THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Not much point in belaboring the issue too much on this one. There's only 100 copies. Most of them are gone. But, FUCK, if this isn't the best Organum record ever made, even if it wasn't made by David Jackman. Instead, we have a brilliant homage to the turgid acoustic dronescaping and thoughtfully composed noise arrangements of David Jackman's best period of Organum (circa 1988 - 1994), produced by the less-than-sensible irr. app. (ext.) / Matt Waldron. Quite literally, this was the album of his dreams, as one night in 2011, Waldron was overcome by a vision of encountering Jackman at an indoor shopping mall in California, where he was selling a brand-spanking new Organum LP which featured a strange bear drawing on one side and an even stranger fox drawing on the other, with the rather explanatory "The Other Side Is Blank" as the title, pointing out that the lp was a one-sided lp. While we are not all that sure if such a strategy ever came up in Organum's back catalogue, he was known for releasing 7" singles with a mere minute and half of sound on both sides. In the five tracks (four on the one sided lp, and one very short cut on the one sided 7"), Waldron dutifully creates fantastic, industrial blurs of vibrating metal, acoustic rattlings, and infernal roars of very tactile noise all very much within the aesthetic of Jackman's Organum project. Pretty fucking brilliant and pretty fucking stupid at the same time. A perfect record for aQuarius! But grab one before they're gone for good...
Potatoes. Leave it up to irr. app. (ext.) to shove some wires into a potato and get a whole album from the resultant audio mess. Well, maybe. We'll hazard a guess that M.S. Waldron (aka irr. app. (ext.)) ran with the idea of the perennial science-fair project in harnessing enough bioelectrical energy from a potato to power a small alarm clock. Many years ago, the British sound artist Michael Prime had hooked up biosensors to mushrooms, recording the erratic signals that strangely emanate from within a fungus; and Waldron's recording process could have something to do with this. Then again, he could have just made a big bowl of mashed potatoes and slopped around like Otto Muehl or Carolee Schneemann. Waldron's back catalogue features a considerable amount of irrational activities leading towards the poetics of audio surrealism. The name itself - irr. app. (ext.) - is a cumbersome shortening of irrational appendage extension, and plenty of other absurd ideas cohabitate with Waldron's knack for the oblique collage. Psychic surgery gone horribly wrong. Involuntary twitching of limbs from dead insects. The philosophical eccentricities of Wilhelm Reich wrapped up in circles upon circles. And now, potatoes. There's definitely a whole lot going on in Tuberpendicular, and the electrified potato salad concoction may only be a small portion of the album. Sharpened tones of biofeedback, squishy and clinical squiggles of indeterminate origin pock Waldron's cyclical sound design of percolating drones that transmit out of creaky old spaces. Really great, really convoluted collage based work that finds simpatico with Nurse With Wound, Michel Chion, and the weirder elements found throughout the history of electronic music. Limited to 200 copies.
No idea what to make of that title. Plop it even into a Google translation tool, and you get some nonsense about a "valentine cormorant" surrounded by a bunch of gibberish as Google wants to make this word out to be Japanese. It looks Russian to us, not that the linguistic skills at aQuarius have any command of a language beyond our own brand of English polyglot. There is a curious and eerie aura of animistic, psychic mysticism that inhabits the whirling gears, locomotive rhythms, and deeply dilated industrial clamor that might have a passing resemblance with some of the esoteric offerings from the Russian postindustrial scene.
M.S. Waldron (aka irr. app. (ext.)) has been a relative constant in the Nurse With Wound touring stable with a handful of appearances on the latter day Nurse recordings. And he did travel with Nurse on their first excursion into Russia, where we're pretty sure they played Saint Petersburg and Moscow. Much is a mystery and much is gibberish in the realm of irr. app. (ext.), so the meaningless of this title in conjunction with a tenuous aesthetic linkage to a project like Linija Mass or Vetrophonia might have absolutely nothing to with the album. At the same time, it could have everything to do with it. The album seems to be sourced from bowed metals whose slashing atonal frequencies are layered and collaged into interwoven networks of discordant textures. Waldron has worked extensively with these types of sounds, even creating a brilliant homage to the Organum / David Jackman sound with the irr. app. (ext.) album "The Other Side Is Blank". But here, slippery collage-techniques and audio layering hold a lugubrious psychedelic hue that encompasses Waldron's aquatic gurglings, walkie-talkie broadcasts, metallic glissandos, and mechanical rhythms. All of which could harken to the idiosyncrasies of everyday objects (as his live set-up could literally be any given junk drawer tumbled onto a table with contact microphones affixed randomly) or perhaps more romantically, emblematic field recordings made while he was visiting Russia a few years ago. Nonetheless, this is another great album from irr. app. (ext.); and this hand-fabricated edition runs just 200 copies.
For those of you who have had the opportunity to witness the live reincarnation of Nurse With Wound over the past couple of years, there are two bald men making funny noises usually on either side of Steven Stapleton. One is Andrew Liles, who had run the table in terms of a release schedule in 2007 releasing 14 full albums of eccentric drones and abstracted collages, some of which were pretty darn good, but could maybe have used some editing. The other bald man is M.S. Waldron, whose slowly trickled releases are impeccable constructions of modern day Surrealism through audio sorcery, clearly not in any need of an editor whatsoever. Outside of NWW, he's been toiling away in the Santa Cruz Mountains of California under the unwieldy moniker irr. app. (ext.).
This split release with Chicago's Panicsville has been in the works for many years now, finally seeing the light of day in early 2008. The irr. app. (ext.) half of the equation slowly spirals from one assemblage of discombobulated field recordings, agitated ether, and curious atmospherics into another set of equally malformed sounds, much like a black-acid kaleidoscope. Yes, it makes perfect sense that Stapleton would want Waldron to assist in Nurse performances, as he clearly has talent at taking weird noise making to a sublime level of abstraction.
With a name like Panicsville, the expectations were of an obstinant noise project; but instead, this splatter of mechanoid gestures pocking sea-sick drones is a worthy companion to irr. app. (ext.)'s sidereal brilliance. So good in fact, that we may seek out further recordings. So good in fact, that you too should pick this thing up. Limited to 500 copies.
Aaron Turner has had his hand in many of AQ's favorite metalcore albums, whether releasing them through his Hydrahead imprint (Neurosis, Sunn, Cave In, Coalesce, Atomsmasher / Phantomsmasher, etc.) or doing artwork for them (Agoraphobic Nosebleed) or making the music himself on 'em through his continuously impressive projects Isis and Old Man Gloom. Isis' second album "Oceanic" is quite possibly the strongest work to date for Turner. That is quite a feat considering how great those Old Man Gloom albums were. Where Turner shaped Old Man Gloom into an uncompromising drone 'n' grind outfit that speculated upon the sci-fi themes of alien-monkey hybrids, Isis is a bit more straightforward in tightening up the complex orchestrations of Neurosis with a whip-smart pop sensibility. Don't let the 'pop' of Isis fool you; "Oceanic" is a brutal album of dynamic metalcore that sculpts its propulsion by intertwining huge chugging riffs and counterpointed rhythms into the band's already massive percussive pummel. Isis' use of those grinding riffs is so hypnotic through its monochromatic distortion that when the band works up to a chord change (which can take 3 or 4 minutes to get to), it becomes a catastrophic pop hook as the New Pornographers, Get Up Kids, or Pinback but just super fuckin' heavy and aggressively dramatic. As the album unfolds, an emo vein to Isis becomes apparant, in part due to the reliance upon urgent minor keys and Turner's scream-against-the-void-or-maybe-just-my-parents vocals filled with rage and angst. Isis have also employed the talents of Maria Christopher of the Relapse post-rock band 27 on one the album's later tracks "Weight", where her breathtaking vocal mantra is the perfect harmonious complement to Isis' crushing dissonance. This track matches the only other well-executed arrangement we've heard for female vocals in a metalcore song found on From Autumn To Ashes' "Too Bad You're Beautiful." Yeah, this one totally rules.
On her first two records, Finland's Islaja completely swept us off our feet and delivered us to an enchanted world of mystery, warmly wrapped in delicate layers of a unique beauty that just doesn't come around that often. Definitely reminiscent of Brigitte Fontaine's experimental leanings or maybe what we imagine Bjork might sound like stuck deep in a Finnish forest.
