Finally! The first in a series of super limited, artist designed aQ T-Shirts, featuring original art by some of our favorite artists, who just so happen to be loyal aQ customers as well! Each one will be super special, totally unique, and will only be available for a limited time, as we're only making a finite amount of each.
The first shirt design is by aQ pal and infamous killustrator Justin Bartlett, whose style many of you no doubt will recognize. He's done tons of drawings for Oaken Throne black metal magazine, as well as record covers for grim groups like SUNNO))), Moss, Nadja, Pentemple and loads more. His style is incredible, super detailed, pen and ink with tons of stippling, lots of skulls and guts and demons and various crusty oozing offal. For aQ he's designed a super creepy and super evil mother and child, heads in bags, their rotten innards spilling out, skulls on spikes, and "Aquarius Records" carved into the stone archway in the background. It looks amazing, and will for sure get some eyes a popping as you wander through the grocery store or sit in church (heaven forbid).
The back features a small aQ logo up near the collar, the shirts are white on black, they are Hanes heavyweight T's, 100% preshrunk cotton, and we have sizes all the way from Youth Large (for kids and little ladies) all the way up to XXL (for the big guys).
We will only be selling these for a couple months, so don't miss out. Once they are gone, they won't be reprinted. EVER.
Future aQ Artist Edition T's will include designs by Savage Pencil, Stephen O'Malley, Aaron Turner and more more more!!!
Finally! The first in a series of super limited, artist designed aQ T-Shirts, featuring original art by some of our favorite artists, who just so happen to be loyal aQ customers as well! Each one will be super special, totally unique, and will only be available for a limited time, as we're only making a finite amount of each.
The first shirt design is by aQ pal and infamous killustrator Justin Bartlett, whose style many of you no doubt will recognize. He's done tons of drawings for Oaken Throne black metal magazine, as well as record covers for grim groups like SUNNO))), Moss, Nadja, Pentemple and loads more. His style is incredible, super detailed, pen and ink with tons of stippling, lots of skulls and guts and demons and various crusty oozing offal. For aQ he's designed a super creepy and super evil mother and child, heads in bags, their rotten innards spilling out, skulls on spikes, and "Aquarius Records" carved into the stone archway in the background. It looks amazing, and will for sure get some eyes a popping as you wander through the grocery store or sit in church (heaven forbid).
The back features a small aQ logo up near the collar, the shirts are white on black, they are Hanes heavyweight T's, 100% preshrunk cotton, and we have sizes all the way from Youth Large (for kids and little ladies) all the way up to XXL (for the big guys).
We will only be selling these for a couple months, so don't miss out. Once they are gone, they won't be reprinted. EVER.
Future aQ Artist Edition T's will include designs by Savage Pencil, Stephen O'Malley, Aaron Turner and more more more!!!
Finally! The first in a series of super limited, artist designed aQ T-Shirts, featuring original art by some of our favorite artists, who just so happen to be loyal aQ customers as well! Each one will be super special, totally unique, and will only be available for a limited time, as we're only making a finite amount of each.
The first shirt design is by aQ pal and infamous killustrator Justin Bartlett, whose style many of you no doubt will recognize. He's done tons of drawings for Oaken Throne black metal magazine, as well as record covers for grim groups like SUNNO))), Moss, Nadja, Pentemple and loads more. His style is incredible, super detailed, pen and ink with tons of stippling, lots of skulls and guts and demons and various crusty oozing offal. For aQ he's designed a super creepy and super evil mother and child, heads in bags, their rotten innards spilling out, skulls on spikes, and "Aquarius Records" carved into the stone archway in the background. It looks amazing, and will for sure get some eyes a popping as you wander through the grocery store or sit in church (heaven forbid).
The back features a small aQ logo up near the collar, the shirts are white on black, they are Hanes heavyweight T's, 100% preshrunk cotton, and we have sizes all the way from Youth Large (for kids and little ladies) all the way up to XXL (for the big guys).
We will only be selling these for a couple months, so don't miss out. Once they are gone, they won't be reprinted. EVER.
Future aQ Artist Edition T's will include designs by Savage Pencil, Stephen O'Malley, Aaron Turner and more more more!!! ----* ----* Highlights : ----*
Originally released in England on Go Beat in 1999, Arab Strap's third studio album follows the epic "Philophobia" album in spilling itself all over the floor of some grimey Scottish pub. These are sorrowful drunken dirges that encapsulate the Arab Strap sound: an elegance in simple arrangements, pedestrian drum machine, and minor key guitar strum. Aidan Moffat's half muttered/half sung vocals tell tales of sexual dependance and alcoholic self-desctruction, with a clarity in its miserablism that isn't far from the best work of Robert Smith or Morrissey. While a few tracks falter into uptempo jazzy stutters, Arab Strap make you want to either never drink again, or get really hammered and ramble for hours to an ex's answering machine.
Scottish duo whose melancholy murmurings remind us of Tindersticks more than anything else.
On all twelve Arcane Device recordings, David Myers (who is AD) utilised an assortment of home-made feedback generator machines, that in lesser hands would have resulted in head-rattling noise. While much noise *was* generated, on "Also Sprach Zarathurstra" these machines create soft extended pulses of analog electricity and rich textural warmth that emerge from a black claustrophobic aural space and are processed in breathtaking fashion. Myers is certainly one of the most under-rated dronologists, deserving the same critical praise as Mika Vainio and John Duncan. A glorious reissue.
More Ariel Pinkness for you and yours. There's definitely been a change of heart 'round these parts regarding the virtues of idiosyncratic LA indie-pop singer-songwriter Ariel Pink and his Animal Collective-approved, damaged DIY take on R&B/noise/folk/electronics. Originally only a few of us dug him, but now with repeat exposure even grumpy ol' Andee kinda likes the guy (or at least -this- record). So it's nice that Paw Tracks has reissued AP's Worn Copy, another sprawling set of transmissions of eccentric, retro-referencing lo-fi weirdness that can't obscure (and maybe enhances) his genuine pop genius. The stream of consciousness psycho-babble about getting credit at the pawn shop, something truly bizarre about peninsulas, the triumph that is ZZ Top, and of course his orgiastic sexual escapades are things that give someone like Devendra Banhart a run for his money on sheer weirdness factor, and then there's tons of strange references to early '80s cheez-ball bands like Journey and Loverboy smeared underneath a mess of lo-fi production and baffling idiosyncracies. Maybe get The Doldrums first, if you haven't checked out Ariel Pink (and his Haunted Graffiti) yet. But if you're a fan, chances are your copy of Worn Copy soon will be.
Cd version includes a bonus video, btw.
We are so excited to see this incredible score to one of our all time favorite films finally issued on vinyl. Long unavailable in any format, the electronic scores that Eduard Artemiev created for Russian director Andrei Tarkovsky's fantastic and meditative seventies sci-fi films Solaris, Mirror and Stalker are some of the most incredibly moving and brooding soundtracks we have ever heard. So much so, that the movies would not have had such a deep emotional impact without them. This original 1972 Solaris score (not to be confused with the later eighties re-recording, also being reissued on another label) in particular is eerily contemplative, full of chilling electro-acoustic drones, romantic Bach organ fugues and dreamily ponderous passages wrought with field recordings, gongs, and ghostly choruses, that are both beautiful and terrifying in equal measure.
