Birchville Cat Motel with a sort of abstract black doom element, Verdun is more of a proper metal record, although to be sure 'proper metal record' is really relative, since as metal as this is, it's also just as much an experimental doomdronedirge record, regardless, it is maybe the most fully realized Black Boned Angel record yet, not sure if it's THAT RIFF, or because Kneale just keeps getting better and better, or because it's a concept record, so it's essentially a suite of interconnected songs. It's actually probably a little of all three, although as you might have guessed, we're definitely leaning toward THAT RIFF.

MPEG stream: Prayer Sodden Holes

This is the first we've heard from Swedish new wave garage rock,synth punk trio Black Bug since their mind blowing full length on tUMULt from a while back. Which itself was a furious collection of, as we described it then: "equal parts cold wave gloom, riot grrl yowl, in-the-red punk rock, and ultra raw blown out garage pop - from howling pounding furious crunch, to warped woozy synthy drone, to dour pulsing minimal cold wave, to super anthemic almost emo garage rock, and every variation in between. The recording raw and lo-fi, the drums, the synths, the bass, the vocals, in various stages of blown out distorted crumble, the drums clipped and weirdly processed, pushed as loud as they can go, the synth too, fuzzy, buzzy, wreathed in a sort of decaying haze, the vocals wild and unhinged and super emotional, sometimes a playful yelp, sometimes a cold croon, other times a full on hysterical shriek." Indeed. And even then we were wondering why the hell BB weren't HUGE. And this brand new three song 7" has us again wondering how long it's gonna take before the rest of the world finally catch on. Cuz this stuff is so good, heavy, fuzzy, poppy, groovy, synthy, noisy and catchy like crazy. The sound on this new 7" finds the band dialing back a bit on the blown out crunch, but only a bit, the opener sounds like some seventies cop show theme fused to the chase scene music from a long lost futuristic thriller, a sort of pulsing kraut synth crunch, the bass thick and fuzzy, the vocals a softly distorted howl over the top, all wreathed in surprisingly swoonsome melodies, the result weirdly dramatic and cinematic. The second track is more like old school BB, and definitely sounds like an outtake from the full length, skittery machine like rhythms, lo-fi synth buzz and echoey vox, a definite Riot Grrl / DHR / synthwave hybrid, a retro futuristic chunk of garage-y synthpunk laced with creepy Gobliny melodies, and infused with hooks galore. The B side / title track is a killer, all dirgey and ominous, another sprawl of futuristic sinister synthwave, and another jam that could be some sort of soundtrack, only this time it's some seventies zombie sci-fi thriller, the creeping, moody cinematic synths all tangled up into impossibly poppy hooks, the sort of hooks that you'll find yourself humming days later, the track continues to shift back and forth from hooky synthy fuzz pop to creepy seventies psychedelic soundtracky synth buzz and back again. SO GREAT!!

We have been DYING for this. The Black Bug I Don't Like You 7" was probably our favorite single of the last however many years, we've played it to death, over and over, just waiting for a full length to materialize, hoping and praying it would be even half as good as the 7", but maybe steeling ourselves for disappointment. But thankfully that steeling was totally unnecessary, as the full length more than lives up to the impossible expectations set by that two song salvo. This Swedish new wave garage punk 3 piece are a furious feral synth driven monster, their sound equal parts cold wave gloom, riot grrl yowl, in-the-red punk rock, and ultra raw blown out garage pop, but even that's a bit reductive, there's something magical about what these three conjure up, both in sound and song, with just synth, bass, vocals and programmed drums. Their sound is all over the map, from howling pounding furious crunch, to warped woozy synthy drone, to dour pulsing minimal cold wave, to super anthemic almost emo garage rock, and every variation in between. The recording is raw and lo-fi, the drums, the synths, the bass, the vocals, in various stages of blown out distorted crumble, the drums are clipped and weirdly processed, pushed as loud as they can go, the synth too, fuzzy, buzzy, wreathed in a sort of decaying haze, the vocals of frontwoman Lily are wild and unhinged and super emotional, sometimes a playful yelp, sometimes a cold croon, other times a full on hysterical shriek. But it's not just the sound, the songs are incredible, short sharp bursts of new wave gloom pop. "Fell In Love With" is like a lo-fi riot grrl Soft Cell, with stuttery drums, insanely distorted synth and blown out bass, and Lily's vocals so intense and snarly, a depressive descending melody that is totally irresistible. "Inside Out", one of the few songs with male vocals, courtesy of Lily's partner Ruslav, a brooding propulsive chunk of synth doom, Joy Division via Cold Cave, like a more raw and lo-fi Sixx or Soror Dolorosa. "The Wave" is like an ultra raw lo-fi Aavikko a sort of woozy alien krautrock, "Beating Your Heart Out" is the buzz synth breakup song you blast in headphones to soothe your black and broken heart, a cathartic buzz drenched dirge, "I've Got Eyes" sounds like it could have been on Captured Tracks or Sacred Bones, that sort of modern retro synth wave weirdness that anyone into Blessure Grave or Blank Dogs should lose their shit over, "Make Her" is like some lost riot grrl anthem, run through a bank of busted effects pedals and broadcast through a wall of blown speakers, warped and warbly and crumbling before your ears, but somehow, still heavy and hooky and fucking incredible. This whole record is visceral and immediate, emotional and bombastic, a bloody screaming sonic gem, equal parts heart and hooks, groove and grind, blast and buzz, an insanely catchy chunk of ultra blown out, bloodied and bruised, gloom-wave noise-pop genius. Record Of The Week, fuck that. Record Of The Year!!!!

MPEG stream: Fell In Love With
MPEG stream: Beating Your Heart Out
MPEG stream: Inside Out
MPEG stream: Razorface
MPEG stream: Well Well

This has got to be one of the best black metal album covers EVER. A close-up of two corpsepainted mouths, drooling thick, viscous blood. Nice. Blazing fast, old-school black metal. Almost all blast beats and shrieks (the vocals sounding quite a bit like Cradle

RealAudio clip: A Hymn To Grand Darkness
RealAudio clip: Of Blackest Witchcraft

The last Black Funeral record, Ordog, was one of our favorite black metal records of last year. We already liked the band quite a bit previously, but with Ordog, the buzzing blackness was transformed into some sort of experimental black noise metal, reminding us of bands like Spektr and Blut Aus Nord and Phobos, a sort of processed industrial vibe, lots of drones and ambient interludes peppered with machine like riffing and all sorts of black atmosphere. We should be used to it by now, but while we were blown away, much of the BM community shied away, not at all digging Black Funeral's new damaged direction.� So we were pretty psyched to finally hear Waters of Weeping, the brand new record, to see where they took their black sounds next. And as much as we were secretly hoping they would do something super radical, WoW is actually more of a straight ahead black metal record, but then it's all relative. This is still plenty weird, just compared to Ordog, it's a bit more traditionally black and buzzy. The sound and the vibe are very reminiscent of Xasthur and Leviathan and the like, the new wave of depressive black buzz-ers, with long drawn out minor key dirges, dense clouds of washed out buzz, loping blackened dirges, dense convoluted song structures, lots of creeped out ambience, but thankfully, here and there lurk some of that crumbling industrial blackness left over from Ordog. In fact, those are probably our favorite moments, like track 4, "Sha'arimrath, The Eighth Hell � HOD (Smal/Adramalech) � Mercury", an almost Godflesh worthy ultradistorted industrial dirge, with strange processed alien growls and pounding percussion, all wrapped up in buzzing synths and FX drenched guitars. But then the next track is a classic, old school sounding slab of relentless black metal buzz. But before you know it, we're on to track 6, and back to Ordog territory, "Lord Of The Dead � Tiphereth (Belphegor/Paimon) Tagahrim" another slowed down, black industrial buzz drenched plod that is SO fucking dismal and bleak and amazing. The more we listen to this disc, the more it all sounds so perfect. More and more and more like some meticulously assembled black artifact. The buzzing blackness spilling into the industrial pound, long streaks of minor key dirge wrapping inky tendrils around bursts of relentless black blasts... It's hard to explain exactly, but any of these tracks, take on their own, sounds pretty dang great, but taken together, as a sort of hellish suite, an extended ritual, they mesh into a�grim and black, buzzy and blown out, haunting and soul wrenching sonic journey...