With her latest outing Islaja has done it again! She's conjured up a handful of songs that immediately begin to melt into your consciousness the roots going deeper and deeper with every listen. With the subtle addition of horns and electronics to her already dense and seductive sound, Islaja shows once again what a unique vision she possesses. Imagine Patty Waters joining White Magic at a late-night seance... Ulual YYY is like sinking into some warm dreamy state, eyes clouded with wisps of smoke until everything becomes a hazy blur. You're not sure where you are or what to do, but you are absolutely sure there is no where else you would rather be than deep inside Ulual Yyy's alluring and mystifying world. Highly recommended!
When this showed up at Aquarius, I made a stupid comment to a customer who was curious about this record. I said that Jackie-O Motherfucker were somewhat of a Tom Sawyer / Huck Finn communal project featuring a bunch of random No Neck Blues Band style "pipe
Now that I've actually cracked the duct-tape seal which encases the two records and immersed myself in the wonders of "The Magick Fire Music," I must gladly admit that I was very very wrong. There certainly is a rustic Tom Sawyer / Huck Finn aspect to the Portland ensemble's sound, but there is much less of the expected jazz element. Instead, Jackie-O Motherfucker has carved out a sound that is emotively quite similar to the post-rock melancholia of Godspeed / Sigur Ros but with none of their overly dramatic orchestrations.
The album opens with a buried collage of shortwave radio heterodyning and disconnected voices, but emphatically steps forward with a guitar duet between a saddened David Pajo-esque riff and an intertwining effects-laden chimed tone. After the clunky twang of Jew's harps on "Bone Saw," Jackie-O returns to the evocative, spacious, and cinematically Western riffs (especially on the breathtakingly melancholy "The Cage"), as an effective means of transcribing sound into a psychic landscape that is strangely similar to the aforementioned Godspeed. While Godspeed brackets their tight orchestrations around a social pessimism that eventually leads to cathartic enlightenment about how shitty the world is around us, Jackie-O Motherfucker settles back into a drugged stupor of oddly psychedelic grooves, something I prefer. A very, very good record!
Finally available on cd, the one-two punch that proves Jackie O Motherfucker just may well edge out their more hyped contemporaries, the No Neck Blues Band and Sunburned Hand Of The Man, in the bid to rule the world of US-underground-free-psych-folk-weirdness.
There certainly is a rustic Tom Sawyer / Huck Finn aspect to this Portland ensemble's sound, but there is much less of the expected jazz element. Instead, Jackie-O Motherfucker have carved out a sound that is emotively quite similar to the post-rock melancholia of Godspeed / Sigur Ros but with none of their overly dramatic orchestrations.
The album opens with a buried collage of heterodyning shortwave radio and disconnected voices, but emphatically steps forward with a guitar duet between a sad David Pajo-esque riff and an intertwining effects-laden chimed tone. After the clunky twang of Jew's harps on "Bone Saw," Jackie-O returns to the evocative, spacious, and cinematically Western riffs (especially on the breathtakingly melancholy "The Cage"), as an effective means of transcribing sound into a psychic landscape that is strangely similar to the aforementioned Godspeed. While Godspeed bracket their tight orchestrations around a social pessimism that eventually leads to cathartic enlightenment about how shitty the world is around us, Jackie-O Motherfucker shrug their shoulders and settle back into a drugged out, dreamy drawly musical stupor of oddly psychedelic grooves which somehow seems way more appealing.
"Eisen" is another installment in a series from Organum ringleader David Jackman, who consistently offers a disturbing body of work with undeniable references to the atrocities of World War II. This piece is an extended collage built from an eerie repetition of a Wagnerian theme as played by a German marching band circa 1940. Jackman handles this piece with such masterful
After a spell of expensive releases both solo and as Organum that held a paltry amount of material, David Jackman has finally provided a new album where the dollar per minute ratio is less than one! In other words, you get 35 minutes of aggregate sound collage for a mere $14.98. Though a reissue, essentially nobody has really heard these recordings before as Up From Zero was one of the very first cassettes that Jackman put out on his Aeroplane Records back in 1982 in an edition of just 30 copies. There's also an extra track dating back to 1980, a collaboration with the underappreciated Philip Sanderson. While his strongest work has clearly been his Organum project which concentrates on timbral accumulations of bowed gongs and scraped metals into epic drones and minimalist constructions, Jackman's solo work has a considerable amount to offer. Up From Zero is a particularly dynamic suite distinguished by the easily recognizable samples which riddle Jackman's compositions. A screeching loop of a car crash interrupts the burbling of a placid stream; deep rumbling drones situate behind the seasick motion of scraped metals and smashed glass; and bowed guitar echoes toward infinity. These sounds are much more obvious than most Organum / Jackman sounds, but never quite articulate themselves as the Surrealist epiphanies of Nurse With Wound. It may have been that these early works experimented with various sounds before he hit on the signature of Organum. Nevertheless, another very strong piece of work from one of the great minimalists of the contemporary era.
Of Beauty Reminiscing is the debut album for Vikki Jackman who had previously contributed the evocative if very minimal clusters of piano notes on Andrew Chalk's Goldfall LP from a few months back. So taken was he by the results of that source material, Chalk offered Ms. Jackman an album of her own, which he would produce and release through his Faraway Press imprint. The piano that Jackman uses could never be confused for a concert piano as the antiquated instrument offers forth slightly askew if thoroughly elegant notes; and Jackman certainly emphasizes the idiosyncrasies of that piano through her fragile, open-ended and sparsely laid out melodies, which hold some similarities to Erik Satie's or maybe even Morton Feldman's piano compositions smeared with a decaying Victorian gracefulness. One side of this LP features Jackman by her lonesome, and the other appears to exhibit the hand of Andrew Chalk blurring the edges of many of her tones into a wistful fog of drifting dronescaping. Super limited to a tiny pressing of which we will probably get no more than the pittance that we have received. Which at this point is FIVE copies. Gone in no time of course. Prepare to be disappointed. Sorry. Highly recommended nonetheless.
Andrew Chalk began his Faraway Press imprint less than a decade ago, hand-fabricating some of the loveliest packaging we have seen, created to house some of the loveliest drones we have ever heard. Almost all of the records on Faraway Press have been Chalk's solo records, with a couple of collaborations, and a few albums from Vikki Jackman, who had previously partnered with Chalk on a handful of records, most notably providing the source material for Chalk's Goldfall album. Her first album was Of Beauty Reminiscing, and this one Whispering Pages is the second - both of which enjoy Andrew Chalk's impeccable ear and additional production. Jackman's principle instrument is an antiquated piano, which clearly wears its age in its warbled tones and wooden creaks which Jackman has no interest in disguising. Her compositions are gossamer at best, with gently plinked clusters of notes leaving little more than impressionist marks. Where her previous outing took many of its Spartan cues from Erik Satie, Whispering Pages enjoys a greater amount of additional treatments: field recordings, drone fabrication, and even some digital pixel smear. Throughout the album, Jackman's soft focus piano flickers across shadowy rumbles, which while somber and nocturnal are never oppressively blackened. The bits of digital splutter which dot the drift and drone are a bit unusual from anything that Andrew Chalk touches, but it certainly does not detract from the delicate drama of this album. Think Tim Hecker judiciously remixing Brian Eno's Thursday Afternoon. Be warned however, Whispering Pages is strictly limited to 300 copies.