Solaris can be seen as the Eastern European counterpart to Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, as both films are meditative existential ruminations on the metaphysical schism that divides human and alien understanding. Based on Stanislaw Lem's 1961 novel, the film centers on a space psychologist Kris Kelvin who is sent to investigate the mysteriously stalled progress of a space expedition sent from Earth to study the strange planet Solaris. When he arrives, he finds the three person crew oddly isolated from each other and the station in disarray. The mystery deepens when he awakens the following morning and sees his late wife (who killed herself years ago) asleep beside him. It seems that the planet Solaris is actually a sentient life-form that is using the passengers' past memories as a means of communicating with them. However, not understanding what consequences may come about when confronted with uncanny manifestations of painful memories from the past, the planet's attempt at making contact with the expedition causes the crew to become emotionally dysfunctional and self-destructive. In Tarkovsky's multi-layered narrative, no amount of space travel can separate us far enough from the past that continually haunts us.
In 17 movements, Artemiev's score is centered on Bach's "Choral Prelude for Organ in F Minor" as a recurring theme. The mix of classical and electro-acoustic music underlies the visual set design of the space station which also features oddly enough, reproductions of Old Master paintings, in particular the 16th century series "The Months" by Pieter Bruegel The Elder. The confluence of past and future motifs in the film as well as the score is startling effective allowing for an uneasy ruminative moodiness on the nature of time. The frigid electronic passages give voice to an oceanic planetary presence that is absolutely awe-inspiring beset in harrowing timbres that calm and intensify in subtle slow-moving waves. Only Tarkovsky can make windy wild meadows, foggy woods and tumultuous oceans feel so unfamiliar and freakishly alien. The second side opens up to more dreamier and stranger sonic passages, including a theme based on Kelvin's dead wife Hari that is beautifully haunting with a short choir interlude. From there, that leads into a snippet of Russian folk-song, and field recordings of birds, dogs, voices and gongs, with eventually both the Bach organ pieces and the cavernous electronics intermixing more and more intensely together with epic results.
Comes beautifully packaged with 3 variant covers featuring different film stills (sorry, we can't guarantee which one you will get!), and a full color booket of static shots from the film. Another win for the increasingly amazing Superior Viaduct label. Essential!
Intentional or otherwise, Asher Thal-Nir and Ubeboet (also known as Miguel Tolosa) have created a near perfect soundscape for winter. While Cell Memory is not nearly as isolated and grim as the classic Thomas Koner records that looked to Greenland for inspiration, the hushed noises and barren drones of Cell Memory capture a similarly cold environment. The album is split almost evenly between two near 20 minute tracks. "Alter" echoes a muted howl across a billowing mass of radio snow, nocturnal hallucinatory gestures, and soft focus noise, all of which has been muffled into a long-stare miasma of ghostly repetitions flickering against a fog-laden horizon line. While the mood of "Alter" has something akin to being awakened at 3am by a snowstorm, the second track "Nullus" is more of a subterranean, bunker recording, with flecks of static dropping on the cavernous subharmonic drones like seeped water from the ceiling into a massive concrete cistern. Electrical murmurings and accreted layers of smeared textures ebb and flow against the near constant background hum. Beautifully chilling impressionism that would fit very well next to Jonathan Colecough, Mirror, Murmer, Bernhard Gunter, Steve Roden, and the aforementioned Thomas Koner.
As with all of the Wind Measures Recordings, Cell Memory comes in an elegant folio, letterpressed by WMR's Ben Owen. It's a professionally duplicated cd-r and is limited to 150 copies.
Between his two projects Loveliescrushing and Astrobrite, Scott Cortez has been dissecting My Bloody Valentine's epic swansong album "Loveless," and presenting two equally valid extrapolations upon that album. With Loveliescrushing, Cortez and Melissa Arpin-Henry have explored the fragile dreaminess of the MBV sound, while Astrobrite takes on the more explosive noise pop of that album with huge, blissed-out layers of controlled guitar distortion bent into lilting melodies and burying those archetypal Brit-pop constructions found in My Bloody Valentine, Teenage Filmstars, and Ride. While Loveliescrushing offered greater distance between themselves and My Bloody Valentine, Astrobrite's "8 Candy" is a deadringer for "Loveless," right down to the andrgynous vocals (provided all by Cortez). This is one of best of the "Loveless" mimics: as a result, it's nothing new. But, considering what he's paying homage to, Cortez's Astrobrite is pretty great.
Kenneth Atchley is a little known composer with connections to the Mills College Center for Contemporary Music (a couple of performances and a composition that has appeared on Chris Brown's web 'hub'), yet his "Fountains" piece is miles above the digital
Released on Randy Yau's immaculately designed Auscultare Records.
At the beginning of December we made the latest aTelecine lp our Record Of The Week. A fantastic slab of twisted collaged industrial weirdness, blackened and warped and freaky and far out and weirdly beautiful. We sold tons, and were super psyched to discover that there was in fact a previous record, so we tried to order a bunch, but were only able to get a handful, so here it is, the debut lp from aTelecine, the avant industrial drone collage project of porn star Sasha Grey, and her band aTelecine, and like A Cassette Tape Culture, which we made our Record Of The Week, ...And Six Dark Hours Pass is just as dark and creepy and gorgeous and essential. Unfortunately, only a handful of folks will manage to get their hands on one of these. Anyone who loved the first one, is definitely gonna want this one too, layered samples, warped effects, disembodied voices, detuned guitars, dense rumbling drones, crumbling riffage, alien vocals, minimal murky percussion, hazy almost shoegazey drifts, hushed low end thrum, crackle and hiss and whir and hum and shimmer, stuttering looped rhythms, creepy gauzy driftscapes, all blurred and smeared and stretched and tangled into a psychedelic songsuite that melts before your very ears, the songs all oozing into one another, the melodies wrapping themselves around layered textures, the textures decaying and revealing hidden sonic treasures, those treasures blossoming into sounds way more sinister than expected and so it goes. Totally recommended. Even if you missed out on the first one, this stuff is so good. Regardless of the Sasha Grey hype/stigma, both of the aTelecine records are fantastic, grab one of these while you can. Sorry we couldn't get more...
Most people probably know Sasha Grey for what she is most (in)famous for, and that would be for being a porn star. Even folks who don't know porn stars might still know Grey as an actress, who recently starred in Steven Soderbergh's film Girlfriend, and has been on HBO's Entourage, but few probably know her as a musician (although aQ customers might remember she sang on a Current 93 record!). And we're not talking cheesy club diva, a la Tracy Lords, crooning terribly over bad house music, no we're talking as a proper musician, one who apparently has been making music since she was a teenager (influenced by KMFDM and Throbbing Gristle), and whose current group aTelecine is some sort of blackened industrial avant drone sound collage thing, that would put most of the current crop of experimental musicians to shame. The label hypes Grey's music as being heavily indebted to groups like Nurse With Wound and Coil, and while we're tempted to think this is just the label trying to make the band seem 'cooler' and more authentic, it only takes a few minutes listening to aTelecine's new full length to realize, it's not all that unlikely. This stuff is dark, and corrosive, haunting and fierce, otherworldly and intense, a little bit industrial, a little ambient, a little witch house-y, a little black metal, doomy and new wavey and seriously dark, a dizzying churning cauldron of field recordings, samples, loops, electronics, distorted guitars, programmed beats, FX drenched vocals, throbbing basslines, plenty of glitch and clang and rumble and buzz.
If you're anything like us it'll just take a single song, the first one we heard (even though this is aTelecine's 3rd or 4th record), the super creepy, super intense "I Came, I Sat, I Departed", a lumbering blackened industrial creep, all downtuned chug, low slung slither, laced with some seriously fucked up and freaky hissed whispery vokills, the sound crunchy and glitchy, but super hypnotic. The song gets more and more chaotic, with anguished howls, more distortion, the song seeming to crumble before our ears into a hellish reverb drenched miasma. Terrifying and incredible.