MPEG stream: Nehemoth � Malkuth (NAMVTh) - Earth
MPEG stream: Sha'arimrath, The Eighth Hell � HOD (Smal/Adramalech) � Mercury

First full-length lp from Nelson Bean, aka Black Hat, whose previous two releases blew our collective minds, and this new one is somehow even better. Bean traffics in a sort of psychedelic, dark cosmic electronica, that in the past, has touched on aQ faves like Demdike Stare, Tim Hecker, Techno Animal, DHR, even weirdo industrial like Esplendor Geometrico. On this new one, it seems that all of those influences/references have been distilled into something much more pure and organic sounding. Three sprawling tracks, the first, a hauntological skitterscape, that fuses slow-beat lope to heaving swells of pixelated crunch, a little bit witch house, a little bit IDM, but blurred and blackened, transformed into something more sinister, and more abstract, the opening 9+ minute track in constant flux, so much so, that it's nearly impossible to review without explicitly describing each iteration, and yet, over the course of the song, Bean manages to keep some sort of sonic narrative, the song not at all fragmented, and not sounding like a bunch of random ideas mashed together, instead, the sound blossoms and unwinds, from hazy, washed out skitter, to dense gristly thrum, rife with rib cage rattling bass pulsations, to claustrophobic minimal electro that sounds like it was plucked from some obscure cassette release on Hospital, to blown out industrial techno crunch, and that's just the first track. The second half of the A side is much more abstract, with gorgeous swirls of chordal thrum, drifting and shimmering, a sort of sinister new age, dense and cosmic, lush and layered, a sprawling landscape of overlapping tones, and buried melodies, the sounds unwinding in slow-motion, hazy, and washed out, bleary and blackened, but smeared into strangely prismatic streaks of sound, hauntingly hypnotic. The whole of the B side is taken up by the nearly 18 minute "Memory Triptych", and might be Bean's finest moment, an epic sprawl of hushed skitter, of murky loops, of keening, melancholic melody, all woven into something at once bleak and mysterious, but also warm and lovely, the sounds warbly and woozy, the beats more like constellations of crackle and pop, wound around soft swirls of static soaked shimmer, and strange alien pulsations, at one point, a melody surfaces, that sounds almost like humming/crooning, that 'vocal' is accompanied by a sonic shift, where the sounds begin to fracture, and become more agitated and aggressive, the vibe much more industrial, but fused to a sort of wistful pop ambience, a dizzying dream-drone dirge, driven by a strange rhythmic tangle buried beneath the surface, the sound gnarled and roiling, before about halfway through, like a storm breaking, the sounds shift dramatically, and become downright lovely, laced with what sounds like faux birdsong, the sounds suddenly warm and lush, softly soaring, all the grinding industrialism, now pushed into the background, smeared into a dense, churning backdrop, that adds a soft bit of shadow, to the otherwise, glimmering, gristly, glitchy dreaminess... Super swank packaging, heavy full color jacket, with printed insert, and download code!

MPEG stream: Imaginary Friends
MPEG stream: Memory Triptych

Upon first hearing the name "Black Hell", you can get at least a vague of idea of where this quartet lies on the sonic spectrum. Then you see the wordless album cover, a beautiful and clear image of a mighty desert rock formation haloed by a shock of pink light and surrounded by a series of optical cubes. Nice cover, for sure, but for some reason it conjures what you might expect from some experimental album or what have you. They say you can't always judge a book by its cover. And maybe that means something, somewhere... Because a few seconds into How The Rest Was Lost, everything clicks and it all makes sense: Oh, this is heavy as fuck cosmic STONER ROCK! From the deserts of Arizona, no less. So you can totally judge a book by its cover. Black Hell deal in, like we said, heavy as fuck cosmic stoner rock, emphasizing the groove and looking way beyond the stars. There is a good deal of melody too, sort of melancholy, and totally catchy, with absolutely huge sounding production to give you a nice dose of mountainous drumming and totally rifftastic guitars that sound loud enough to fill all the open space on the album cover. The vocals are cool, and somewhat atypical of the genre, maybe higher than what you sometimes get with heavier groups, but definitely not in a bad way. It's actually quite similar to the guy in The Sword. Not quite as high as the dude in Mammatus, and not as whiney as the guy in Kyuss - the singer's voice is clean and expressive, not guttural or booming or anything. With song titles like "Lunar Procession", "Storms of Jupiter", "Lycanthropy", "Planet Maker", and "Celestial Conquest" (that was all of them, they're just pretty fucking cool), you should know whether or not this is for you. We say bring it on.

MPEG stream: Lunar Procession
MPEG stream: Lycanthropy

It's been a while since we've heard from the OTHER half of defunct noise duo the Skaters, after a slew of releases from James Ferraro comes this latest blast of rhythmic cosmic bliss from Ferraro's former partner, Spencer Clark in his latest guise as the Black Joker. Originally released as a super limited (80 copies!) cassette in Europe, this hazy gem is now available on vinyl, and still super limited... Whereas Ferraro channels his eighties afterschool special cop show theme synthscapes through a bank of effects and a warm whirl of hiss and fuzz, Clark is more about the rhythm, two sidelong jams, each wrapped around a motorik groove, sounding like it was cobbled together from a junkyard gamelan, an amplified thumb piano (a la Konono No.1) and some bongos, locked into an endless loop, the rhythm is sent loping into swirling clouds of wheezing tones and tangled melodies, a soundscape of constantly shifting, spinning, twisting, contorting and expanding sounds, effects galore, sputtering synths, crumbling layers, all wreathed in soft noise, a blown out space psych ur-drone krautrock from another dimension. Hazy, glistening, sun baked and lysergic, mesmerizing and hypnotic, and so so good.

Former Ozzy Osbourne guitarist Zakk Wylde (he of the trademark pick squeals) rocks with a brand of hard, dirgy rock. Southern-tinged (a la CoC) stoner metal? 'Cause it's Zakk the stoner metal contigent might not pick up on this, but it actually blows away most other efforts in the genre: it's super heavy, full of (of course) great guitar playing and some excellent songwriting. Zakk handles the vocals too, with a voice again reminescent of CoC's Pepper Keenan. For fans of Acid Bath, Alice in Chains, Down, etc.