If there's a single Jandek record to own, I would strongly recommend this one. "The Blue Corpse" has long been my favorite album from this Texan recluse, and stands as a rare moment of clarity within his typically willful obliteration of blues and folk standards. While there has been no support to such claims from the tightly lipped Corwood Industries, I have to agree with the theory postulated by Seth Tisue (who runs a fantastic Jandek website at http://tisue.net/jandek/) that this album is the aftermath of the breakup between Jandek and the woman known as Nancy who was featured prominently on previous records. While the obvious fact that she never appears on later album lends itself to this theory, the lyrical content -- which is the least obtuse of all of the Jandek records -- is the strongest evidence to Tisue's claim. From 'Your Other Man,' Jandek morosely resigns himself to his fate as a jilted lover: "Well, I guess your mind's made up / Well, I guess there's not much left to do / Go on, see your other man / Walk up the stairs / That's where the stars are / Go on, see your other man." The recurring themes of religion, travelogues, and numbers found on other records have been put on hold for "The Blue Corpse" which constantly returns to citations of killing time, falling into the river, and pining for lost love. Jandek's naturally melacholic wisp of a voice mopes through each of these songs, presenting itself as an embodiment of his internal gloom. Of course, these could be allegorical fictions and metaphoric dramas. Musically, there is also a considerable change in the Jandek approach on "The Blue Corpse" as his solo guitar work is principally acoustic and actually follows recognizably folkish chord progressions. All in all, "The Blue Corpse" makes for a fantastic album.
Now back in print on vinyl, Chair Beside A Window was album number four in the massive Jandek discography, recorded and originally released back in 1982. Jandek's recordings are always self-contained, self-referential, and willfully difficult excursions into anti-folk aesthetic that deconstructs every blues-based archetype through freely tuned 'songs.' It was never clear at all if Jandek was the work of one mystery man who lived in Texas, or if he employed help from anonymous musicians. The early records allude to a nearly hermetic form of creativity, but given the model for Jandek's live performances in the 21st Century (with only a couple of a notes handed to the backing musicians and no introductions whatsoever), it's entirely possible that Jandek brought in a couple of musicians under similar instructions back in the day. That said, Chair Beside A Window is an exceptional record for Jandek, not just because of its cracked genius, but also because of the appearance of two outside vocalists, a woman presumably named Nancy and another woman who might be Nancy's sister named Pat. There had been speculation that Nancy was Jandek's girlfriend, although there's nothing to prove (or disprove) that notion. In any case, Jandek's "Nancy Sings" is something of a freak-folk classic with Nancy adopting more of a classic Patsy Cline delivery of fragile beauty, as a counter to the lithium warble and growl from the man himself. Jandek also reprises his track "European Jewel" which is as close to a Jandek standard as you can get, given the recurrence of this song on a handful of albums. This song appeared on Ready For The House but here gets an electric guitar arrangement instead of the treble happy acoustic found on the debut. There's still no end to the mystery of Jandek, even after he's been touring the globe as a very unlikely troubadour. Pretty much all of Jandek's records from the '80s are awe-inspiring / confounding documents, Chair Beside A Window included!
While there have been a number of theories floating around about Jandek, his identity, the unwavering continuity from album to album, the input from his collaborators, and the personal histories that seep through his recordings, the reclusive nature of the Texan known as Jandek (and possibly Sterling Smith) will always keep the truth relatively hidden. Nevertheless, a few facts about "Follow Your Footsteps" are certain: this is the 13th Jandek album, it was recorded in 1986, and the woman who has been referred to as "Nancy" makes another very brief vocal appearance and may have been Jandek's girlfriend.
While the last couple of recordings demonstrated a celebratory silliness (especially the odd vocal duet 'Governor Rhodes' on "Telegraph Melts"), Jandek's "Follow Your Footsteps" exhibits greater tendencies towards introspection and musical isolation. In the aforementioned "Telegraph Melts," Jandek punctuated his avant-folk strum and cracked vocal strain with the heavy plod of arrhythmic percussive stabs. Here on "Follow Your Footsteps," Jandek utilizes such drum signatures on only a few tracks; yet what is most striking about this album is the genuine blues stucturalism of the guitar chords. Melody, even if it's just two chords rhythmically strummed on an acoustic guitar, has become an important element in Jandek's oeuvre. Of course, the songs utter the mythologically oblique imagery of preachers, time, reality, and nature - all typical of Jandek's epistomological inquiries. It's a cold world where Jandek lives.
The isolationist. The neurotic. The one. The only. Jandek. In what may be a response to the queries about the status of his earliest work (which has been out of print for almost two decades), this hermetic Texan has now been re-issuing these records. "Later On" is his second album of lithium-soaked folk; a pseudo-jangle on the guitar barely carrying a tune and daydreaming poetry crooned with a creepier voice-crack than Will Oldham could ever conjur. The mysteries of Jandek, personal and musical, may never be fully revealed, but his peculiar genius is highly recommended none the less.
Jandek seems to be an unlikely source for nostalgia; however, "One Foot In The North" and the opening track 'Yellow Pages' in particular dot the soundtrack of my college days. While attending an unnamed midwestern college in the early '90s (I'll give you a hint, it was consistently voted America's Sassiest College by the now defunct Sassy magazine), I spent a number of hours at the college radio station, broadcasting a powerful 440 watts of raw radio fury to the cornfields and the few freshmen who hadn't figured out that my radio show was an unlistenable mess of post-punk obscurities, industrial noise, and grim dronings (no, not much has changed). True to our civic minded mission of being a community radio station, we produced a number of public service announcements on mind-bogglingly daft subjects. The ones that got the most airplay were of course, the incredibly bizarre ones, such as Rene Enriquez recounting the dangers of huffing glue, or the Clark Webber spots on leprosy. Also in heavy PSA rotation was a particularly haunting one on schizophrenia. Making the 30 second saga of this misunderstood teenager even creepier was the backing music which some smartass at the radio station had grafted onto the announcement. It was 'Yellow Pages' by Jandek. With its lazy electric guitar meandering through a series of painfully sad notes and the lyrics "You've got to help me dear / Because there's no release / From this tangled beast" which chimed in perfectly to the scripted dialogue, the pathos of abject failure and mental anguish was so perfectly realized, it was comical.
Thus, for me the reissue of "One Foot In The North" is like listening to Joy Division, The Pixies, or Big Black. It's so familiar that a critique is difficult because the music seems so self-evident. I really doubt that many other people would have the same reaction to Jandek's incredibly difficult signature sound of deconstructed blues and folk into an often pained expression. Nevertheless, I can attempt to step away from my memories for a brief moment and place "One Foot In The North" (the 20th Jandek album produced in 1991) alongside his previous albums "The Living End" and "Somebody In The Snow," with more restrained, potentially resigned arrangements for electric guitar and Jandek's strained falsetto warble. As with those two albums, "One Foot In The North" is quintessential downer listening.
MPEG Download: "Yellow Pages" [/audio/jandekyellowpages.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Yellow Pages" [/audio/jandekyellowpages.m3u]
AVAILABLE ON LP!!! Well, it was an lp once before, long long ago, but Jandek's been cd only for years now...
Here's our review of the cd version when we listed it way back when...
The album that started it all was actually not released as Jandek but quite curiously as The Units back in 1978, although there is no denying that Ready For This House is the work of our beloved Texan mystery man Jandek. With Corwood Industry's CD reissue campaign which began several years back, Jandek claimed his rightful authorship over this record. From this album and onward past 34+ records, Jandek has crafted one of the most unique, incredibly personal bodies of music of all time. Within this huge catalog, Jandek (whose real name might be Sterling Smith, then again it might not) is painfully alone, even on those few records with enigmatic duets with female singers or possible collaborations with "John" the drummer. Where the archetypes of blues can accurately describe the sobering truths about hard drinkin' and hard livin', Jandek delves way deeper into the emotional pit of raw abjection and existential torment. His deformed post-blues of incredulously shrill notes, meandering monochords, and lithium saturated vocalizations are unbearable to the average listener. Yet, when given half a chance by the adventurous among you, the enigma that is Jandek will inevitably become revelatory.
The mere fact that this was the first record does not in any way indicate that Jandek (or The Units, if you must) was fishing around for a sound. In retrospect, the Jandek signature was fully developed from day one, and Ready For This House still stands as one of the greatest in the catalogue.
For the majority of Ready For The House, Jandek meanders through a single, slightly offkey, acoustic guitar chord with a half-strum / half-plucked style that emphasizes loud / quiet dynamics and a rhythmic laziness as the perfect accompaniment for his obtuse lyrics and delivery (i.e. 'Inside myself there is no question / Just the jangle of our brain / Three times four is twenty-seven / Only fragments still remain' from "First You Think Your Fortune's Lovely"). This musical signature dominated his first seven or eight records up through the mid-'80s. It should also be noted that Jandek also debuted one of the few actual tunes that he repeated on a number of later records in "European Jewel." This track broke from that single monochord with a comparatively musical descending set of notes heralding Jandek's warped vision of the blues.