The rest of the record stacks up pretty well too. "A Cassette Played" is all woozy low end and rumbling bass over snippets of crowd sound, a sort of collaged dark wavey drift, with some super minimal skittery Autechre style fractured beats, a sprawling expansive dronescape, laced with skitter, and ominous synth swells, strangely cinematic keyboards, the sound becoming almost John Carpenter-esque near the end, before slipping directly into "Chroeg Xen", which sounds like Steve Reich or Terry Riley as interpreted by the current crop of retro futurist sci fi new wavers. "Elijah's New Sun" is a fluttering field of hiss and static, of shortwave interference, buried synth pulses, strange processed vocals, and minimal synth melodies way off in the distance.
"It's All Write" is an avalanche of song fragments, woven into a woozy, series of melodic swells, streaks of buzz, bits of sampled voices, a minimal barely there beat, slowly unwinding like some out of focus sonic charnel house. "Kitchen Light" is a surprisingly lovely bloopy bleepy bit of spacey synthiness, while "Never Was A Dreamer (vox)" is a swirling synthy crawl, all whispered tangled voices, and layered shimmery drones. "She Is Beautiful" is another bit of sci fi synthery, which leads into the short closer "Some What Daft", a gorgeous creepy glitchscape, of muted melodies, fractured drones and alien squelches, all over a sort of krauty pulse, the sort of track that we would have loved to see go on way longer. Which is pretty much how we feel about almost every track here.
Sure, the fact that aTelecine is Sasha Grey's band is the hook, but it hardly matters really, besides bucking the convention of actresses turned terrible musician, or certainly porn star gone pointlessly mainstream, this stuff is incredible, dark and dense and extremely well crafted, occasionally playful and mysterious, but more often fucking chilling and intense, and definitely makes it plain for all to see, that if Grey ever did decide to give up her day job, as sad as that would be, at least we'd have more of this amazing music to look forward to.
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!!
We've long been enchanted by Felicia Atkinson's smeared electronic abstractions and figurative tone-poems. This Belgian drone-concrete chanteuse has crafted a beautifully liminal body of recordings that equivocate a bedroom downer folk strum with drifting oceanic thrumming and dream-time electronics, alternating her recordings both under her own name and as Je Suis Le Petit Chevalier. There doesn't seem to be much difference as to what name goes with what recording, as all of her work documents her polymorphous arrangements of psychic and emotional residues. Her whispered, intimate vocals (most in French, some in English) that dot these recordings mutter decontextualized quotations from the transgressive / Surrealist writers that brought such her inspiration in her youth - Artaud, Bataille, Rene Char, etc. She frames these vocals through an equally deconstructed form of sound collage, bringing cinematic sequences of forlorn drone passages to twinkling synth melodies and fractured gravity well resonance to an uneasy resolution. While it never sounds like a Nurse With Wound album, she seems to be inhabiting a similar conceptual framework. The second half of the record gets quite bleak, with her whispered utterances cycling around smoldered echoes of overdriven rumbles and controlled infernal noise. Where Stapleton and Luc Ferrari would employ the female voice in psychosexual terms, Atkinson's application as a ritualized intimacy finds a complex and nuanced poetry that furthers her work beyond that of the sexual and into the sublime.
The gloomier the day the more perfect to listen to this album from Belgian abstractionist Felicia Atkinson, who also records under the moniker Je Suis Le Petit Chevalier. Her work often draws parallels to the likes of Natural Snow Buildings or Motion Sickness Of Time Travel in terms of the narcoleptic atmosphere that drifts through song and drone alike - one that's perfect for late winter fog or cold damp mornings of early spring; but Atkinson's work is probably even darker, more somber, and drearier than from either of those other artists. She deftly moves from song-based arrangements for guitar, voice, to lots of effects and broad ambient gestures of elongated fragments, loops, and pastoral passages. Visions / Voices showcases these multi-faceted aesthetics from Atkinson, collecting tracks from the various micro-edition cassettes and cd-rs she's produced over the years, none of which have made their way through aQuarius we should add.
The first cut on the album "This Impermanent Gold" is a sodden avant-folk number sporting a Jandekian open-chord, atonal strum on an acoustic guitar with bleakly windswept clouds hovering behind the gasping, non-verbal vocalizations. She counters this track with a rapturously billowing drone piece that has all of the compositional trappings of one of Tim Hecker's ambient excursions, through the rich tapestries of interwoven drones and darkly radiant hypnosis. "All Roads Are Circular" is an aptly named track of once brightly strummed guitars burnished down to a dull iron finish and set into loosely organized loops and off-set shoegazing patterns. Twinkling synths form constellations of downer melodies on "The Owls" bringing her closest to the Motion Sickness Of Time Travel sound of murkily cosmic introspection. But when she gets to "Franny," things get downright spooky with a rasping antique piano slowly creaking a low-register dirge whose ominous, suffocating vibe comes to the surface through a violent smolder of deep rumbling tectonic drones and corroded amplifier distortion, definitely giving Chelsea Wolfe a run for her money when it comes to ghastliness.
Easily some of the best material we've heard to date from Atkinson under either her name or Je Suis Le Petit Chevalier! And is there a download card? Yes!
Nice 200 gram vinyl reissue of the 1981 debut from this British post-punk quartet that reminds us of a Pylon/Pretenders hybrid with sharper teeth. Smashing the power politics of sexual relationships with biting critique, this two female, two male foursome deliver cleverly disaffected songwriting with an urgent rhythmic energy. The band only put out two records and this one is their best, with infectious hooks and a bracing cynicsm that remains razor-sharp. They even pull off the rare David Bowie cover that far surpasses the original with "Repetition", a creepily banal look into the mind of an abusive spouse. For fans of Gang of Four, Delta 5, Xmal Deutchland, The Slits, Mo-dettes and the bands mentioned above. Recommended!!
We've never carried anything from Winds Measure Recordings before now; but that will certainly be changing, as this is a label with an excellent ear for the finer points of dronesmear sound-art and an equally excellent eye for letterpressed packaging. And we'll start with the stellar manipulated field recording work from the Swiss-born / Berlin-based sound artist Gilles Aubry, who seems to have run a space in Berlin dedicated to experimental music called Stralau 68. The space had unfortunately closed in 2007, but it seemed to have been a nexus of activity for noise, aktionism, avant-rock, live-wire electronics, and whatnot. Perhaps as a final act within the emptied space, Aubry recorded the resonance of the room, capturing all sorts of resonant drones, tones, hums, and buzzes intrinsic to the space outside of its former use as a performance venue. The first of three pieces on this album centers on the rasping frequencies from the industrial air vents matching wind-blown recordings from within what sounds like a huge concrete structure. Here Aubry's work attains the acousmatic aesthetic that the finest Francisco Lopez pieces of minimalism seek. The second piece is far more dynamic, with thrumming rumble grounding an interwoven drone of pierced frequencies and jarring movements from creaking metal doors, bellowing hisses of infernal air, and scrabbling textures. It's unsettled and ominous, something of a hybrid between the end-times collages of Tarab and the late period bleakness of Lustmord. The final piece continues with the scraped abrasions and elongated drones of toxic environmental frequencies. Absolutely brilliant stuff!
As we mentioned, Winds Measure's packaging is a thing of beauty, here with an elegant folio of letterpressed text on thick white paper with a set of abstracted smears printed precisely in a pale pale grey. Some of the finer letterpressed work we've seen! Put it all together in a small edition of just about 300 copies. Highly recommended!
This isn't even remotely new, but it does happen to be perhaps the best Autechre record to date. And as it is only now being released domestically and at a decent price (it was $20 until now) we figured it was time to give this record its due. Besides
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Ever since Autechre's stellar self titled album was released a few months back on Warp, we have heard rumors of Nothing releasing this stateside. But attempts to uncover information from Nothing was met with ignorance and belligerence. OK, Nothing might be really busy promoting the aforementioned Marilyn Manson record more so than these... after all he and Trent Reznor provide the hefty sums that purchase the UK rights for Autechre, Squarepusher, and Plaid... but does that give clueless Nothing the excuse to deny information to those who are genuinely interested?