Ahhhh, how we love Black Mayonnaise. Not the foodstuff. Although to be fair, we've never really tried it. No we're talking about the weird blackened musical one man band who years ago graced us with the mindblowing and soul melting Ttssattsr album, and who has now returned with a brand new disc of self described "Warped Lunar Sludge-core", and if anything it's even noisier, heavier and more freaked out and fucked up. Ttssattsr, as best as we could describe it, sounded like some fractured blend of Godflesh and SUNNO))), and while that element is still present, things seem to have gotten a lot more abstract, with many tracks eschewing rhythms altogether, or burying them under an avalanche of grinding throbbing churning blackened buzz. The first track is one long static drone, thick and tangled layers of blurred out buzz all tangled up into one huge ropy mass, above it float monstrous froglike croaks, impossible low end gurgles, while beneath a skittery rhythm lurks, barely audible, more like a thready pulse, all dubbed out, a rickety rhythmic skeleton supporting the blackened hide of the Black Mayonnaise beast. While heavy and intense, it's also weirdly dreamy and blissed out, a sort of soft doom-drone. But the next track takes care of that, the drums finally kick in, the croaking frog still belching out noxious clouds of vocals, the guitars and drums locked into a doom plod, everything wreathed in space-y FX, like a slow motion doom metal Hawkwind. Track three is super reminiscent of the first BM record, a very Godflesh sounding dirge, the industrial drumming, the thick riffing, but all melty and murky with those awesome croaked grunted rumbles over the top. Probably the biggest surprise is the Flaming Lips cover, that sounds nothing like the Lips AT ALL, instead, it's a caustic slab of furious fuzzed out distorted in-the-red buzz and relentless blast beats, as close to blacknoise as BM gets, there are all sorts of groaning creaking sounds, as well as squiggly streaks of hiss, but they are practically swallowed whole. There's also a Flipper cover, which seems and sounds much more Black Mayonnaise appropriate, a murky lurching trudge through a world of sonic black tar. Everything black and dripping, but shot through with lazer blast FX, and those creepy vocals again. The thirteen minute closer is totally out of left field, a garbled synthscape, very abstract and freaky, plenty of whirring buzz, and bleeps and bloops, slippery squiggles, like intercepted alien radio broadcasts, a sputtering, squelchy glitchy not-quite ambience that does manage to actually get pretty hypnotic. Gorgeously packaged in a silkscreened black-on-black cardstock sleeve, while inside there's a black-on-metallic-silver printed insert, BUT be warned, it is in fact a cd-r, not an actual cd, but really it hardly matters, you'll forget about everything but what the hell is happening to your ears, and our brain, and your soul the second you press play.

MPEG stream: Low Twelve
MPEG stream: Threshold
MPEG stream: Pilot

After the tease that was the Record Store Day 7", it's finally here, a brand new full length from Black Moth Super Rainbow, who continue to create rainbow wrapped, keyboard drenched, big drummed, new wave-d outsider bliss pop. We can't seem to get enough. The record opens with the track from that Record Store Day single, the excellently titled "Born On A Day The Sun Didn't Rise", all druggy and swirly and sun dappled and psychedelic. There are strings and warm whirring synths, and breathless dreamy vox, and lilting melodies, not super freaked out or spastic, although there are bits of swooping electronics and streaks of glitch and hiss, but for the most part this is just some awesomely new wave flecked jangly futuristic psych pop. Which pretty much describes this whole record. For some reason we thought maybe it would be super heavy or totally twisted, but if anything, the songs are more fully realized, the sound still lush and slightly cracked, but all of BMSR's drugged out psych tendencies are harnassed into proper songs, that wouldn't sound at all out of place in a mix between the Flaming Lips and M83. The drums hold it all together, big and booming, processed sometimes, but usually loud, if not, theyr sublte and skittery, and there are synths EVERYWHERE, soaring and buzzing and whirring and shimmering, the guitars are minimal, more for a bit of filigree here and there, except when a bit of crunh or chug is required. And the vocals, all dreamy and heavily effected, whether it's vocoder or autotuning, they're perfectly matched to the glimmering kaliedoscope of sound that is constantly swirling and changing shape and color. The majority of the record is surprsingly laid back, blissed out and sun dappled, a lot of it sounds almost folky, a little new age-y for sure, we also hear bits of old school pop groups like the Free Design, the Cowsills, even a bit of Stereolab here and there, there are lots of fluttery flute, acoustic guitar, lilting melodies, soft drifty twang, but all tangled up with some of the more buzzy new waveiness, and everything shot through with just the right amount of space aged, futuristic polish. So good. The perfect late afternoon, cloudy day, mix tape, dreamy drifty, future chill out disc for sure. While they last, we have the super limited version, that comes in a zippered fur pouch!!

MPEG stream: Born On A Day The Sun Didn't Rise
MPEG stream: Dark Bubbles
MPEG stream: Twin Of Myself
MPEG stream: Gold Splatter

Black Mountain have to be just about the best burn out seventies retro hard rock and stoned soul combo going. A druggy blend of chugging Sabbath riffs, Zeppelin bombast, smoldering slow burning after dark jams, late night FM radio ambience and wasted hypnotic Velvet Underground style junkie groove. This record has been hyped beyond all belief, so you probably already read about it, or maybe even own it, but if not, it's definitely worth checking out. There's nothing here quite as potent as "Druganaut", the monster metallic jam from their self titled debut, serious contender for one of THE heavy rock jams of all time. A killer riff, awesome dynamics, sexy and intense boy / girl vocals. The opening track on In The Future, "Stormy High" comes pretty darn close, partly by blatantly ripping off "Druganaut" actually, the opening riff is a killer, laid over warbling organs, but the minute it modulates, it begins to sound EXACTLY like "Druganaut", right down to the stop start verses, and the wailing Robert Plant like vocals, but this one does change it up a bit, with weird call and response vocals, and a bunch of fuzzy crunchy Deep Purple-y organ. Their self titled record was pretty frontloaded, mellowing out quite a bit over the course of the rest of the disc, but hearing "Stormy High" we thought this might be the one where the band kept it heavy and rocking all the way through, but nope, this is a band that definitely and obviously doesn't want to just rock, which, the more we listen, we don't mind one bit. The rest of the record is all stoned and laid back, with killer hooks, and warm carnivalesque organs, soaring strings, and awesome falsetto vocals, it's easy to imagine listening to this stuff in your old beat up El Camino, parked at some make out spot, where all the kids hang out and drink and smoke, hoping to get laid or at the very least forget all about your crappy job and your shitty life. In The Future is all black lights and bongs, late night and leather vests, big amps and bellbottoms, even when it's heavy, it's not so much metal or rocking as it is soulful and grooving. There are some more heavy moments scattered throughout, the opening minute or so of "Tyrants", a swirling super dynamic guitar / organ duel, or the tribal psych jam of "Evil Ways" with some serious ELP worthy keyboards and wailing vox. But for the most part, In The Future is a groovy slab of heavy seventies stoner mood rock, tripped out, dark and dreamy, druggy and just a little bit witchy.