If you are new to Jandek or are looking to get a hold of one of the better albums, Ready For This House is marvelous place to start. Very highly recommended.
A while back we made a mistake in claiming that "Later On" was Jandek's second album, when in fact that title was his third album. "Six And Six" is really his second album. While this probably doesn't matter all that much in the grand scheme of things, we'd like to at least get our facts straight. Anyway, "Six And Six" is a raw glimpse into the hermetic soul of Jandek through his ultra-minimal, angular trance-blues soaked with lots of spring reverb and sprinkled with his waivering vocal neuroses.
"Somebody In The Snow" was the 19th album for Jandek who recorded this in 1990, and doesn't deviate from the path set by its predecessor "The Living End" in polishing his avant-folk/blues songs into a small subset of relatively tasteful recordings. Yet, this album is not without its eccentricities and creepy mysteries. While there are a couple of acoustic guitar numbers, Jandek mostly plays electric guitar with a signature laziness, allowing all of the twinkling notes to swim in the spring reverb from his amp. The woman previous referrenced as "Nancy" makes another round of appearances, occasionally singing duets with Jandek including the stunning a capella track of sustained vocalizations "Om."
Yet more interestingly is the arrangement of "Come Through With A Smile" which is also sung by "Nancy" and is eerily similar to "Your Other Man" from "The Blue Corpse." That earlier song, perhaps my favorite individual Jandek song, is a psychologically bleak portrait of a jilted lover resigning himself to post-breakup isolation. The arrangement for "Your Other Man" is about as straight-forward as Jandek ever gets, with an anxiously strummed repetition through a declining chord progression. If it is true that "Nancy" was his former girlfriend and "The Blue Corpse" was an autobiographical tale about their breakup, then the similarities in the arrangement of the two songs is particularly unnerving as it implies a brooding animosity towards "Nancy" that was once sublimated within Jandek's hermetic shell yet now has surfaced with a sly wit referencing one of his previous albums. Yet this curious piece of history in the Jandekian mythos doesn't overwhelm any of the music, which remains cool, distant, and restrained.
"Somebody In The Snow" would be a great place to start for those discovering Jandek for the first time; but at the same time, this album is certainly a highlight from one of the most unique artists from the past three decades.
Ah, Kompakt! The current kingdom of electronic music has produced another exceptional album from one of its citizens. There's not much to be said about Jatoma, as this Danish trio seems to be flaunting an air of mystery through a half-hearted attempt at anonymity. Regardless of their backstory, Jatoma are impressive magicians when it comes to their eccentric techno productions that recall the best of Four Tet, Matthew Herbert, and even Matmos from time to time.
With an opening sequence of sparkling digitalia on "Little Houseboat" that teases at a precious melodic phrase in the same way that Oval captured our imaginations with his impeccable Diskont 94 album, Jatoma is clearly onto something quite special. This becomes obvious when they push through a jumble of electronic squiggles and clockwork clicks into the soft whump of a techno pulse and accompanying bass groove that fleshes out just the first number on the very impressive debut. References to Animal Collective have been offered in comparison to Jatoma, but their sound relies less on lithium-addled bubblegum electronica and more on a chimerical synthesis of Pop Ambient dreaminess and the tech-house dramatics of build-and-release. It's no wonder that Kompakt signed them! "Durian" and "Bou" are both curious anthems with their auto-tuned, chill-wave melodies and warbled acid motifs fused onto thumped deep-house rhythms and hi-hat swing. While there are distinct tracks which stand on their own as the singles amongst the album, Jatoma take the time to subvert the iPod listening experience with very short interludes, codas, and intros of transitional squelches and tuned melodies that bridge the moods and atmospheres of Jatoma's varied tracks. Yup, it's an album that works best when listening from beginning to end!
Like many of the recent Kompakt releases, the vinyl comes the cd of the same material found within.
The monicker of Felicia Atkinson's solo project hails from Nico's Desert Shore, that mysteriously bleak 1970 album by the Velvet Underground's troubled chanteuse; and a similarly poetic mysteriousness oozes from Atkinsons' deconstructed songs. Age Of Wonder is the second piece of vinyl for Je Suit Le Petit Chevalier, strengthening her work through a handful of limited cassettes and cd-r out of an amorphous droning psychedelia and into a smoldering intense alchemy of allegorical post-ambience. On this spooky, hypnotic, and harrowing album conjured through ever-shifting, ever-blossoming, ever-defalting soundscapes, she references the psychotropic holiness of Fursaxa, the deep-sleep surrealism of Motion Sickness Of Time Travel, and the expository minimalism of Taj Mahal Travellers. Voice, synths, loops, and electronics are the tools at her disposal, which she uses to build sprawling passages of sodden drones brightened by twinkling synths playing half-melodies and accentuated by her narcoleptic vocals cycling through wordless, but emotively sad lullablies alternating with spectral bellowings swathed in deep, washed-out reverb. The layered accretion of plainsong vocalizations and dank atmopsherics opaquely reimagines that which is natural, mystical, metaphysical, and/or mundane, always positioned as something of a mirror looking back to the human psyche as unknowable and existentially sublime. Brilliantly done.
Dark Morse is a super limited cassette from the brilliant Belgian drone-songstress Felicia Atkinson aka Je Suis Le Petit Chevalier, a moniker snatched from Nico's Desertshore album. Her synth, reverb, and vocal concoctions earn her favorable comparisons to Motion Sickness Of Time Travel and Grouper; but she's continuing to delve into deeper waters away from any psychedelic inclinations and toward a darkly psychological sentiment. Dark Morse is based on the Don Delillo collection of short stories The Angel Esmeralda, whose thematic arcs and intertwining narratives bristle with rape, murder, and surreal miracles popping up on highway billboards. Atkinson's condensation of Delillo's work adheres to a suitably sinister atmosphere. Shadowy, occluded sounds of ghost-clattering rhythms, narcoleptic vocals, and ill-tempered drone-melodies sprawl across the 38 minutes as shape-shifting amalgams that come in and out of existence through an ectoplasmic ambience. The witchiness of it all makes us think that this wouldn't be too far out of place alongside the Demdike Stare associates / affiliates of Anworth Kirk, Slant Azymuth, Suum Cuique, and David Orphan. While 200 copies may seem like a beefy production run for a cassette, this is too good to be sitting around for long.
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If there is a fault to be found in this release from Philip Jeck, it is in the cdr format and the painfully limited edition. With an arsenal of Dansette turntables (numbering up to 180!!!), Jeck sets up numerous pieces of vinyl with various delays and locked grooves fashioned directly on the vinyl with glue and razor blades. Cyclical patterns of Christmas tunes, slowed down antique 78s, and the tidal flux of surface noise are the raw elements for Jeck's collage. The result is an eerily beautiful piece that is just as good as (if not better than) Jeck�s recently released turntablist double cd masterpiece --Vinyl Coda I-III.Ê
AQ fave P. Jeck's 2002 masterpiece (Record Of The Week on our list number 135) has at last been repressed and is back in stock!
Philip Jeck's take on turntable experimentation involves using multiple turntables and scratchy old records to create blissfully beautiful surface-noise looping. His largely improvised compositions make the most gorgeous, repetitive, droning use of good old-fashioned record crackle and hiss. Jeck takes great care to allow for scraps of melody to emerge from the original music on the records with snippets of piano, sitar, and slow-motion vocals, popping out of crackled loops and often recalling the height of the Robin Storey era Zoviet France in the late '80s.
What differentiates this new album from the previous excellent ones in his oeuvre is its dynamics (perhaps due to the fact that these were all live performances?) -- the music is more active in terms of the elements used and their resulting emotional power. In fact, the first track "Above" is the creepiest composition I've ever heard from Jeck. The dynamism is also evident in that he uses more individual sounds that unfold over time but *not* necessarily being looped. It's nice to hear him trusting the sounds to stand on their own rather than needing the looping effect to make them beautiful. Highly recommended!!