Regardless, if you haven't picked up this Autechre record by now, please do so. It may be the year's best electronica record!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Autopoesies live album was recorded during the Mille Plateaux tour that skittered across Europe in late 1999. The success of this album (in direct contrast to the rather boring debut) unwittingly calls into question the role of the 'artist' in front of his / her laptop. This record (and thus the live performance) could have simply been made by inputing abstract images into Metasynth (a program that translates visual files into sound files - perfect for manufacturing Ovalesque clickiness), while 'the artist' could be playing Tetris or downloading internet porn or walking off the stage to get a beer. Sure, Roland Barthes' 'Death of The Author' becomes an easy conceptual basis to justify such a live show, but so is 'I couldn't think of anything else to do, so I'll act like Markus Popp snapping my gum and looking bored." Maybe this rant is without merit, and maybe Autoposies had a kick ass live show. Maybe. And maybe Andee will get that helper monkey he wants so badly for the store.
With all of this said, "Live A Noir" is an exceptional album of subatomic digital glitches and white hot crackle, turbulent sonic swells and terse glacial scrape. Fits just right with your Stilluppsteypa and Noto.
Autumnfair was the shortlived side project of Savage Republic bassist Thom Fuhrmann and British transplant Val Haller. So shortlived, in fact, that by the time their first record was released on IPR in 1991, they had been broken up for two years. In
No, not the same Bad News which offered up a British version of Spinal Tap's heavy metal stupidity and awesomeness; although there is a certain incredulity about this Bad News as well. Of course, styles come and go with each season, and many of the sounds that defined the '60s, '70s, and '80s have eventually come back around through whatever cultural zeitgeist is spurning them on. So, this Bad News is one of several bands currently at the forefront of a minor movement that is pushing beyond the minimal wave aesthetic out of the early '80s and into the more aggressive, blustery sounds of industrial uttered by Wax Trax, PIAS, and Nettwerk from 1986 to 1990. Yeah, think Vivisect 6 era Skinny Puppy or Twitch era Ministry. Bad News is the work of Alex Lucas and Sarah Bernat, the latter being renowned for her work in the chairkickingly punk-as-fuck noise trio 16 Bitch Pile-up; and her bad-ass swagger on vocals and guitar is amply matched by the heavy sequencing and blister-popped electronics from Lucas. "Decay" sports a Missing Foundation / Skullflower guitar churn amidst a slow dive bomb squalor of electric noise and Bernat's gray-colored monotone vocals, with the rhythms and electronics embued with a heavy, machined plod. Sweaty. Smelly. Greasy. The title track throws a monophunk basskick into the foreground with hypnotically aggressive intentions matched by what could only be seen as an industrial strength / megaphone raga in which Bernat chants those titular words. "Typical Illusion" is Bad News' finest moment of post-hardcore riffage affixed to militantly double-timed rhythms and cluster bombs of heavy noise, electronic confusion, and ill will. If anybody remembers when Controlled Bleeding released a couple of really ho-hum records on Wax Trax in 1989, THIS is what Paul Lemos, et al. should have been doing.
We had this on cassette briefly, and we gotta say that the vinyl mastering job renders a truly superior product. Fucking rad.
Now released domestically!...When we first heard the Badly Drawn Boy, we couldn't believe our ears. Who was this guy? He was like a Britpop Beck; sort of Beck-like voice, twisted pop sensibilities, beautifully Sentridoh-style home recording, and songs that kill. Well, we still don't exactly know who he is, except for the fact that he's the Mercury Prize winner, but at least now there's more than two impossible to find eps. Surprisingly, for his first full length, BDB has abandoned the lo-fi bedroom sound, and lots of his Beck-isms and created a lush, hyper-produced pop masterpiece. Somewhere between Elliott Smith, Radiohead, and Beck. Right off the bat, the first song is a spare arrangement for strings and oboes and cornets. In fact the whole record is dotted with swelling string parts, horns, accordions, bleeps and bloops and super creative production. This is a weird and beautiful (albeit commercial, compared to his earlier recordings and remixes) record, definitely for fans of Beck, Elliott Smith, Radiohead, Quasi, Built to Spill, etc. Imagine Beck or Elliott Smith, if they grew up in England, listening to Radiohead and Oasis, and cut their teeth doing remixes for a who's who of British pop/dance groups, and put a record out on MoWax. It's kind of like that, but not exactly. But it *is* totally great.
Bailter Space by now is all but defunct, with most of their records released through Matador in the US now deleted and unavailable. That's unfortunate, as the short lived career of this late '80s and early '90s New Zealand droned out, art-rock band offered a brilliantly unique parallel to the English shoegazing scene (dead ringers sometimes for Swervedriver) and Seattle's nascent grunge community.
Bailter Space was a trio, whose members performed as NZ legends The Gordons in the early '80s, developing a cantankerous post-punk sound whose short-fused riffs, off-kilter bursts of noise, and rhythmic teeth-gnashing had been one of the many influences on Sonic Youth. After their dissolution in the mid 80s and subsequent resolution as Bailter Space in 1987, the trio had softened some of the rough edges creating a signature sound that perfectly brought together Joy Division and the Velvet Underground within the bleary-eyed charm that seemed almost natural to every one else on Flying Nun (e.g. The Chills, Pin Group, This Kind Of Punishment, etc.).
It's a bit hard to figure out what's going on with this record, a compilation actually of tracks from other releases, a greatest hits sort of, there's no real info, and the album doesn't even say which track came from which album -- just a track listing and the legal stuff, that's it. Needless to say, they all rule, and it makes us want to listen ot ALL those records again. As we mentioned, all of their US albums are out of print (and it's unclear if the NZ releases are still available); so this anthology is certainly a welcome return for a band that had long been a favorite of Aquarius all the way back to our days on 24th Street. Here you'll find the spry rhythms of "Tanker" (which was the title track from their 1988 album) darkly forecasting the shimmer and drone of Ride and Slowdive; there's also the narcotic tunes of sci-fi shadow and murk from their last great album Vortura (e.g. "X" and "DarkBlue"); and plenty of distorted-then-blurred extended passages of drone guitar which really sound like they must have been the template for Justin Broadrick's Jesu. We love this band, we have for years, their Robot World record is one of Andee's ALL TIME favorites. If you don't know this band, you need to. And this is a pretty great way to discover them for the first time, and even if you're already a fan, it's a pretty bad ass Bailter Space mixtape.
Band of Pain straddles the fence between the austere deep listening isolationism of Andrew Chalk and the nightmarish dark ambient of Lustmord. Ghastly drones creep along with microscopic textures and hypnotic pudding rhythms. Stefan Jaworzyn - of Ascension - makes a guest appearance. Very, very good.
Devendra Banhart -- who appears to be living his life as an indie-rock gipsy touring with whomever and squatting wherever, including a stint wowing locals here in SF -- crafts his neo-folk songs with the primitive instrumentation of voice and acoustic guitar, spanning a vast spectrum of fragmented emotions through a manic-depressive persona that can be as beautifully charming as it can be terrifyingly devastating. Michael Gira, who released this album through his Young God label, accurately described Banhart's voice with its skewed vibrato and unnerving warble as somewhere in between the magical voices of Marc Bolan, Karen Dalton, Syd Barrett, Tiny Tim, Daniel Johnston, and Nick Drake; and fortunately, Banhart uses that voice to tell a wholly unique set of stories that hold a succinct poetry. Hastily stitched from bizarre stream of consciousness associations and absurdist conditional clauses, Banhart's lyrics expand the realm of possibility into psychosexual surrealism. On occasion, Banhart's tales are anthropomorphic love songs, wistfully dreaming of archaic steam ships and the state of Michigan (yes, he pines for Michigan) with all of sexual cravings and romantic nuances of a young boy first pierced by Cupid's arrow; yet on other occasion, Banhart gnashes his teeth with such existential confusion that the targets of his epithets are blurred by his bilious rage. Within Banhart's language, reality has been realized as a swollen mass of malformed emotions compounded by the urgency that resonates within his voice.