MPEG stream: Stormy High
MPEG stream: Angels
MPEG stream: Tyrants

We've been super obsessed with this killer slab of grim, blackened, nocturnal, techno minimalism, a dread fueled sprawl of bleak electronica and droned out sci-fi industrialism that's even more remarkable as it's the first Black Rain release in 18 years!! Black Rain mastermind Stuart Argabright is hardly a household name, yet the man has an impressive catalog of high-caliber recordings along an axis of futurist / cyberpunk / darkly post-punk electronica dating back to the late '70s. His first fruits were in the form of the Factory sponsored Ike Yard, whose gloomy electro-dirges followed in the wake of the No New York contingent, followed by some far more club-oriented projects including the one-hit wonder Dominatrix and the eccentric Death Comet Crew (working with the pioneer of Afro-futurism, Rammellzee). Black Rain was the band that Argabright began with fellow DCC-member Shinichi Shimokawa in 1992 or thereabouts, and was originally commissioned to draft the score for a film version of Johnny Mnemonic. Despite his long-standing friendship with Phillip K. Dick, the Black Rain tracks were scrapped in favor of a high-budget Hollywood score after Keanu Reeves was pegged for the lead. After Blackest Ever Black pressed up a short-program lp 2010 of that soundtrack work from the early '90s (all of which had appeared on the Fifth Colvmn cd entitled 1.0), Argabright returned to the Black Rain moniker, possibly with Shimokawa at his right hand again. Dark Pool continues the thread of tense cyborg-electronica crafted through those nixed Johnny Mnemonic soundtracks. The introductory track features a spoken word preface from Sean Young (best known as the android Rachel from Blade Runner) amongst a flurry of electrically screeching birds, extending the P.K. Dick allusions. Dystopian electronic shadows and hauntological drones brace much of Dark Pool, with Black Rain snapping into rhythmic passages of taut pneumatic samples and polished-machine drum programming. "Xibalba Road Metamorph" is a track that Dominick Fernow could only dream of producing as Prurient or Vatican Shadow, hammering its electro-static pulses with iron-fisted brutality and cold-blooded precision. The aptly named "Data River" spills out clinical beeps and drill-hammer rhythms on par with the sterility of Mika Vainio's Metri or any of the Raster Noton folk, with toxic drones of any villainous techno track lurking in the distance. Black Rain does pull the rug out from under us on the final track which rockets forward with a modern-day Moroder-esque tension, all dynamic arpeggiation and teeth-gritting electronic suspense only to abruptly cut the power, marking the end of the album. If we were to apply the cinematic, gothic / sci-fi allusion that this albums begs for, then this coda marks the unexpected termination of the android protagonist. Achtung! Bang! Click. End.

MPEG stream: Burst
MPEG stream: Xibalba Road Metamorph
MPEG stream: Night In New Chiang Saen
MPEG stream: Who Will Save The Tiger?

What the heck's up with Glasgow these days? Until recently, Glasgow was all sunshiney jangle pop and brooding epic post rock. Or so it seemed. Maybe we haven't been paying attention. Maybe it's been a while since we took a good hard look at the seedy underbelly of Glasgow's music scene, but something sinister is definitely going on over there, cuz all sorts of filthy, brutal, heavy, sick sounds are oozing across the sea and into our cowering frightened ears. Next list we'll probably be listing a record by another Glaswegian crew called De Salvo, who are scary as shit, and here we've got the latest from Black Sun. Black Sun is a bit of a name over there, but they're a new name to us, although it only took a few minutes of this filth for us to realize folks over here, especially the ones into massive dronedirgedeathcrush and slow motion ultra doooooom will likely be freaking out big time. Three tracks, all 'versions' of the same song, the first, 19+ minutes taking up the whole of side one, is all lurching downtuned lumber, squealing harmonics, all locked into step with the pounding drums, the vocals tortured and anguished and WAY up in the mix, the sound somewhere between Khanate, Eyehategod, and Neurosis. About halfway through the sound simmers down a bit, a low slung softly churning bass rumble, clean minor key guitar lines all spidery and skeletal, warm whirring keyboards, that eventually slip into a groove that sounds uncannily like a slowed down Three Mile Pilot. Clean crooned vocals, laid over the woozy rhythm, before exploding back into stuttering metallic stop start lurch, gradually growing more and more noisy and unhinged. The flip side takes the same track and jacks up the industrial vibe, way more low end crunch, a bit murkier and muddier, the vocals buried in the mix, little streaks of feedback peeking out from behind thick caustic slabs of rhythmic pound. Very reminiscent of Godflesh or Pitchshifter, relentless and machinelike, but wreathed in swirls of strange keyboards, and mysterious effects and all manner of fucked up guitar filigree. In some ways superior to the A side, at least to these ears. And finally, the second half of the B-side offers up the 'dub' version, which takes the more industrial version of "Paralyser" even further, the rhythm stripped down, the guitars processed and clipped, the vocals twisted and doused in effects, the arrangement all spaced out, the drums pounding one second, careening from speaker to speaker the next, the whole track actually is panned pretty hard, making headphones essential for experiencing the full dizzy drift. Definitely left us wanting more... Essential listening for the usual suspects. If your favorite sounds are most often described with the adjectives doomy, crumbling, blackened, pummeling, crushing, heavy, crusty, metallic, slow motion, glacial, filthy, then my friends, you should prepare to kneel in supplication, and stare directly into the Black Sun... LIMITED TO 500 COPIES, housed in a very Godflesh looking sleeve, with a heavy cardstock insert, liner notes on one side and strange bloody symbols on the other.

MPEG stream: Paralyser (Prison Of The Cross)
MPEG stream: Paralyser (Dub Mix)

As of late 2008 and early 2009, there's been some serious hubbub over Slumberland, the stalwart indie label of Brit-inspired, shoegazing bliss pop, thanks to a couple of kick ass records from Crystal Stilts and Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. So a revisitation into perhaps the quintessential Slumberland outfit seems appropriate. Black Tambourine was a shortlived project featuring two of the guys from Velocity Girl, a chanteuse named Pam Berry, and Slumberland label boss Mike Schulman. They only released three singles, contributed a track or two to compilations, and played less than five shows before breaking up in 1991. Go figure that Complete Recordings anthologizes all of these tracks plus an unreleased single. Black Tambourine's songs begin as jangly, melodic pop which gets tousled about in a blur of amplifier distortion piled onto reverb piled onto more amplifier distortion and just a little more reverb. Yup, it's the same wonderful sound that was also broadcast from the Shop Assistants, My Bloody Valentine (circa Isn't Anything, well cuz Loveless hadn't been released yet!), Jesus & Mary Chain, the Pastels, and almost any given band on Creation circa 1988. But no matter how great that all consuming shoegaze sound can be, the band has gotta have good songwriting chops; and Black Tambourine had 'em for sure. At times, there's that ramshackle quality of good old American DIY indie pop, but for the most part, the songs are effortlessly catchy and melodic with a swagger pushed forth by Pam Berry's reverb drenched and melancholy vocals. Still sounds great after all these years!

MPEG stream: Black Car
MPEG stream: Pack You Up
MPEG stream: Drown

A previous version of this collection became available again not too long ago, and we were so excited we decided to make it our Record Of The Week, and then whattaya know, a year later, Slumberland go ahead and repackage it, reissue it, AND add a handful of bonus tracks (ironic, since the earlier edition was entitled "Complete Recordings"). And this time they've also put it out on vinyl, too!! So if you negelected to pick this up the first time around, now's the time, and if you did, you just gotta figure out if you want to buy it again for the four bonus tracks, which are pretty dang great. Here's what we said about the so-called Complete Recordings version: As of late 2008 and early 2009, there's been some serious hubbub over Slumberland, the stalwart indie label of Brit-inspired, shoegazing bliss pop, thanks to a couple of kick ass records from Crystal Stilts and Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. So a revisitation into perhaps the quintessential Slumberland outfit seems appropriate. Black Tambourine was a shortlived project featuring two of the guys from Velocity Girl, a chanteuse named Pam Berry, and Slumberland label boss Mike Schulman. They only released three singles, contributed a track or two to compilations, and played less than five shows before breaking up in 1991. Go figure that Complete Recordings anthologizes all of these tracks plus an unreleased single. Black Tambourine's songs begin as jangly, melodic pop which gets tousled about in a blur of amplifier distortion piled onto reverb piled onto more amplifier distortion and just a little more reverb. Yup, it's the same wonderful sound that was also broadcast from the Shop Assistants, My Bloody Valentine (circa Isn't Anything, well cuz Loveless hadn't been released yet!), Jesus & Mary Chain, the Pastels, and almost any given band on Creation circa 1988. But no matter how great that all consuming shoegaze sound can be, the band has gotta have good songwriting chops; and Black Tambourine had 'em for sure. At times, there's that ramshackle quality of good old American DIY indie pop, but for the most part, the songs are effortlessly catchy and melodic with a swagger pushed forth by Pam Berry's reverb drenched and melancholy vocals. Still sounds great after all these years!