Even though it's the outtake and b-sides album (which often mostly exists as an excuse for an artist to get out of a contract by tossing together some unrelated castoffs), Barbed Wire Kisses showcases the most volatile and most dynamic facets of the Jesus & Mary Chain, when they would unleash all of their hurricane fury of distortion and amplifier destruction on one b-side, and for another, they'd cut a beautiful acoustic rendering of one of their tunes from Psychocandy, still clad in jet-black reverb. Sure Psychocandy is a non-stop thrill ride; but the introspective moments of Barbed Wire Kisses make the screamed noise loosely adhering to a dum-dum '60s punk anthem all the more visceral. The surf references which greased Psychocandy are even more pronounced in these tracks, from the lead track "Kill Surf City" to the cover of the Beach Boys' mega-hit "Surfin' USA", completely laden with gloom and grit, compounded by the fact that the Brothers Reid probably never saw any sunlight. The more sedate tracks are found in "Don't Ever Change", which sounds so much like an outtake from Darklands, because it WAS an outtake from Darklands; and then there's the acoustic version of "Taste Of Cindy" which we alluded to earlier and may be the highlight of the album with a prettiness rarely associated with JAMC and sounding sorta similar to those Dave Pajo covers of the Misfits. It should be noted that this reissue reproduces the tracklisting from the original vinyl pressing, and does not include the 4 bonus tracks found on the cd version. If you never picked this up back in the day, now's your chance to grab a CLASSIC.
It's easy to get lost in the sounds from John Grizinich, as his slippery compositions for abstracted field recordings impart a stupifying hypnosis when listening to them. While we've had a couple of his solo discs, most of the work that we've encountered by John Grzinich has been through collaborations with the likes of Michael Northam and Seth Nehil. And even though both of those artists have a particular fondness for the drone, it seems as though Grzinich was responsible for directing those collaborations into the depths of sonorous hypnogogia. This was especially true for the impeccable Grzinich / Nehil album Gyre, and the same could be said for the Grzinich / Northam disc The Absurd Evidence. Yet, this sensibility becomes all the more obvious when Grizinich strikes out on his own, as is the case on his stellar 2007 album Rudiment Of Two.
Released by the British drone-artist Paul Bradley on his new Edition Sonoro imprint, Rudiment Of Two contains three lengthy tracks, which engage Grzinich's preferred strategy for vulcanizing field recordings into elegantly serpentine tonalities. Through revolving sets of fluctuating bellows and incrementally changing drones, Rudiment Of Two come across as a painterly take on BJ Nilsen or Jonathan Coleclough. Typical of Grzinich's sound is the trickle of rain on the album's massive 30 minute centerpiece, which activates a silvery auditory filigree amidst the reverberation and metallic vibrations. With the rattle of a heavy iron bell, the crackling textures begin to swarm into a full spectrum chorus of miniscule ticklings that eventually condenses into a bleary drone shot towards infinitude. A really fantastic album from an under-recognized artist.
For many years now, John Grzinich and Michael Northam have long been two of our favorite sound artists. While we had thought that we had uncovered the bulk of their respective back catalogues, we somehow managed to have missed this early collaboration between the two. Both Grzinich and Northam emerged into realm of audio research and sound experimentation from Austin, Texas which had been quite a nexus of activity thanks in part to ND, which was a magazine, label, and what might be considered a think tank for sound art. The Absurd Evidence appears to have been an album that they had completed while they were both still residing in Texas before the two ventured beyond American waters (Grzinich currently resides in Estonia and Northam has been last spotted in France). This was also released at the same time as another collaboration entitled The Stomach of the Sky which Staalplaat released about a decade ago, but it is a little odd that we would have let The Absurd Evidence slip under our radar since this was released by the Texan label Bobby J, who had also released the brilliant, outsider mope rock / dronescape albums by Twenty-Six and Thirty-Seven.
The Absurd Evidence is a magnificent construction of agitated objects, manipulated field recordings, and electrically charged minimalism, where the tactile crunch of rock, brick, and sand snap into focus against the unsettled ambience generated from magnetic field disturbances. Slowly motors being to be whir and grind in a symphony of urban detritus being coaxed to utterance. The entire proceedings allude to some arcane scientific discourse being unveiled in process only, without any hint as to the purpose or conclusion to the ongoing tactile rumble and drone. These strategies may be similar to what The Hafler Trio produced on Kill The King, but the results of The Absurd Evidence parallel what Loren Chasse was creating at the same time with his seminal project Id Battery. Other references could be found in Giancarlo Toniutti, Eric La Casa, Small Cruel Party, and Tarab.
It's quite possible that we ended up with the very last copies of The Absurd Evidence, so if you were at all like us in missing this tremendous record, do yourself the favor of picking this up. It's fucking amazing. If you do already have, well then you already know how good it is!
Just so you know, that is not a typo. John Grzinich has followed his occasional collaborator Michael Northam (aka Mnortham) in cramming his first initial onto his last name to obtain his public persona. And like Northam, Grzinich has developed a knack for concept-heavy procedures that manifest themselves into densely processed drones. "Confluence" is a collaborative album between Grzinich and Seth Nehil, who is another frequent partner for both Grzinich and Northam. This is sort of a sister album to their "Stria" album. Both pieces are electro-acoustic exercises that are meant to "study evolutionary patterns of sound dynamics through various methods of live generation and recorded mediums that focus on multiplications and groupings." In other words, they got a whole bunch of people in a room, handed them instruments with similar timbral qualities (i.e. clay pots and metal bowls), recorded these people making clamorous noise, and then rendered most of the gestural actions moot by blurring everything into a heavenly drone, somewhere between Francisco Lopez and Jonathan Coleclough. The second track "The Distant Edge" deviates slightly from the process with the intrusion of field recordings from an unknown demonstration in Belgrade. The only clues to the event that Grzinich and Nehil provide are in the form of a chorus of car horns blaring non-stop for 10 minutes, occasionally harmonizing into a strange polyphony like a battery of Egyptian reeds, but more often than not accumulating into an angry swarm not unlike Xenakis' "Persepolis." Altogether, "Confluence" is a fantastic record that actively pursues agitation and anxiety.
Do we forgive them for the band name? Supposedly, this is a riff on the beloved avant-folk songstress Joanna Newsom, to which we have to ask "What the fuck, Joanna Gruesome? Really? What did Ms. Newsom ever do to you?" Sure, we've lauded the benefit / curse of having a laughably, ridiculously bad name; and this one may be nearing the top of the list, just 'cuz we can't think of a single reason why this band name should exist. But here it is, and fuck if Joanna Gruesome's sound doesn't completely right shine through their questionable moniker. In the best possible light, the name is an awkward commentary on the awkwardness of being an awkward indie-dork who is enduring the awkward growth spurts of late-teendom and who somehow has figured out to play guitar, bash drums, and sing harmonies in spite of the gangly legs and stubborn baby fat. This five piece hails from Wales, and couldn't have found a better home than Slumberland Records, which they share not only with current indie pop darlings Veronica Falls but also stalwarts of the fuzz-pop jangle like The Aislers Set and Black Tambourine. The songs on Weird Sister have a brilliantly schizoid ability to shift in style without sounding out of place at all (belying that awkward teen gangliness, mentioned earlier), with a dreamy, bubblegum pop-punk vibe that crashes into a riotous, overblown riff, sounding like a Veronica Falls vocal harmony smashed into a sugarsmacked noise-pop tune from the Swirlies, one of America's finest forgotten answers to My Bloody Valentine from back in the '90s. Vocalist Alanna McArdle (formerly of Evans The Death, fyi), alternates between the coy harmonizing chanteuse and the charmingly beligerent riot-grrl brat. Come by on a Saturday afternoon here at aQuarius, and the chances are this will be on the stereo. Yeah, a noise-pop classic for fuck's sake!
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Finally back in print, everyone's favorite redneck/the south will rise again/bad taste/crime spree/joy ride through the dusty back roads of Texas with Mr. Jon Wayne riding shotgun and spouting an endless stream of obsceneties, epithets, and words of wisdom. All to the strains of out of tune, stumbling, drunken, fucked up barroom country. Depressing and absolutely hilarious. Offensive and totally essential. Brilliant and completely dumb.