Upon listening to this album, I've had the recurring, sinking feeling either that Banhart is destined to star in an upcoming Harmony Korine film or that he will be dead in a few years as victim of an unspecified gruesome tragedy. As I've tried and failed to assign such distinctly odd critical-doomspeak within various arguments and generalized thesis about the perception of the separation between art and life, I mention it because Banhart -- unlike any artist whom I've come across -- has been able to provoke such controversial thoughts. Far from me to wish Banhart or anybody ill-will, but true manifestations of horror defy logic and are very rare indeed. And this, gentle reader, is the real deal.
If you recall, Andee began his review of Woven Hand's album with the bold statement: "I hate to gush, but gush I must, this is my record of the year. Done deal." As for me (Jim, along with Marcy and Windy), the debut from Devendra Banhart needs to be given serious consideration as a contender for record of the year 2002.
Since the release of his evocative debut album Oh Me Oh My..., Devendra Banhart has deservedly catapulted to the status of an indie-rock icon. The critical acclaim for Banhart's work is based on the merits of his spectacular songwriting and uncanny ability to channel an incredible spectrum of emotional resonance. However, much of that success is also due to the hard work and dedication of Young God's bossman Michael Gira. The former Swan and current Angel Of Light has taken Banhart under his wing as his apprentice and has boldly asserted (and nurtured) Banhart's brilliance, majesty, and genius. His hard work has certainly paid off as almost every media outlet has sung Banhart's praises; but even so it was quite bizarre to hear Banhart's wavering croon on NPR's Morning Edition many moons ago.
Rejoicing In The Hands is Banhart's second proper album, following the short Black Babies UK EP which delved further into his piles of early 4-track recordings. For this new album, Gira took Banhart into a studio (which was located in an appropriately antique Southern home on the Georgia / Alabama border) and provided him with plenty of resources to flesh out his songs. In many ways, Rejoicing In The Hands follows the same strategy that Sub Pop employed for Iron & Wine's second album Our Endless Numbered Days: take one fantastic songwriter who made a great album of 4-track recordings, put him in the studio with some sympathetic musicians, and watch the magic happen. Thus, Rejoicing In The Hands has considerably more polish than its predecessor; and perhaps not surprisingly, the songs themselves are less dangerous, rabid, and self-consumed. Yet, the taming of Mr. Banhart is a relative process, as his work still invokes a mysticism of the unconscious through his complex metanyms and obtuse wordplay. His voice -- an eccentric hybrid of Marc Bolan, Karen Dalton, and Vashti Bunyan (who sings a duet alongside Banhart on this record!) -- continues to waver through stream of consciousness lyrics about his teeth, his beard, geographic love affairs, insects, Elvis, and other more likely subject matters like sex and death. Musically, these are delicate folk arrangements centered around his elliptical finger picking which is occasionally accompanied by some of Gira's fellow musicians from Angels of Light. All in all, Rejoicing In The Hands is a rousing success that will surely make Banhart the folk medium for his generation. Highly recommended.
We've been told that amidst the piles of four-track recordings that Devendra Banhart has made, there are over 100 songs yet to be released. All of the tracks from the critically acclaimed debut album "Oh Me Oh My..." (even NPR has been raving about it!) came from that wealth of material. Thus, it's somewhat disappointing that the "The Black Babies (UK)" ep -- so-called 'cause it was originally intended just for release in England -- only features 6 previously unheard offerings of his wonderfully bizarre folk songs and 2 tracks from the aforementioned "Oh Me Oh My..." album. Nonetheless, "The Black Babies" is a very welcome addition. Devendra's voice continues to belie his gender with a straining vibrato that sounds more like a crazed Billie Holiday, or more accurately like the '60s Village folk maven Karen Dalton. Overdubbing just his voice and his elliptical fingerpicking of an acoustic guitar through borrowed four-tracks, Devendra's songs work through their ability to communicate the extremes of emotion with so little to work with. It also doesn't hurt his cause that all of his material is swathed in the audio cobwebs of tape hiss, residual ambience, and purposefully unkempt production. In light of such lo-fi indie-rock offerings as The Mountain Goats and Sebadoh, none of this is new; although Devendra's subject matter seems far more magical and outlandish than the rumpled tragicomedies of those acts. While the highlights of "Oh Me Oh My..." were the bloodcurdling songs of pain and abjection, "The Black Babies (UK)" features more of his sort-of love songs, albeit, quite atypical love songs, in which Devendra pines for places like Maine, South Carolina, or Spain. This is some of the finest in magic realism.
MPEG Download: "Surgery I Stole" [/audio/devendrasurgeryistole.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Surgery I Stole" [/audio/devendrasurgeryistole.m3u]
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Grabbed this off of Jim's favorites shelf, this is what he had to say about it: "As Sabotage gets a criminally small amount of press, there will be virtually no hype for Bannlust...which is a fucking shame, as thousands of trainspotters will pass this up looking for that long gone Autechre album when they should be listening to this...as good if not better than recent Autechre and/or Skam recordings!!!"
This is an album that should have been huge, or at least an album that should sit next to Slint's Spiderland or My Bloody Valentine's Loveless as a seminal record from the early '90s. In fact, this was THE record that inspired music critic Simon Reynolds to first coin the term 'post-rock', when reviewing this record back in the day. But as it happened, Bark Psychosis was perhaps three or four years ahead of the curve, with Tortoise really stealing all of Bark Psychosis' thunder through the sculpted sounds melded by exquisite engineering, spacious arrangements, and careful consideration of forms past (e.g. that aforementioned Slint album, Miles Davis' more contemplative moments, and for Bark Psychosis, the latter day Talk Talk albums). Bark Psychosis also disbanded shortly after the release of Hex, which never really helped their cause in achieving greatness through this record.
That said, the band's beginnings were quite interesting, as they started out aping Napalm Death, whose short blasts of grindcore are the absolute antithesis of what Bark Psychosis would be known for - subtle, quiet, and beautiful scores of nocturnal music. Where their first handful of singles (which were later collected on the Independency compilation) pushed a post-punk intensity that was considerably effective (and still miles away from Napalm Death), they reached a whole new level on Hex with a lush atmospheric moodiness that's quite special.
A somber piano interlude starts the album off on "The Loom" which shifts into dubbed out orchestration for strings, electronics, and Graham Sutton's emphatic whisper of a voice. "A Street Scene" opens with one of those intricate bass / guitar concoctions that Pinback would lay out on Blue Screen Life, but with more of a cinematic, noirish approach to the construction of a sad pop-tune. "Fingerspit" opens with a graceful Durutti Column-esque melody settling on top of a slinky, deconstructed rhythm section skitter for piano, bass, and drums that erupts with a very Slint like jangled chord emphasizing Sutton's maudlin vocals. The bright ringing guitars cycle through a hypnotic chord on "Eyes & Smiles" as the rest of the band builds the tension upon Necks-style rhythmic crescendo. For all of the jazz conceits on the album, Bark Psychosis never faltered like so many of the British post-punks who attempted to dabble in the cool waters of jazz (e.g. Dif Juz, A.R. Kane, etc.), and it's pretty much because they realized that they needed to keep it as simple as possible in terms of the flourishes and let the complications speak through their songwriting and not a desire to jam. Yeah, it's an album that's definitely a precursor to Tortoise's Millions Now Living Will Never Die and Village Of Savoonga's Score. Brilliant.