MPEG stream: Black Car
MPEG stream: Pack You Up
MPEG stream: Drown

A brand new record from this weirdo German drone combo (or maybe it's a one man band), and it's a doozy. We have been pretty into everything we've heard from BTC, so we were pretty excited to get out hands on this new one. In the past, we, and other folks have compares Black To Comm to groups like Oval, Pimmon, Fennesz, Earth and Merzbow, but the truth is in fact much stranger, and much more difficult to describe. This is definitely drone music, but it's so mysterious sounding, not all low end rumbles or shimmering high end skree, instead, it's a seemingly haphazard assemblage of sounds and musical fragments, looped and processed and chopped up, then woven into looooong undulating dronescapes, that churn and shimmer and buzz and whir, but also twist themselves into strange shapes, offering up incidental melodic overtones and subtle rhythms. And the strange thing is the parts really don't matter so much, in that they are eventually transformed into something entirely new. It reminds us of an exhibit at the museum, where a voice would repeat a single word or phrase over and over, and you would try to pick out the word, but it was practically impossible, the looped speech immediately turned into something sonically mysterious and impenetrable. Fractal Hair Geometry is similar in that the source sounds are super varied, but within minutes, even seconds, the source becomes meaningless, instead it is simple an element in a swooning and swaying and woozily hypnotic whole. Chanted vocals, whirring organs, mysterious shimmers, squiggly melodies, buzzing Theremins, electronic glitches, analog synths, wheezing harmoniums, and those are just guesses, cuz just like that museum exhibit, it's difficult to tell what the source sounds are. We also didn't try that hard. It's like trying to peek under the table to see how a magician does a trick. We don't want to know. It's more fun to get lost in these mysterious sounds. One track even introduces a muted techno throb, and for a brief second it sounds like the weirdest record Kompakt never released. It's really hard to describe this stuff, which is probably why we like it so much, check out the sound samples, and hear for yourself!

MPEG stream: Negative Volumes
MPEG stream: Orange Record
MPEG stream: Play Eggchess 3

It's been a while, more than a year in fact, since we last got a batch of TRUE SHEFFIELD BLACK PSYCHEDELIA, but it's finally that time once again. We were beginning to jones pretty hard. For those of you who can't quite figure it out from the name of the genre, this stuff is black metal, and psychedelic, and most (if not all) of the bands hail from Sheffield in the UK. Beyond that, this stuff is pretty hard to describe, from blown out grinding blackened psychedelic post rock to chugging in-the-red blacknoise to glistening soft focus krautdrone to pounding distorted sludge to processed machinelike buzz and stutter, and we're not even just describing the genre, most of the bands somehow manage to incorporate all of those elements into one fractured fucked up and seriously and gloriously schizophrenic sound. We'd been waiting for a proper real cd (non cd-r) release from any of these guys, and while there have been rumors of a new Ice Bound Majesty full length on tUMULt (!), it was Black Vomit who were ultimately immortalized in aluminum and plastic first, thanks to those twisted freaks at Rusty Axe. But even by Rusty Axe's already freaky standards, Jungle Death is some seriously twisted avant heavy black weirdness. The sort of stuff that will have your standard black metal knuckle dragger scratching his head and reaching for the nearest Dimmu Borgir cd. The metal component of black vomit is a sort of metal that sounds like it was cooked up by Tim Hecker, Philip Jeck, Aidan Baker and Justin Broadrick would have conjured up in some underground lair, with no small amount of black magic. Guitars that roar and howl, piled on top of one another until they're so thick, they threaten to collapse your stereo speakers like miniature black holes, the riffs grind and buzz, blurred and smeared into huge heaving walls of blown out white hot sound, usually weirdly processed too, so buried beneath the roiling surface, lurk all manner of electronics and glitch and hiss and static. Sometimes the heaviness stumbles into streaks of sonic black tar, slowing the sound down into some blown out glacial trudge, and even then, it's no ordinary doom, the sound glistens and glows, it's heaviness more a function of staring into some alien sun, the beams of light transformed into sound, wrapping you in thick sheets of effulgent buzz and black hued shimmer. The various bits of skull crushing heaviness are balanced by some of the coolest drone and ambient music we've heard, from the rumbling, muted and melodic low end intro, that sounds like some creepy krautrock bassline slowed waaaaay down, to the glistening glitched out sun dappled shimmer of "Conderlint5", with it's mysterious alien voices and skittery crystalline textures, to the moaning lonely spidery guitar drift of "Last Cries Of The Lost". The record starts out damaged, and just gets more and more fucked and freaked out as it progresses, looped tribal drumming wreathed in swirling static, laced with strange samples, gives way to stuttering processed electronic grind, which slowly transforms into a sea of warped drones and Oval like glitches, all smoothed out into an undulating underwater soundscape, wrapped in jagged shards of distorted crunch and sonar like beeps. A brief bit of indie jangle, all minor key strum and sad lilting melody, explodes in a flurry of crumbling stumbling ultra distorted post rock pound, before slipping into some almost Pop Ambient sounding drift, only to again transform into some impossibly twisted bit of cinematic mood music, complete with haunting strings, and dubbed out drums, finally opening up into "Dark Beloved Cloud", the longest track on the record, all Burzumy and murky and buzzy and blackened, woozy and off kilter, with more processed vocals, tons of effects, long stretches of tripped out psychedelic minimalism, before the pounding D-beat climax, and then a soft focus shimmery fade out, which leads directly into the record closer, a warm warped swirl of deeeeeep thrum, and slow moving melodic murk, again shot through with echo drenched voices and bits of electronic twinkle and glimmer, fading out into nearly 5 minutes of near silence. Weird. But so fucking mind blowing. Totally wiping out any boundaries between drone music and black metal and ambient noise and electronic grind and whatever other fucked up sounds these freaks fuse into their totally genius and totally unique TRUE SHEFFIELD BLACK PSYCHEDELIA!!

MPEG stream: A Premonition Of Inevitable Doom
MPEG stream: Deluge From Hell
MPEG stream: Vigilance Night
MPEG stream: Constdernt

These oddly monikered aQ faves return with a brand new full length, and return to the True Sheffield Black Psychedelia fold, aka their original label Frequency Thirteen, after a release on aQ beloved and now sadly defunct label Rusty Axe. And what a return! Like past records, Black Vomit's sound is one that's tough to pin down, an ever shifting tangle of blurred and blackened sound collage, blown out super rhythmic noise rock, field recording flecked spaced out psychedelia, they pretty much all apply at one point or another, and impossibly sometimes all at once. It takes a while for things to get rolling, a weird creeping noise drenched into, all strange samples and shimmery layered low end, all glitchy and warbly, then some Sunroof! style high end raga drone, then finally, a thick low slung bassline slithers into action, beneath a black cloud of growling croaked disembodied vox, and then finally, true to the track's title "Forbidden Dub", the various sounds peel off, leaving just a tripped out spaced out dub, everything wreathed in echo and reverb, the drums careening wildly through clouds of cymbal sizzle, more mysterious samples, moaning guitar melodies, it's like a way more grim and blackened version of Sun Araw almost, a bastardized dub, that is teetering on the edge of collapsing into full on doomy dirge. Which is where things seem to be heading until the next track, "Riding Below A Sky Threatening Snow To The Very End Of An Empty World", explodes into what quickly reveals itself as some sort of fucked up dubstep jam, but Black Vomitized, so the sounds are all blurred and tangled, chaotic and abstract, a thick bass warble holding everything together, while beats stutter and stagger, and all of the other sounds blown out and in the red, before the record switches gears once again, laying down a bit of shimmery abstraction, before an avalanche of super distorted drums come crashing through a field of swirling electronics, the whole thing like an IDM Lightning Bolt. And so it goes, every song something entirely different, yet somehow linked to the song before it, and to the whole, a twisted songsuite of beats and buzz, of low end rumble and caustic crunch, slipping from synth heavy shoegaze blur, to tripped out reverb heavy space rock jangle, from creepy almost John Carpenter-ish soundscapery to bleary minimal low slung creep, and from distorted sun dappled dreambuzz ambience, to a final 20 minute slab of abstract synth-squelch, blur-bliss shimmer. So good. SUPER DUPER LIMITED too, ONLY 40 COPIES!! we got 20 of those, which won't last long...