So lovely is the work of Juppala Kaapio! That said, we must sadly report that the Japanese / Swiss, husband-and-wife duo have stated that Alpen Ocean will be their final album under the guise of Juppala Kaapio. Another project is in the works, and they are planning to unveil whatever this may be sometime in 2014. Many of the drone-clad works we champion hedge their bets with the power of the darkside; but there are plenty of choice examples of rapturous, celestial tones and holy minimalism that seek to enlighten rather than darken the consumers' mind. Juppala Kaapio's small catalogue of lovingly crafted minimalism figures somewhere between the summer solstice nature jams of the Finnish freak-folk types and the twinkling harmonics of Terry Riley and LaMonte Young. As for Alpen Ocean, a brightly hued psychedelia of a sunburst and snowblind tableau is rendered through the wide-eyed sense of awe and wonder after calmly sipping a cup of psilocybin mushroom tea. Carole Kojo's delicate falsettos waver into a meditative chorale through tape loops and delay amidst the slow kaleidoscopic arrangements of chiming bells, bowed gongs, glassy electronics, and a few pastoral field recordings thrown in for good measure. It all comes together into bright, rapturous drones that Juppala Kaapio's Hitoshi Kojo describes as "overlaid harmonies of a murmuring of trees, howling skies, roarings of the ocean and the gradual transformation that are accompanied by melodies which may remind you of migratory birds travelling across the sky on a lost ancient continent, or the dream of sea animals that are in eternal slumber in a ridge of mountains." Limited to a mere 300 copies!
Yes, that is faux-fur sprouting from this cd by Juppala Kaapio! As we mentioned before, this duo has a Finnish name and shares a Finnish freak-folk ritualism, but neither participant is Finnish. They are in fact the husband / wife pairing of Carole and Hitoshi Kojo, who bring extended technique vocals, bleary instrumentation from smoke & mirror, and lots of liquid nirvana electronic processing to the source material. Where their earlier works had 'jammed nature' along the Jewelled Antler / RV Paintings / Kemiallyset Ystavat axis with a wistful crunchiness, Rewound Groves marries the golden-summer glow of high-latitude pagan liturgy and the rapturous blur of Andrew Chalk's contributions to Organum or even some of the Taj Mahal Travellers broadcasts to nowhere. The vocals from both Hitoshi and Carole wax and wane on the opening number "Sewing Through Twigs" amongst a richly patterned undulation of glistening drones from what might be bells, might be flutes, might be guitars, might be the sparkle of twilight stars. Watery textures and backmasked tape bridges these sounds with the :zoviet*france: like haze of "Mycophiles And Pebbles" with spectral loops and holy mesmerism sprawled throughout the soft-focus layering of sound. Probably the best thing that Juppala Kaapio has released to date; and given the artwork this is justifiably limited to 123 copies. Brilliant.
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Friedrich Jurgensen's efforts in what he deemed Audioscopic Research is compiled here as the exquisite follow-up to AQ's Halloween fave "The Ghost Orchid." Both are collections of (alleged) recordings of examples of Electronic Voice Phenomenon (EVP), which is a broad catagory of unusual interruptions by unknown voices onto magnetic tape or the radiowaves. Parapsychologists like Jurgensen, Raymond Cass, and Konstatine Raudive (the latter two were featured on the aforementioned "Ghost Orchid") claim that these voices may be from beyond the grave or may even have an extraterrestrial origin! While other researchers have devised intricate methods to focus these voices, Jurgensen claimed that his own telepathic tendencies could harness these voices, causing them to appear on radio or tape. All of Jurgensen's recordings feature voices speaking in German, Italian, Swedish, and (if that wasn't enough) polyglot--the intermingling of languages.
One of the criticisms of EVP investigation is that the listener/researcher may be forcing the syllabic utterances into the recognizable patterns of his/her own native tongue or within the confines of a narrative context. While no one is questioning the actual presence of these vocal sounds, the interpretations (of origin and/or translation) that accompany the recordings are far from solid. As I have no real working knowledge of any of the languages featured, an utterance from one of the tracks which was supposed to be in Italian or German came out as clear as day to me in English as "we have to leave." Does this debunk the possibility that these recordings are of alien/ghostly origins? No. Could it be an interesting anomaly within the context of analytical thought on the subject? Maybe. Could I be wrong? Quite possibly. Anyway, listened to purely as sound artifacts, Jurgensen's recordings are downright creepy, and highly recommended!
Both K-Group and Omit have been longtime Aquarius favorites from the New Zealand experimental noise scene; but unfortunately, they've been pretty quiet in their respective outputs during the past couple of years. K-Group is the solo project for Paul Toohey, who has also worked in the (defunct?) Surface Of The Earth, both of which centered around low-frequency tectonic drones coaxed from abused amplifiers. Clinton Williams has taken up the Omit moniker for his creepy, tape loop compositions loaded with bleak sci-fi / psychotic imagery. This collaboration between Williams and Toohey is actually their second, if you count a 7" which came out ages ago. In running Williams' battery of analogue synths through Toohey's cabinets, they've constructed an eerie album of deep rumblings that are on par with anything that Coleclough, Koner, or Troum have managed to release. As the K-Group / Omit drones ripple with a gritty amplifier buzz often lacking in the driftwork of those aforementioned artists, "Storage" pulses with a subterrenean heaviness, pushing this closer towards the Earth / Sunn 0))) terrain. A really wonderful album!!!
K.C. Accidental is centered around the compositional talents of Kevin Drew and Charles Spearin, the latter is also a member of the out-rock ensemble Do Make Say Think. For the debut album, the duo has employed a wealth of talent (trombones, strings, accordions, organs along with guitar, bass, drums) to augment their lush instrumental orchestrations. "Anthems for the Could've Bin Pills" ranks up there with some of the more successful dramatically inclined atmospheres, on par with Rachel's, Tarentel, Mogwai, and Godspeed You Black Emperor. Really good!
With the evidence clearly stated in Ka-Spel's solo projects, no one can doubt who wears the pants in the extended family of the Legendary Pink Dots. Edward Ka-Spel expands the downer psychedelic strum frosted with ample doom & gloom found on the "Hallway of the Gods" Pink Dots album into smoldering experimental if baroque arrangemnts maintaining his Syd Barrett vocal mimicry all the while.
As we've mentioned before, American ex-pat and former hardcore drummer Jason Kahn made a radical shift away from the SST punk style jams he was kicking out during the '80s toward an avant-drone-noise-improv type of career that has taken him to Zurich, Switzerland. Yeah, it is a career for him, but the price one has to pay for having a sound-art career is a constant tour / exhibition schedule. Rock'n'roll may have its fortune seekers, but a steady paycheck through sound-art? Not very likely. Yet, Kahn has done it; and done it by producing work that is incredibly refined through his own take on electro-acoustic strategies, modular synth exploration, holy minimalist composition, and an occasional percussion flourish in ghostly deference to his former life as the drummer for Leaving Trains. With all of the touring and exhibitions (seriously, his schedule is fucking insane!), solo releases from Jason Kahn can be fleeting (although he's very prolific with his collaborative contributions). So, this new production from Kahn is something that could be celebrated simply because the man somehow found the time to get this out in the world; but that would be selling it short... as On Metal Shores is a brilliant piece of shimmering, gasping minimalism that glides out of acoustically-sourced drone reminiscent of Andrew Chalk and Organum, the metallurgically organic swells of Alan Lamb's wire recordings, and the graceful minimalism of Eliane Radigue and Roland Kayn. Kahn writes at great length in the liner notes about some of the situations for the source recordings, including the nice image of Jason Kahn tapping on a resonant hand-railing near Lake Zurich as local birds would congregate and take off depending on the volume of Kahn's rhythm-n-drone. These elements along with long-thin-wire instruments attached to transducers, the thrum of giant water tanks, drainage pipe raspings, and much more get worked into Kahn's shifting drones that accrete into swollen crescendos of complex shimmered noise and harmonic interplay. This stunner of an album is limited to 250 copies, hand numbered, and hand-painted.