Barn Owl, the local duo of Jon Porras (aka Elm) and Evan Caminiti (aka Higuma), have always tread a similar path to later era Earth, a sort of blackened twang, Morricone by way of the Melvins, slow motion soundscapes as evocative and slow burning as they are epic and heavy, dark and delicate. With the addition of a drummer, Barn Owl move even closer to their sonic brethren creating a gorgeous songsuite of Western tinged, slow motion psychedelia, dark, dolorous, warm and haunting, heavily reverbed, a sort of dark skeletal doom, rife with warm chordal clusters, gauzy clouds of muted feedback, and epic expanses of effected guitars that sound almost choral.
The mood is both warm and inviting, haunting and tense, emotional and intense. The various bits of steel string guitar are draped over dense swells of roiling downtuned drone, everything wreathed in streaks of high end shimmer, all blurred into a burnished black guitar blur, washed out and hazy, yet surprisingly lush and heavy. The second half of the record gets a bit more Appalachian, with delicate finger picked guitars drifting over deep layered drones, stately melodies unfurling like the black tendrils of smoke from a recently extinguished candle, or the fuzzy fog of late afternoon, painted deep blues and reds by the fading daylight. The record builds to a soaring finale, that revisits that choral sound, and infuses it with an hypnotic ur-drone vibe, like some glorious hybrid of Sunroof! and Arvo Part. Hypnotic and transcendent.
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES. We got the super limited fancy maroon vinyl mailorder version too. And as you might imagine, these won't be around for long...
The tape loop that William Basinski sources on A Red Score In Tile, dates back to 1979 during that manic period in Basinski's life when he was cataloguing shortwave radio noises, bittersweet sounding moments in muzak's mood engineering, and various piano extracts - all of which ending up on tape loops in the way that a lot of people build photo collections of the events, people, and places around them. But beginning around 1998, Basinski began to transcribe those tape loops digitally, finding an immense source for his future compositions that all heavily incorporate the slow-motion, sleepwalking murkiness of those original tape loops to their fullest advantage within his elliptical hypnosis of emotive tone and drone.
He actualized A Red Score In Tile first in 2003 for a piece of vinyl issued by the Chalk / Heemann label Three Poplars; of course, it quickly went out of print. This new cd version is a slightly different mix (only in that the piece isn't split over two sides, tracking instead about 45 minutes or so).
But for that tape loop, we're told the sole source is a piano, but it could have easily come from some of the bleak incidental music that Lalo Schifrin composed on the Rhodes for Dirty Harry. It's also incredibly prescient of the blackened 'horror jazz' from Bohren & Der Club Of Gore. This loop might only be cycling through an endless repetition, but it really doesn't sound that way. An atmosphere of urban decay hangs upon these broken notes, amplified by the vaporous reverb that oozes in, through, above, and below Basinski's sound. Of course, Basinski's music has long spoken of the elegant corrosion of sound, spoken most concisely through his epic Disintegration Loops series. But where the physical act of disintegration mirrors that of the sound itself, the sonic decay of A Red Score In Tile is spellbindingly subtle, and might actually be a grand illusion sparked by Basinksi's part works and deft ability to make a simple tape loop sublime. As a result, A Red Score In Tile is a stunning disc, one that ranks very highly within Basinski's always impressive catalog of recordings. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.
William Basinski's Melancholia is a transcendent disc of gorgeous ambience featuring a delightful series of 14 vignettes for tape loops, flickering minimalism, and repeating piano figures. Like the Water Music series, the aptly named Melancholia is a reissue of an album that briefly appeared as a tiny edition cd-r and is now getting the proper cd release it deserves. Erik Satie, Brian Eno (e.g. Music For Films), and Aphex Twin (e.g. Selected Ambient Works II) haunt Basinski's echo-laden space and lilting romantic gestures, restructured from Basinski's seemingly endless archive of tape loops from the early eighties. Those of you who fell under Basinski's spell upon hearing his sprawling Disintegration Loops and Variations: A Movement In Chrome Primitive will have another reason to embrace his nocturnal driftscapes. Recommended!
Unfortunately, packaged in a cheap plastic clam shell with no additional artwork and no information about the recording.
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Teetering between a touching personal vision about the gravest of existential themes and sentimental pathos, William Basinksi has overloaded the context of "Disintegration Loops" with plenty of cultural references dealing in grandiose melancholia, including 9/11, the World Trade Center, the death of English poet Thomas Chatterton, the prosaic dreaminess of early 20th century American composers, the death of antiquated technologies, etc. This overload of metaphoric sadness and loss which is clearly stated well before a single note of music emanates from the CD doesn't leave much room for personal interpretation. Simply put you must feel sad when listening to this album.
To be fair, the effect of witnessing the collapse of the World Trade Center has been traumatic to us all, and observing that horrific spectacle from the roof of his Brooklyn apartment undoubtably scarred Basinksi. For better or for worse, Basinski used "Disintegration Loops" as his personal soundtrack for the WTC collapse, playing this composition throughout the night as the fires burned and ash spewed into the air. The piece itself intrinsically deals with decay, as it came about because Basinski had discovered an old tape loop, a rendering of a subtle arpeggiated countermelody from lush orchestral deep horns and strings, that he made some two decades ago and decided to archive the piece digitally -- during that process, Basinki found that the oxide of the tape loop was gradually flaking off, leaving unreadable gaps on the loop itself. Hence, "Disintegration Loops". Over this 63 minute recycling of sound, the orchestration is eventually all but lost amidst the terse pops and a ubiquitous wash of reverb.
Oh yes, this album is gorgeous; but I can't shake the feeling that I've been manipulated Steven Spielberg-style into granting an emotional weight to a piece of art more through a tautological argument rather than through aesthetic merit.
Things are not always as they seem. If you were to put on this album, a collaboration between experimental musicans William Basinksi and Richard Chartier, you might have the same reaction that we did. It appears that the album begins, drones quite beautifully for a brief period of time, and then ends, leaving us with the thought, "Hey, that was really short! What the hell?" Ah, but not so fast, for the album's running time is actually a full 57 minutes, and the perceived shortness of duration is a result of these two composers' mesmeric abilities!
William Basinski, of course, has explored temporal phenomonology before, most notably through his breathtaking documentation of tape decay on the Disintegration Loops series. While Chartier's ultra-minimalism tend towards stasis, his underappreciated Archival 1991 album imparts a similar slow-motion effect upon the listener. Working together, Basinksi and Chartier add a considerable amount to each other's work; and hopefully, they will be working together again as Basinksi provides an emotional center to Chartier's rationalism, and Chartier offers a reductivist edginess to Basinski's ghostly romanticism. For this album, Basinksi and Chartier present glacially slow shifts between extended passages of synthetic drones, occasionally haunted by shadowy whisps and windswept details. There's very little drama and very little activity, just an incredible piece of minimalism that has the ability to stop time. Recommended.
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Wow, Homestead reissues two of Andee's favorite records ever (see The Frogs, below). There was a time, pre-Tortoise and pre-Gastr del sol, when John McEntire and David Grubbs rocked. I mean really ROCKED. Hard to believe, but in 1989, those guys were making some of the meanest, noisiest (barely indie) rock around as Bastro. Nasty Albini-ish high end guitar assaults, hammering rhythms, and howlingly furious vocals, made them Slint's bigger and meaner noise rock brother. Awesome.