MPEG stream: Forbidden Dub
MPEG stream: Riding Below A Sky Threatening Snow To The Very End Of An Empty World
MPEG stream: The Loneliness Of A Rainy Dawn Enshrouded Me Quietly

Phobos is the 7th full length since 2001 from these Russian black metallers, who most folks probably know from their split with Leviathan, or longtime aQ list readers probably remember that Blackdeath feature two of our favorite named black metal musicians, Abysslooker and Para Bellum, not to mention that they also happen to have one of the few female drummers in black metal. And while in the early days, BD trafficked in super raw, grim black buzz, over the last few records, their sound has gotten weirder and weirder, coinciding seemingly with a sudden shift to the German language (which seemed odd for a Russian band). When we reviewed the last BD record, we mentioned that some of the parts sounded how we imagined a black metal Circle might sound, as well as pointing out the strange vocals, and the proggy arrangements, all of which are still present, in fact, if anything, the vocals have gotten even stranger, and the group's avant tendencies have definitely come to define their sound. The opener definitely hews closer to the classic Blackdeath grimnity of old, but as the song unfolds, it reveals itself to be a strangely technical, gnarled loopscape, with the main riff extremely cyclical, the sound churning and roiling, almost sing songy, which is accentuated when the leads come in, and follow along with the almost robotic riffing. And then the vocals go from black metal shriek, to dramatically howled, complete with lots of trilled 'r's, sounding, again, not unlike Mika from Circle, just way more metal. But the vibe is over the top, buzzy and black, but also twisted and a little avant. Which is actually how much of the rest of the record plays out, a sort of proggy black buzz, each track locked around a single riff, repeated trancelike, and more often than not, at some point splintering into something dizzyingly intricate, or warped and jagged. Unlike most bands whose weirdness stems from strange sounds, or unlikely sonic elements, the strangeness of Blackdeath is purely musical, working within a fairly well established set of sounds and tropes, they manage to twist those sounds all up, and arrange them in ways that are confusing, confounding, and manage to push both our grim black metal buttons, and our what the fuck, outsider black weirdness buttons at the same time. A rarity for sure. And while we could go through the record song by song, part by part, pointing out twisted little psychedelic filigrees here, damaged rhythms there, or the various warped textures, dizzying black prog arrangements, and super trippy melodies, that stuff is so well integrated, that it wouldn't make sense. It's quite a feat too, making all that weirdness sound like an inexorable part of the sound, all without taking ANYthing away from the pure grim black energy that oozes from pretty much every note here. Still one of our favorite black metal outfits around...

MPEG stream: Der Letzte Untergang
MPEG stream: Also Sprach Schopfer-Psychopath
MPEG stream: Lucifer Rising

Folks may not be able to pronounce Ithdabquth Qliphoth, and probably have no idea what it means, but that most definitely didn't keep the recent IQ disc from being a runaway hit around these parts. And heck, we sort of knew it would be, being heavy, noisy, blown out raw black metal from Russia, steeped in bizarre mythologies, the sound as fractured and fucked up as it is grim black and buzzing. So in the interest of digging deeper into the Qliphoth mythos, we managed to track down a handful of these splits, not new, released back in 2006, but until now we had given up hope of ever getting them for the store. But here they are, we have about 20, not sure if there are more to be had, so if we run out (when is probably more realistic), please be patient as we try to get our hands on more, cuz needless to say, fans of freaky black metal and weirdo outsider blackness, as well as ANYONE who bought that Qliphoth disc, will most likely want (NEED!) this too. Which is not to say that it sounds anything like Ithdabquth Qliphoth, because it doesn't really. The Hammer Ov Qliphoth here is wielded by Al-La-Sht-Orr, one half of the IQ duo, and his half of this split is a mournful, midtempo, doom drenched black metal. Minor key guitars, simple circular riffing, the vocals a murky growl, the drums simple and solid, the pace a glacial crawl, sometimes slipping into a slowish midtempo plod. Super evocative and atmospheric, morose and moody, probably more for folks into depressive miserbalist doooooom than black metal, but fear not, it's harsh and grim enough to retain much of its blackness. Three tracks, the first two loping dismal dirges, surprisingly melodic, the main riffs almost punky if they were faster, but slowed down, it almost sounds like Darkthrone at 16rpm, slightly dissonant, mesmerizingly repetitive, droney, the final track might be our favorite, a super sloooooow, spaced out plod, the vocals and guitars locked into a strange sea sick slow motion rhythm, tons of space, the bursts of crushing heaviness held together by spidery guitar melodies, the whole thing suffused with buzz and hum and grit, super distorted and in-the-red, but weirdly melodic and pretty. Worth it already for sure. But the other half of the split might be even better. It's definitely weirder, and way more twisted. Blackness hail from Belarus, and are a duo, which only stops making sense once you hear them, since they sound to these ears, like one guy, a guitar and a 4 track. Ultra raw, stripped down buzzing black metal, but just guitars and vocals, no drums, no keyboards, almost like some sort of black metal Jandek. Our listening to scratch tracks from some classic old school BM record. The riffs are awesome, brittle and grim and definitely lo-fi, the vocals harsh and WAY up in the mix so they totally overpower the guitar, a surprising amount of melody though, very harsh and haunting, but really cool, odds are you've probably never heard anything like this, and hell we're dying to hear more. LIMITED TO 280 COPIES. We have about 20. Might be the last copies we can get. Packaged in one of those oversized super jewel cases, with nice full color textured inserts, and each copy hand numbered.

MPEG stream: V.I.T.R.I.O.L.
MPEG stream: Hierogamy WIth Kali
MPEG stream: Monotheistic Supremecy
MPEG stream: Sepher Qliphoth

Sure, all you drone obsessives and out rock freaks can't get enough Celebrate Psi Phenomenon, an endless fount of whir and rumble and skree and grrr and rrroooaarrr. But this new record from James Blackshaw is a whole 'nother ball of... um.. steel strings apparently. Celeste is made up of two 15 minute tracks (one played in open C major tuning, the other in open C minor) of totally mesmerizing Appalachian raga folk, performed mainly on 12-string acoustic guitar with occasional farfisa organ and cymbals. Fans of John Fahey, Jack Rose, Matt Valentine and all things free folk will be completely blown away. There's still an element of drone in the repetitive raga-like riffing, but this is mainly and most definitely a weird and wonderful modern avant bluegrass / folk record. Lovely! SUPER LIMITED AS ALWAYS!! NOT SURE WE'LL BE ABLE TO GET MORE WHEN THESE ARE GONE!