Strange that we, of all people, didn't realize this before - the Jason Kahn who has been producing extraordinary minimalist compositions and beautifully subtle sound installations in recent years is the same Jason Kahn who had stints as the drummer for mid-'80s, SST bands Trotsky Icepick, The Leaving Trains (one of Andee's all time faves!), and Universal Congress Of. Believe it! Around 1990, Kahn moved to Europe, dropping out of the US art-punk / post-hardcore scene and effortlessly transitioning into the avant-garde improv community in Zurich. He soon began experimenting with feedback systems resonating within the architecture of his drum kit, discovering a vocabulary of noises that have become the building blocks for his current body of work. A man of numerous collaborations (Gunter Muller, Ralph Steinbruchel, Asher, Steve Roden, Kevin Drumm, Jon Mueller, Toshimaru Nakamura, etc.), solo Jason Kahn records don't happen ever so often; and this one on 23five is exquisite!
On Vanishing Point, Kahn's techniques shift a little bit from the feedback bouncing around the innards of his drum kit to a series of colored noises generated from his custom built, patch-bay synth. The album reveals itself as a subtle and hypnotic elegy for rattling metals, timbral vibration, gossamer static, hissing field recordings, and those aforementioned softened noises. Soon into the piece, Kahn introduces a flickered ghost of melody whose luminous tones manifest ever so slightly against his contrails of noise. The upper register hiss and statics of these layered noises slowly drop in pitch and frequency over the duration of the piece, revealing subharmonic rumblings and an oceanic current that tugs at the agitated textures of Kahn's surface noises. This glacial, minimalist shift renders Vanishing Point elegant and meditative.
For those familiar with the 23five catalogue, this fits snugly next to those awesome records on 23five from Jean-Francois Laporte and Tim Catlin; and for those who are not, the calm surfaces of Kevin Drumm, the crackled surface noise of Loren Chasse's Hedge Of Nerves, the spectral reflections from Alan Lamb's wire recordings, and even the placid side of Taiga Remains could be jumping off points into this excellent album.
Nice! The two crucial albums by this aQ fave sixties psych pop act, now reissued as a double cd, complete with bunches of bonus tracks!
Not to be confused with the various other Kaleidoscopes of the era from the US and Mexico, this perfectly twee UK psych pop combo's were one of the best unsung post-Peppers British psych-pop acts. We believe these guys might in fact have been THE ULTIMATE psychedelic pop band ever. The first of the two discs here contains their 1967 debut album Tangerine Dream (which is also not to be confused with the famous krautrock/soundtrack outfit Tangerine Dream) is just incredible. Gorgeous vocals, killer melodies, lush orchestrations, and, especially, beautifully baroque psych-speak lyrics that put "Strawberry Fields Forever" to shame - with lines like "Battalions in baby blue are bursting beige balloons / the water pistols are all filled with lemonade / the jester and the goldfish have joined minds above the moon / oh please kiss the flowers and you too will be safe / oh swing and sway..."
It's very British, twee and dreamy, being that perfect blend of sunshine and melancholy so many psych pop bands of the era were striving for. The Kaleidoscope did it best right here. I mean, if you like the Zombies and the Hollies and heck the Olivia Tremor Control, you should know about these gents too. Indeed, the album's final track "The Sky Children", might be THE ULTIMATE pop-psych track on this ultimate pop-psych record. (Hey a little hyperbole never hurt anybody.) It's an eight-minute epic, with a thrilling vocal hook on endless repeat, and amazing lyrics continually pouring forth the whole time. Truly awe-some, if you're attuned to the vibe. The disc is rounded out with six bonus tracks, from singles and such.
Disc two contains the band's second album, 1969's Faintly Blowing (and an additional 4 bonus tracks). This one carries on from their first with more of the same delightful dreamy oh-so-melodic and lysergically lyricized pop psyke, some of the best ever in our humble opinion. Orchestrated, emotive, shoulda-been-hits abound, along with some way-out psychedelic experimentation. The Kaleidoscope story continued into the proggy '70s with a name change to Fairfield Parlour but Faintly Blowing was really their last colourful hurrah of dainty dandy '60s poppiness. Quite nice, fantastic, possibly even supercalifragilistic.
Not a new release -- nor even a new reissue -- but we just manage to get some and wanted to list it 'cause it's something that several of us here have been listening to a lot lately! This Kaleidoscope were a sixties British pop psych band (not to be confused with the various other Kaleidoscopes of the era from the US and Mexico) and we believe these guys might in fact have been THE ULTIMATE psychedelic pop band ever. This album (also not to be confused with the famous Krautrock/soundtrack outfit with the same name as the album's title) is just incredible. Gorgeous vocals, killer melodies, lush orchestrations, and, especially, beautifully baroque psych-speak lyrics that put "Strawberry Fields Forever" to shame -- with lines like "Battalions in baby blue are bursting beige balloons / the water pistols are all filled with lemonade / the jester and the goldfish have joined minds above the moon / oh please kiss the flowers and you too will be safe / oh swing and sway..."
It's very British, twee and dreamy, being that perfect blend of sunshine and melancholy so many psych pop bands of the era were striving for. The Kaleidoscope did it best right here. I mean, if you like the Zombies and the Hollies and heck the Olivia Tremor Control you should know about these gents too. Indee, the original 1967 album's final track (followed here by six bonus tracks), "The Sky Children", might be THE ULTIMATE pop-psych track on this ultimate pop-psych record. (Hey a little hyperbole never hurt anybody.) It's an eight-minute epic, with a thrilling vocal hook on endless repeat, and amazing lyrics continually pouring forth the whole time. Truly awe-some, if you're attuned to the vibe.
Zbigniew Karkowski has been generating physically impressive sound collages for the past 2 decades, with a number of solo projects as well as in collaboration with Merzbow, the Hafler Trio, John Duncan, Sensorband, Aube, and others. Karkowski, like Duncan, approaches sound as a pure energy that has the potential to overwhelm and control the listener with an almost totalitarian force. While his sounds resemble the pure sine waves of Ryoji Ikeda or Noto, he contextualizes such sounds not as theatrical abstractions of '60s minimalism, but as violent rips in time & space.
"Choice of Points for The Application of Force" begins with a noxious low end rumble that fills any space with huge standing waves that resonate through the body. Slowly, gritty chunks of digitized noise explode against the low frequencies, building up to mid-range static buzzing and black-hole energy. An excellent addition to any catalogue of digital clickery, with a definite emphasis on the darkside.
The uncompromising Zbnigniew Karkowski has recently been screwing around with the sound of raw data as it streams across the internet, resulting in a number of experiments that produced little in the way of interesting sounds. Fortunately, his first release for Mego is a return to the sound of his great collaborations with the Hafler Trio in the early 90s. "It" is a blistering collage of mutilated sine waves and gut churning bass tones sounding like a grittier / more organic version of Ryoji Ikeda phase patterns. Excellent work!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
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Fulfilling his self-made prophecy as the reborn spirt of legendary hippie music guru Father Yod from Yahowha 13, Acid Mothers Temple ringleader Kawabata Makoto proclaimed a harmonious existence within his own personal "cosmos" in 1999. The perpetual output of material from Kawabata after that incident may indicate that he is merely a medium for the extra-dimensional spirits with which he has come in contact. Or maybe he just took a lot of drugs. Either way, Kawabata's neo-psychedelia has become one of the more wildly divergent expressions of an altered consciousness, ranging from the propulsive psychedelic jams of the aforementioned Acid Mothers Temple, to the thug-rock riffs of Nishinihon, to his miasmic guitar / sitar drones when recording under his own name or the Father Moo moniker. "You Are The Moonshine" falls into the latter category of glistening, reverbed guitar washes projecting the levitationally transcendent images from Kawabata's lysergically tinged personal cosmos. Even better than the recent "Inui" recordings, but painfully limited to 150 copies each. Don't expect these to last.