I know we've said this before, but the more crazy animal sounds we here, the more we wonder why musicians even bother. Sure, you'd be hard pressed to get a pop song out of a sled dog or a purring kitten or an insect or a croaking frog, but for any other sounds all bets are off. Be it rumbling or clicking or squeaking or whirring or chirping or some impossible mix of all of those, or even (especially) those sounds we're not exactly sure how to describe, the animal kingdom has us beat. Thousands of years of evolution, technological advances, every manner of sound making device imaginable, and somewhere, there's some little furry thing that can make those same sounds with its mouth or by rubbing its legs together, or using some parts only they possess. That's what makes records like this totally fascinating and completely humbling.
Most of us have seen bats at one time or another, flitting overhead, barely visible in the dark, or maybe at the zoo. But who among us has ever really heard a bat, until now? And these recordings aren't the mewlings and scratchings and other various sounds that small animals make, no these are the sounds of the bats' ultra sensitive sonar, recorded by expert Michel Barataud using a heterodyne detector and a simple tape recorder, culled from a study that lasted from 1988-1995 and covered 251 different bats of 20 different species! The neat thing about this collection is the fact that there are two discs, one with the original recordings, the other with those same recordings slowed down 10 times (we we can hear what the bats are "hearing"). So cool!
The first disc is an expansive series of creaks and clicks, percussive knocks and thumps, strange melodies that sound like analog synths, high pitched pulses, shortwave-like squawks, chattering, sputtering Geiger counter-like rhythms, all very minimal and totally hypnotic. Sounds so much like a record on ultra-minimalist label Raster-Noton it's not even funny. One can almost imagine Ryoji Ikeda or Alva Noto, after spending years locked in a pressure sealed white cube of a studio, packed with state of the art sound modules, liquid cooled speakers, hard disc recorders, every bit of sound recorded and played back in a perfect listening vacuum, each click and tone painstakingly crafted and carefully placed, stepping outside with finished disc in hand, and then upon hearing the delicate fluttering pattern of clicks and chirps of the bats' sonar, throwing their disc to the ground and stomping it to bits, uttering in their best Simpsons Comic Book Guy voice, "Oh... I've wasted my life."
Gorgeously spare and hauntingly musical, an uber-minimal intricate rhythmic soundfield with impossibly abstract barely there melodies and surrounded by the sounds of no sound. Lovely.
On disc two, those very same sounds are slowed down, and thus become less like percussive clicks and more like melodic chirps. The slowed down versions sound remarkably like bird calls, but unlike the trills and songlike elements of birdsong, each note here is suspended all by itself, floating in a soundscape of ambient whir, before it is supplanted by the next. An extended melody spread out over minutes instead of seconds, like a 45 rpm record of bird calls played at 16 rpm. The sped up sounds on disc two are occasionally joined by the sounds of insects and the surrounding landscape, filling out the sound with the chirp of crickets and the croaking of frogs, a distant cacophony underpinning the bats' mysterious melodies.
Included is a 50 page oversized book which contains all of the field notes, recording details, notes on each track and each animal, complete with charts and graphs, very dense and scientific, and there's even a page with a blank chart so you can go out there and take some field recording notes yourself!
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Even better than their Earthbeat album that we recently ballyhooed about, here also is the debut album from Be Forest! Several of us here discovered this album a while back, forking over substantial sums of cash for the privilege of getting ahold of this Italian shoegazing goth quartet; but we've solved the distribution riddle, and now can happily offer this album to you, O beloved aQuarius customer!
Be Forest hails from the coastal village of Pesaro, whose cultural sleepiness seems only trumped by the substantial number of retired folk who live there. Such is the well-worn recipe for rock, punk, metal, goth, noise, aktionism, and whatever else might strike your fancy: take a bunch of bored teenagers with grandiose ideas / immaculate taste and give them instruments... interesting things should happen. Be Forest is the only band we've heard from what's been dubbed the 'Pesaro-scene', but on the strength of their albums, we're curious to hear what else might be happening alongside these Italian miserablists. In the aptly named album Cold, you'll hear the ghosts of The Cure, Slowdive, Modern English, The Chameleons UK, and pretty much any of the bands that would have inspired half of the Captured Tracks roster; but Be Forest pen songs and create an atmosphere that is WAY better. No drum machines to be found here; Be Forest's Erica Terenzi lays an impressive backbeat on every track, augmented by those gated-reverb tricks that Martin Hannett developed with Joy Divsion that are still being used today as necessary spaciousness and ethereal ghostliness within the goth songbook. Terenzi and Costanza Delle Rose share the vocal duties in Be Forest, with their darkly seductive inflections seemingly indistinguishable. Songs like "Dust" and "Thrill" sparkle with brightly ringing tones over tribal percussive patterns foreshadowing Be Forest's second album Earthbeat; but it's the gloom 'n' doom pop of "Screaming Prayer", "Buck & Crow", and especially the magnificent "Florence" that are the highlights here. The latter track follows the Robert Smith / Simon Gallup goth-pop formula of big thrumming basslines and majestic pop-hook crescendos that could have slipped easily on to Disintegration or Pornography. One of those albums that has been stuck in the stereo here at aQuarius, and for very good reason!
They say a lot of things, whoever they might be. They've said that the '60s are back. They've said that '70s are back. They've LONG said that the '80s were back (beginning in 1992 or so); and now, they say that the '90s are back. Whatever. A good sound and a good tune are universal, and timeless, and Be Forest harken back to the best parts of the 4AD / Creation sound from the late '80s / early '90s, doing so with great songwriting, and not just the beautiful patina of that sound. This Italian band has studied their history quite well, picking up many of the songwriting tropes of the era they so adore. It's easy to hear in Be Forest all the things that Budgie did right in terms of creating that rollicking, ritualistic backbeat for Siouxsie & The Banshees. There's plenty of the bright sparkling guitar lines that harken back to what Johnny Marr brought to the Smiths as well as the spiralling melodies that could spin out of the shoegazing miserablism of Slowdive and Ride. And yes, all of these things in and of themselves are worthy of investigating. How many times have we jumped up and down for the dreamy gloom pop of any given Slumberland / Captured Tracks band (e.g. Heavenly Beat, Girls Names, Violins, Diiv, etc.)? But in Earthbeat, Be Forest has added to the equations, some impossibly memorable tunes, which is really at the core of what makes this band so great, lead by the chanteuse Costanza Delle Rose, who helps push the group's sound slighty more toward a more modest version of the swoonsome torch songs of Beach House. Great stuff!
Swoon....sigh....melt! That's all we want to do when we listen to the newest album by this Baltimore duo who we've been in love with since their debut ep from way back when. The follow up to their great full length Devotion, this is a record we and so many others have been highly anticipating and it's so nice to start the new year with an album that is already ruling our stereos and will no doubt end up on many of our year end favorite lists.
Teen Dream is quite simply, exquisite and elegant. The golden warmth and soft waves of comfort and longing BH are able to express through their songs makes them truly one of the most special bands around. There is a timelessness and sense of authenticity that rings so true within their songs. This is the music you put on when you've had your heart broken or you just discovered new love or when you are laying in bed with that special someone and its time to just bliss out, lost in a daze without saying a word. Teen Dream is the soundtrack for thinking of a close friend who is in a far away place, it's a sonic refuge, when you need somewhere safe to drift and daydream all of your troubles away.
We have a feeling that this record is about to get an avalanche of press and attention but it couldn't be more deserved. This is hands down one of the most majestic and moving records to come out in a very long time. Nothing feels forced, no songs are throwaways, start to finish Teen Dream sounds practically perfect, a classic that will no doubt remain a classic regardless of shifting sounds and tastes.
As an added bonus Teen Dream also comes with a dvd, containing a video for every single song on the album created by different directors. We haven't even gotten around to watching it yet cuz for now all we want to do is listen to the album over and over again, letting ourselves get lost in the glistening images it evokes in our own subconscious. Breathtaking!