MPEG stream: Celeste Pt. 1

Of these three new James Blackshaw cd reissues of long out of print cd-r's, Lost Prayers & Motionless Dances is the only one of the three that we never managed to carry at all. We've long gone on and on about how records this good deserve to be heard by more than the 100 or 200 lucky folks who manage to get their hands on the limited cd-r's, and finally, someone (thanks Tompkins Square!) had the good sense to gussy these discs up and give them the actual proper cd reissue they so deserve. Originally released as a cd-r on Digitalis, limited to 200 copies in 2004, this one slipped right under our radar, which is a huge shame as it is just as good as Sunshrine or Celeste. But it's also quite different. Where as the other discs focus on Blackshaw's deft fingerpicking, and mastery of the steel string guitar, this disc is just as much about the drone and the ambience. Not to say, Blackshaw doesn't get to unleash dexterous little tangles of Appalachian filigree, but those stretches of strum and shimmer are set amidst thick harmonium drones and blissed out field recordings. The disc begins with a warm whirring drone, all thick wheezes and rich lustrous chords, Eastern melodies, drawn way out into long soft smears. Eventually the guitar joins in, but simple spare strums, soft chords, and gentle fingerpicking, nestled amidst the softly undulating harmonium in the background, the sounds of crickets chirping in the distance, bits of slippery sitar style squiggles. The sound gradually slips into something much more familiar, 'that' Blackshaw sound we love so much, a lot like the other reissued discs, until the guitar fades out, leaving a murky muted shimmer, which soon fades out as well, leaving nothing a strange high end hiss-scape of weird processed percussion and shortwave radio, peppered with bits of high end jangle and distant upper register guitar scrape and disembodied clatter, before the track finally shifts gears once again, filling the last few minutes with urgently strummed guitar, big chunky chords, moaning harmoniums, and billowing splashes of deep resonant cymbal shimmer, a glorious kinetic finish to a another gorgeous sprawling languorous guitardronedrift. Remastered and with new artwork.

MPEG stream: Lost Prayers & Motionless Dances

More gorgeously lush neo-Appalachia from James Blackshaw, finally released on a real cd instead of an ultralimited cd-r, which makes perfect sense as this is way too good to be so limited. Two tracks, the first an extended thirty minute epic, a lush and completely gorgeous steel string raga, huge dense sweeps of intricately finger picked guitar, dense with reverb, accompanied by sarod, harmonium, Farfisa organ, glockenspiel, bells and bowed cymbals. Overwhelmingly beautiful and impossibly otherworldly. Expressive and aggressive but completely delicate and introspective at the same time. The end of the track is especially powerful when the guitars fade out and all that is left is the thick wheezing drone of the harmonium and a cloud of tinkling bells. The final three minutes is a very Fahey-esque, steel string guitar workout, gorgeous folky twang, simple and so lovely. Packaged in a gold metallic paper sleeve with a small printed insert.

MPEG stream: Sunshrine (Excerpt)

We flipped for the first installment in Guy Blakeslee's Thirdeye Memories cd-r series, which we described on the last list in our review of Volume 1 as falling somewhere between Fahey-like devotional Appalachia and more droned out abstract looped and layered psychedelic ragas, and for those of you (like us) who felt like one volume just wasn't enough, well, you might want to grab one of these before they're gone, cuz like the first one it's limited to just FIFTY copies (and we do have a tiny handful left of volume 1 if you missed out). Blakeslee is the frontman for psych rockers The Entrance Band, but for these solo excursions, the sound is much more intimate, and delicate and lovely, the opener here is a glistening sprawl of dreamlike guitar melodies, super fluid finger picking, the vibe almost carol-like, a warm glowing swirl of lovely Appalachian folk. But it doesn't take long for the disc to drift into far trippier realms, "Digital Sage" takes the sound of the opener and turns it inside out, flips it backwards, adding gloriously slippery reverse melodies and woozy shimmery FX blur, it's the sort of dreamy sonic trip out we could get lost in forever. And so it goes, the whole record unfurling in a washed out kosmische dream folk haze, slipping from crystalline beauty to dreamily dizzying trippy psych swirl, and back again, perfectly balancing sweet melodies, with something a bit more shadowy and lysergic. Like the first volume, fantastic! And like the first volume, packaged in a simple screen printed origami style sleeve, LIMITED TO 50 COPIES, each one hand numbered!

MPEG stream: Amandita
MPEG stream: Digital Sage

Everyone at aQ is super open minded when it comes to music, we all love all kinds of sounds, but each of us definitely has our favorite, our specialties, whether it be black metal, or indie rock or drone or post rock or power pop or whatever. So when a record shows up that has *everybody* freaking out, that's usually a sign that said record is something special, and in those cases we definitely try to mark the occasion by making that record our Record Of The Week. Such is the case with The Fields by Blank Dogs, or should we say Blank Dog singular as this is a one man operation, some cat named Mike Sniper who for the last few years has been practically gushing limited cd-r's and tapes and short run releases, most so limited that for most of us, The Fields is our first real exposure to Sniper's gorgeous woozy lo-fi new wave, and new wave is really what this is, whereas a lot of the other Blank Dogs releases were super noisy and abrasive, The Fields is hooky and catchy and jangly, total perfect gloom pop, albeit drenched in plenty of tape hiss and amp buzz. Equal parts The Cure and Joy Division, huge fuzzed out downer basslines, simple drum rhythms or programmed beats, all wreathed in thick swirls of murky effects, fuzzy clouds of bloop and bleep, synthesizers spewing squiggly melodies, or unfurling thick undulating ribbons of warm buzz, and then the vocals, deep and drowsy, weary and worn, a mournful croon, super emotional and darkly evocative, all of those parts stitched together into haphazard perfect pop gems. It's a super short record, seven songs in twenty minutes, but it's darn near perfect, the opening bass line and drum part are total Cure worship, all gothy and gloomy, with an irresistible hook buried in the mix, the deep main croon balanced by a weird processed almost falsetto, fucked up effects careening all over the place in the background, smoothly segueing into "Now Signals" the indie mixtape hit of the year if there ever was one, a sort of Interpol meets Magnetic Fields by way of Sebadoh, a simple guitar jangle over woozy synths, and a sweet sad boy vocal, until it shifts gear into a killer super rocking, heavy guitar bridge, that slips into a warm, almost heavy chorus, before returning to that lo-fi jangle and shimmer of the verse. "Passing The Light" has a wicked blown out buzzy bass line, that would shame Interpol, the Joy Division melody strung between a constellation of glistening effects, the vocals dripping with delay and reverb and distortion, and again, all wrapped around a wicked hook. The last few tracks get almost frenetic, and mix in some classic pop era Eno into the moody new wave gloom, finishing things off with the weirdly ebullient "Spinning", that manages to glow and pulse with energy while retaining plenty of the rest of the record's glorious downer doompop vibe. Of course this is on Woodsist, which has been on a roll lately releasing one amazing gem after another: Crystal Stilts, Wavves, Pocahaunted, Meneguar, and now Blank Dogs!! Even though we're only a few weeks into 2009, there's no doubt this disc will find its way onto lots of folks year end lists!