In early 2015, B. Moloch stated that he would be closing the book on Anenzephalia - a project that has authored a handful of thoroughly terrifying albums of death-industrial theatrics over the past two decades. Fortunately, he has turned his attention on another venture, Ke/Hil, with his occasional comrade in arms Wilhelm Herich, the principal agitator of Genocide Organ; and here, the two transmit an equally insidious black energy. Zone 0 marks their second outing under this moniker, and it cracks open with an urgent / anxious throb of clinically machined rhythms, analogue synth-noise, and woozy electro-drone hums serving to buttress the alternating vocals between Moloch and Herich - with the former barking through the sonic rumble of megaphone distortion and the latter demonstrating stentorian clarity delivered in his German. The dialetics of state control and personal freedom seem to be addressed within the electroshock sermons, as these play out through the social constructions of work, religion, governance, and poverty. For all of the dogmatic themes that Ke/Hil have brought to the table, they are more interested in exposing and highlighting the horrors that persist within these arenas, all of which fall under the larger banner of mankind's cruelty towards itself. These poetics of misery and brutality manifest throughout the album's bleak score of suffocating drone construction, industrial-clad shadow, septic atmospherics, and jabs of metal-on-metal percussion. So good to hear B. Moloch is back at work again.
A hitherto unknown to us British sound artist, Alice Kemp seems to have honed her craft of cloak-n-dagger electroacoustics through the realms of performance art, with this long-form piece being a reworking of the sound designs that were commissioned by the performance art duo Weeks & Whitford. The imagery and allusions from Weeks & Whitford are gruesome (with Rebecca Weeks holding a malformed Eraserhead-like creature molded from livers and hearts in one of the photos accompanying this album) and spooky (a human hand made of frozen wine that melts all over a wedding dress worn by Weeks), in "tracing the scars that are left as the trophies of love." Admittedly, there's only the various project descriptions and photographic evidence of those pieces, but Kemp's sound design must have been a disturbing, claustrophobic addition to those performances, as this album would easily make her an honorary member of the notorious Schimpfluch-Gruppe. In fact, she was invited to perform at the Extreme Ritual festival alongside all of the Schimpfluch artists (e.g. Rudolf Eb.Er, G*Park, Sudden Infant, Dave Phillips, Raionbashi, etc.) with the participants and audience members alike astonished / aghast at her work. The tick-tock rhythms of a clock brace empty spaces and shadowy rumblings of tactile sounds that could very well be the calving of massive icebergs or the amplifications of blood vessels hemorrhaging just underneath a trepanned skull. Taut wire snaps and VLF crackle slowly enter the fray as Kemp's overarching composition follows what Nurse With Wound's Stapleton did on Salt Marie Celeste, with a leviathan crawl of incremental psychic intensity. Lets hope this album isn't just a minor excursion for Kemp; but as it stands now, this is all we know of... and it's a pro-duplicated cd-r in a nice digipack with an edition of just 100 copies.
It would be a considerable understatement to say this new Killing Joke album is a sobering listening experience -- it's a fierce, visceral, and bleak call to battle. It rocks and rages with echoes of their 1981 debut (and first self-titled) album's feel and spirit. Yes, genuinely punk, and yes, genuinely metal... although those stifling labels can't and won't adhere to this band. Frankly, very few artists today can capture the pure seething energy that this, Killing Joke's second self-titled album, has harnessed.
Jaz Coleman tears out of your speakers like a man posessed. His deeply inspired vocal performance delivers some of his most inhuman gutteral growls, anguished howls and demonic hisses. Birlliant. His lyrics, brutally direct, are steeped in immense disgust and despair, with hard-hitting political critiques -- cross-hairs unquestionably zeroing in on Bush, September 11th and America -- interestingly, a lot of the heavy duty ones are omitted from the liner notes.
Geordie Walker's thunderstorm of guitars drill and grind, at once both tightly clenched and loosely slung -- pelting your ears with metallic shards and sinewed debris. Original bassists Youth and Paul Raven consume any remaining air with glowering lines that boil and stew. With each song, the unrelenting roar of Killing Joke closes in around you.
Drummer Dave Grohl -- apparently not busy enough with Foo Fighters and Queens Of The Stone Age -- does an excellent job immersing himself in the Killing Joke realm, closely resembling the pummeling precision and tribal thrash of Martin Atkins. Hopefully Grohl's presence (his name is stickered prominently on the front of the cd) will draw younger audiences to this venerable band.
Unlike other bands from the past who've regrouped recently for one last hurrah or to cash in on the latest retro trends, it's clear Killing Joke have resurfaced because they truly have something vital to convey (just as they did back in 1990 with Extremities... dirt... etc). They don't churn out albums year after year to fulfill record contract obligations -- they make music with a piercing focus when they feel the need and when it is needed.
Andy Gill's production is beautiful and huge (but not too 'modern rock'), making for a generally accessible and current sounding album (although some of the tracks are overly long) -- one that should have hard music fans clambering.
If you were ever into Killing Joke, check out this album! If you're new, this is a pretty good place to start.
Certainly not a new title, but one that is new to us -- The National Anthem for The Kingdoms of Elgaland-Vargaland. In 1992, King Leif I (aka Leif Elggren) and King Michael I (aka CM von Hausswolff) declared the state of the Kingdoms of Elgaland-Vargaland, which annexed "All border frontier areas between all countries on earth, and all areas (up to a width of 10 nautical miles) existing outside all countries' territorial waters" as their physical domain. Furthermore, the twin kings claimed the Mental and perceptive territories such as the Hypnagogue State (civil), the Escapistic Territory (civil), and the Virtual Room (digital).
As with any legitimate nation, the first duty was to compose the national anthem... which is a lulling hypnotic composition built around a loop of a simple patriotic orchestral melody which is treated with an excess of delay and reverb. While Aquarius Records does not often voice our politics, we fully endorse the activities of The Kingdoms of Elgaland-Vargaland.
It had to be an aQ Record Of The Week. Nearly four hours of warbly and washed out ambient beauty spread out over 3 cds (and 6 lps!), from the man behind the looped and warped ambient jazz minimalism of The Caretaker and the electronic fuckery of V/VM. We've been listing/reviewing the vinyl versions as they were released, part one: When We Parted My Heart Wanted To Die, part two: When Did Our Dreams And Futures Drift So Far Apart, and part three: Memories Live Longer Than Dreams (elsewhere on this week's list). We would have made the vinyl ROTW too, but we thought it was a lot to ask, 6 lps, nearly $80, so we held off, for THIS. A gorgeous compact collection of all 6 lps on 3 discs, in super minimal sleeves, gathered in an equally minimal and mysterious slipcover, printed to look like an old wooden crate. The art and the sound are all inexorably linked. The music of Kirby is mournful and mysterious, melancholy and otherworldly, everything shot through with a certain degree of sadness. Check the song titles: "When We Parted, My Heart Wanted To Die", "The Beauty Of The Impending Tragedy Of My Existence", "And As I Sat Beside You I Felt The Great Sadness That Day", "Tonight Is The Last Night Of The World", and the sounds those words represent, impart the same sense of heartbreak and loneliness, the music feels grey, like looking through a rain speckled dust coated window, at an old abandoned lot, the metal rusted, broken swingsets, collapsing barns, dead grass, mud and old pieces of wood, artifacts of a happier time, all reflecting the blackened sky above. But somehow, this isn't miserable music, it manages to be warm, and thick, and rich, and deceptively simple, lots of layers constantly shifting. It's definitely dronemusic, but not minimal or static, these sounds are alive, record crackle, buried voices, old record, warped instrumentation, sounds are looped and stretched and inverted, tied into knots and then pulled slowly and delicately apart. Fans of Philip Jeck, and Tim Hecker, and William Basinski, this is another gorgeously decayed artifact to add to your collection, evoking many of the same emotions as those like minded soundscapers, yet, the music of Leyland Kirby manages to sound unlike any of them.
This is the perfect soundtrack for introspection, for long nights, candlelight, grey days, windswept storm drenched hillsides, for drifting off, for huddling up with another and sharing warmth, dark, delicate and so beautiful. An incredible, sprawling collection of blurred ambience, obfuscated field recordings, and sad piano melodies hint at the furniture music of Erik Satie, the mood engineering of Angelo Badalamenti, and the emotional resonance of Basinski's Disintegration Loops.
While technically the vinyl wasn't Record Of The Week, it essentially has been, for a couple months now, just delivered in installments, each one a mysterious missive from some otherworld, those who have been keeping up, no doubt understand, and are surely already utterly and inexorably tangled up in Kirby's magical and mournful world of sound, but for the rest of you, who have yet to delve, to climb through, to step beyond, to lose yourself completely. Now is the time, and the message is clear, Sadly, The Future Is No Longer What It Was...
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