Chris Madak is the man behind the Bee Mask, a project with several dozen cassette releases issued over the past couple of years. Madak should also be noted as the principle behind the exceptionally curated Deception Island tape label, which had the foresight to release Oneohtrix Point Never's Betrayed In The Octagon as well as a handful of killer Emeralds related side projects. That said, not much from Bee Mask's own discography has made it through here, with blister popping electrical noise and synth sequencing seeming to be par for the course. Yet through those circuit bent experiments, Bee Mask emerges fully evolved as a master synthesist of all things elekronische and kosmische circa 1975. Canzoni Dal Laboratorio Del Silenzio Cosmico is a wonderfully varied album whose hallucinatory narratives speak to a purposeful and thoroughly intelligent design in its creation. Throughout you'll hear distinct references to the likes of Roland Kayn, Tangerine Dream (e.g. Electronic Meditations), Jean-Claude Eloy, Francoise Bayle, anything from Sky Records you could think of in the mid to late '70s, and even the more bombastic electronic interludes offered by Pink Floyd for that matter. The album opens in a more studied fashion through a sequence of carillion bell tones backmasked with a series of soft vocal grunts and gradually building set of electronic percolations, but all of this is engulfed in a tidal wave of polydactyl synth sequencing and brainfried electronic percolations only to morph again into a cavernous expanse of elongated tone and drone. The album's numerous detours and labyrinthine structures twist and devolve constantly across both sides of the record, delving into melodic phrasing in the electronic sequences only to shift deftly into plunging electrical vibrations of pulsing synth noise and delirious crescendos popping throughout.
The fact that John Elliott of Emeralds has brought this to vinyl after a release on Gift Tapes a while back should not go unnoticed. Spectrum Spools is his new imprint, released through Editions Mego, and this should be a label not to be missed. Certainly not this release, that's for sure.
Here stands the monumental anthology, culled from the numerous cassettes and cd-rs that Chris Madak has released over the past decade or so, under the moniker Bee Mask. Like Emeralds and Oneohtrix Point Never, Madak is single-minded in his retrogarde aesthetic for synthesized compositions based on a vintage 1970s' cosmology. But where many of the '70s synth revivalists have coyingly adopted a full-fledged new age aesthetic through effervescent prettiness and soft-focus ambient swirl, Bee Mask offers up his own dysptopic take on psychedelic electronics through a crucible of cracked circuits, tape splutter, infernal field recordings, and a hell of a lot of sustained synth drones oscillating into crescendos of dissonant thumming. The zoner tracks on Elegy For Beach Friday (and there are a number of them) never sit in the background seeking a sublimated hypnosis, rather Madak zooms in on the placid pools of sound to unveil intense percolations and swarming vibrations. There's a scientific rigor to his pieces that finds Bee Mask orbiting around the dense, alienating electronics from Matt Shoemaker, Rick Reed, and Bernard Parmigiani. But, Madak is also one to tease with the subtle swelling melodies that harken to the more emotive works from Omit and Emeralds. If his work shares anything with the retro electronic tapestries that are the forgotten soundtracks for a summer sunset, Madak would rather blind the audience with the intensity of the sun, complete with blisters on the skin and technological mishaps from sunspots. Brilliant!
As on the preceding album "Elapsed Time" for Intransitive Recordings, German composer M. Behrens has been digging through his archival recordings and digitally reworking them. Lately, Behrens has been veering away from the delicate minimalism of his
We first came across the work of Thomas Bel through a compilation track he provided to the beloved ambient label Time Released Sound. This French musician has quietly hand-fabricated his own releases, an aesthetic that both TRS and Invisible Birds also share. To Dye Every Night is something of a personal soundtrack for an emotional landscape of melancholy and introspection. The materials are spare but wholly elegant - field recordings of a rain storm, guitar, and voice. That rain storm is recorded in such a way to capture the smacking textures of water and mud. So sharp are some of these aqueous plonks and drips that Bel gives the impression that these recordings were made at near freezing temperatures. Bel's elliptical guitar picking cycles through a desolate melody whose mood completely fits those rainy, miserablist field recordings, and the slow, funereal piece is more in keeping with the latter day Earth recordings although the melodies certainly align themselves with the Slint / Mogwai / Codeine sensibility. Very slowly, Bel's voice rises out of the rain and mud, presenting itself as a singular, tonal chord (obviously looped, unless he's mastered circular breathing to an extent that's beyond even Pandit Pran Nath and La Monte Young!). It's a beautifully lilting piece of maudlin, super stripped down mope-rock meets ambient soundscaping. Limited to just 100 copies and hand assembled by the fine folks at Invisible Birds.
There have been a whole bunch of killer installments in Table Of The Elements' recent guitar based series of one sided 12"s: Oren Ambarchi, Lee Ranaldo, Jon Mueller, but this is the one everyone seems to have been waiting for.
Especially considering what went on with the last belong 12". We sold out in a flash, got more and then sold out again, we couldn't keep that in stock. Well, we're happy to report that this latest is just as good if not better. Whereas the other 12" was all covers, the single looooong track here is an original and it's a doozy. A warm, washed out, dreamy, delicate, gauzy blurred woozy drift of pixilated sound. Jeck, Tim Hecker, Fennesz, all those guys have nothing on Belong. If anything, Belong take those sorts of sound and transform them into something more organic, more amorphous. "Same Places" sounds almost like actual people playing actual guitars, instead of something assembled on a computer. Layered and dense, the melodies obscured by thick swells of fuzzy whir, the fact that this is the "slow version" does explain how gorgeously glacial it sounds, and how many of the tones do sound like someone with their finger on the vinyl slowing the record player down to a crawl, but all that does is let the lowend sprawl, the melodies become even more abstract, pulled apart, and slowed down to the point where their constituent parts almost separate and drift away, almost. Instead, it's an underwater whirl, everything shimmery and indistinct, the sound as you sink deeper and deeper into the abyss, but instead of getting darker, the sounds begin to glow from within, bathing you in their unearthly light. So totally gorgeous.
Pressed on thick clear vinyl. One sided, the other side with a super bad ass etching by Savage Pencil, housed in a thick vinyl sleeve, and of course, as always LIMITED!
Beneath The Lake is the new ambient drone project of Nicolas Lampert, who was one third of AQ faves Noisegate, a bay area crusty, death-drone-ambient project with two records out on Andee's tUMULt label. Beneath The Lake finds Nicolas and new partner Dave Canterbury exploring similar sonic space as Noisegate did on their last full length 'Suspended Animation', but with more emphasis on the nature of sound and a much more dense and heavily layered approach. Utilising cello, guitar, pedals, processors and environmental recordings of sea lions, water, whales, wasps, wolves, owls and wind, Beneath The Lake manage to create rumbling pulsing drones that feel somehow alive, with organic thrum and cavernous shimmers, sounds slipping in and out of the sonic landscape, sparse and desolate one moment, lush and overpowering the next. Haunting and chillingly beautiful. One of our new favorite drone records.
Having released a superhuman amount of singles and split 12"s for Tempa , Big Apple, Planet Mu, and Hot Flush labels, Benga is most definitely one of the key figures bringing dubstep to a wider audience. That's mainly due to the UK club success of "Night", Benga's collaboration with Coki, his Tempa labelmate. The quivering nervous build-up to a massively skittery and surfy air-raid siren release cemented the producer's reputation as one to watch. Now with this full length, Benga is given room to expand the boundaries of what dubstep can be. Utilizing plaintive jazz horns, synth squelches, moody electro, warmer textures and beats that veer more towards house than genremates Burial or Kode 9, Diary of An Afro Warrior is more than a series of strung together singles but a richly complex and diverse dancefloor manifesto that is amongst the best the genre has to offer. Highly Recommended!