MPEG stream: Now Signals
MPEG stream: Before The Hours
MPEG stream: The Other Way

ALSO ON CD!! A brand new full length from these aQ beloved Aussie psychedelic garage rockers, and unlike the last few, which we described as sounding like a mix of the Velvet Underground, Spacemen 3, krautrock, garage pop and Japanese psych, these scruffy punks seemed to have polished up their sound, and what do you know, they actually clean up pretty nice. What was once murky, fuzzy, wild, and loose, primal and druggy, dirgey and tripped out, is now sorta jangly and fuzzy and downright poppy. But it totally suits them. A little bit glammy, a little bit power poppy, like some Flying Nun missing link, but roughed up just a bit, retaining a little of their previous scrappiness, but recast here in a whole new light. Opener "Back The The Flood" is some seriously hooky classic sounding pop, crunchy and fuzzy and jangly, rambunctious and a little loose, but also sorta sunshiney and feel good, swirling synths abound, the only hints of the old Blank Realm here is the slithery Joy Divisiony bassline, which rumbles ominously, beneath the otherwise fuzzpoppy surface. And while we expected to say something like, "fear not though, the rest of the record...", but really, if anything the record continues down that rosy pop path, follow up "Falling Down The Stairs" is even poppier and janglier, still a little bit twisted and off kilter, sounding even MORE like it could have come out on Flying Nun back in the day. And somehow, while getting poppier, it also gets sort of weirder and more unpredictable. "Bell Tower" is a woozy sort of slowcore ballad, with shimmery guitars, and fragmented angular melodies, warped crooned vocals, dreamily psychedelic and washed out, while "Bulldozer Love" is another dreamy pop jam, soft focus guitar, crooned vox, and some squelchy synths in the background. "Violet Delivery" trades in the drums for programmed beats, adds some bleeps and bloops, and stretches out into some hazy, glammy krautpop drift. And so it goes, from dreamy feedback flecked jangle, to fuzzy electro garage pop, but remaining solidly on this side of the druggy, droney, murky, muddy divide, almost essentially a whole new band/sound. Hints of the change popped up throughout the last record, but similar to the transformation recently by NY noise rockers the Men on their new record, it wasn't a change we were expecting, but it's one we're digging quite a bit.

MPEG stream: Back To The Flood
MPEG stream: Falling Down The Stairs
MPEG stream: Bell Tower
MPEG stream: Violet Delivery

Ok, so they're called Blasted Canyons, the record is on John Dwyer's (Thee Oh Sees) Castle Face records, and has eye popping rainbow lazer psychedelic-smash cover art (courtesy Castle Face art dude William Keihn), one member of Blasted Canyons also does time in garage pop masters Bare Wires, so we were pretty much already sold, but then we threw it on, and well, we were definitely expecting some cool kick ass garage rock, but were totally unprepared for the tripped out psychedelic garage-prog synth-punk space-pop radness these guys and gal kick out. The first track, awesomely titled "The Artist Formerly Known As Satan", should pretty much seal the deal, huge bombastic crashing distorted chords, almost metal sounding, but more like a fuzzy space rock dirge, swirling effects-drenched boy girl vocal harmonies that turn it it into some sort of twisted pop, pounding drums, druggy and dreamy, but heavy and fuzzy and catchy as hell, and when the track shifts gears, and they launch into some buzzy distorto garage pop crunch, with echo-y vocals, and woozy sweetly melodic background vox, not to mention some wicked melodic hooks, it's a total head banging hip swinging sonic bliss out, and then bam, it's right into that strangely epic and bombastic garage pop dirge which leads to one final buzzy blast. Might just be our jam of the year so far. Fuzzed out swaggery lowslung Stooges-y stomp fused to power pop jangle and lo-fi space-synth-prog, so good we can barely bring ourselves to listen to the rest of the record, but once we did... The second track, "Blood On The Wall" is a synth driven chunk of angular garage-y new wave crunch, with a killer chorus, the howled distorto female vox and buzzing synth definitely reminding us of Black Bug, while "Consider Drowning" is a primo slab of surfy garage groove, with the vocals all deep and echoey reminding us of Crystal Stilts, but the chugging murky guitars, swirling spacey synth and pounding drums transforming it into something way more tripped out and primal. And so it goes, the whole record a wild ride through Oh Sees style sweat-soaked distorto-garage jangle pop, tripped out murkscapes of pulsing crumbling synths and pitch shifted vox, fuzzy classic post punk power pop laced with hazy oooh's and aaah's, noisy sci-fi-synth-wreathed punky pound, dirgey 4-tracked rhythmic experiments, wild, reverbed, feedback soaked girl group noise pop groove, twisted angular synth driven new wave, and finally finishing off with another bit of sonic weirdness, a perfect bookend for that opening blast of garage prog bombast, a swirling, dirgey, lysergic FX heavy synthswirl outro. So goddamn good. Record Of The Week for sure, but we're thinking maybe Record Of The Year too...! Vinyl-only for now, here's hoping they'll also press up some cds soon as well...

MPEG stream: The Artist Formerly Known As Satan
MPEG stream: Blood On The Wall
MPEG stream: Consider Drowning
MPEG stream: Death and a Half

There's a certain kind of electronic music we used to love that seems to have gone M.I.A. lately. That kind of off kilter abstract experimentalism that seemed to be an offshoot of IDM, like IDM's deformed younger sibling that was kept locked up in the basement, thankfully with a full complement of recording gear and electronics. Lesser was one of our favorites. And at times, so too were Blectum From Blechdom. A motley crew who sort of skirted the 'mainstream' creating their own sound, their own scene, taking the electronic music of the day and twisting it all up. While Lesser seemed to do no wrong, or if he did wrong, it was so gloriously wrong it was right, BfB were a bit more hit and miss. The two personalities pulling in two distinctly different directions. And to be honest, we much preferred Blevin's trajectory to Kevin's. As later records demonstrated, Kevin leaned more toward the bratty and puerile, a much more Chicks On Speed vibe, mixing Karaoke with damaged versions of commercial pop, while Blevin (aka Bevin) was much more academic, and experimental, with an ear for texture and rhythm not that far removed from her hubby Lesser.� Apparently the two have reunited and are once again a going concern, but more immediately, Blevin has finally released a new solo record, the first in 4 years, and it's pretty damn great. And actually, the fact that the opening track is a cover of a song by the mysterious Reverend Fred Lane just blows our minds. We've been trying to track Lane down to reissue his long out of print Shimmy Disc records, some of the most twisted genius EVER. And BB's version is equally twisted, but in a whole different way. Lots of rhythmic skitter, thick throbbing bass, she sings too but here voice is twisted and processed into strange stutters and streaks, the whole thing has a weirdly prog feel, a bit like a damaged Squarepusher covering some obscure lost seventies prog rarity, but all chopped up and reassembled. It definitely doesn't sound that much like the original, but the concept! And the sound. Fucking awesome. The rest of the record holds up pretty well considering there are no more Fred Lane covers, "Cygnet" with its snippets of soaring strings layered over dark meandering beats and ominous whirring ambience, "Foyer Fire", a glitchy, hiss, static flecked 8-bit carnival jam, each track is totally unique but manages to link to the sounds before and after seamlessly, from chaotic cut and paste, to woozy backwards warble, to hiccupping warbly fractured jungle, to blissed out smears of skitter and flutter, reminding us quite a bit of a more subdued (slightly) and�less caffeinated Stock, Hausen And Walkman.� The record finishes off with the truly haunting closer "Avian Enamel", with its chopped and processed harmonies, muted rhythmic thump, mysterious voices, weirdly groovy beats, all peppered with little flurries of glitch and crackle, buried samples, woozy loops, everything smoothed out into a drone-y beatscape both moody and mesmerizing. A fine return for sure. Now if we can just tempt Lesser out of hiding...

MPEG stream: Real Live Escargot
MPEG stream: Cygnet
MPEG stream: Foyer Fire