In 1985, Severed Heads were commissioned to collect a retrospective of their (then) six years in existence. Instead of the standard 'best of' anthology, Tom Ellard and Co. took the opportunity to create a sprawling collage of a whole slew of material never heard before, with cutting room edits, tape loop assemblages, live tracks, and numerous experiments that never found their way onto any of their albums. That approach is emblematic of the subversive manner in which Severed Heads produces and contextualizes their heavily mediated electronics, tracks that boisterously flaunt new wave pop structures butted against chunks of machined voltage-control noise and volatile industrial rhythm. On this release, more than pretty much anywhere else in Severed Heads catalog, do comparisons to Cabaret Voltaire and Throbbing Gristle make the most sense.
Severed Heads released three slightly different anthologies entitled Stretcher, with Australia, Canada / UK, and the US each the recipient of one of these versions. It would take an expert Severed Heads taxonomist to figure out how all three of those align with this double lp; so, if you're an absolute completist and need to know such things, go ask Morgan Geist / Metro Area (he's long been the biggest Severed Head fan we know). That said, this compilation seems to take some of the tracks from each of those territorial anthologies, for one hell of a great collection of works mapping out the more rhythmically precise tracks from Severed Heads at the time. The two punchy singles "Halo" and "Petrol" open the compilation; and there's yet another great version of "Dead Eyes Opened." But the hidden gem is the melancholy of tearful replicants found on "Blast Patter", originally an obscure B-side. But this track in particular is a beautiful track of complicated sequencing in the form of a maudlin new wave song that is awfully prescient of the IDM tunes later sculpted by Autechre and Bola. There's plenty of weirdo synth-wave tracks to make you scratch your head at Medical qualifying these tracks as "accessible." Suppose that's what those quotes are for.
Fucking hell. Where did this guy come from? And why the hell haven't we heard anything else that he's done? To answer the first question, Sexton hails from the quaint hamlet of Franklin, Tennessee and had travelled up the road to Nashville to collaborate in the (now defunct) outsider noise-junk collective Horsehair Everywhere - another project we've not heard, but by all accounts conveyed a psychedelic violence through stoned happenings for collaged film, scabrous dronemuzik, and stoned antics. Sounds a hell of lot like The Starving Weirdos to us; and Geoffrey Sexton seems to be taking a page out of the Brian Pyle playbook with his underappreciated acoustic-dronology project RV Paintings. Sexton's prepared guitar drones ooze with a subterranean murkiness, growling and undulating towards dramatically dense codas on each side of this tape. The scraping textures give the impression of Sexton rummaging around some crumbled farmhouse, generating resonant frequencies out of antebellum glass and earthen rumblings from piles of rounded bricks all sweating in the humid Southern summer heat. Think Parson Sound, Thuja, and yup RV Paintings and you're getting somewhere close to what Sexton is doing here on 197 Black Pendulums. Fucking great.
The Shadow Ring were a deliberately odd British trio, beginning in 1993, releasing a handful of improbably compelling records for Corpus Hermeticum, Siltbreeze, Swill Radio and their own Dry Leaf Discs, and then terminating the project a decade later for reasons unknown. So much of what The Shadow Ring offer just should not work: comedically sloppy lullabies played on toy instruments, atonal squeals from cheap electronics, and rhythms banged on tin cans and xylophones. Yet, their persistence at methodically fucking up the simplest of melodies not only became an instant signature sound, it also became a metaphor for a dour, anti-social discomfort which also featured heavily in the lyrics from alternating vocalists Graham Lambkin and Darren Harris. Lambkin's voice is somewhat musical in nature, wrapping around the tinny stringed melodies as a counterpoint; but Harris, on the other hand, employs a commanding bellow which he wields with the urgent rhetorical flourish of a BBC announcer reading off obituaries, but with a snide delivery as if he loathed each person who had died. While Lambkin may have been more of the musical anti-genius of the two, Harris has the voice that reaches out to grab you by the ears. Lyrically, the Shadow Ring coupled the abject and the mundane, with rats, bottom-feeding shrimp, lice, and wasps all playing heavily into the convoluted poetics of their very English dourness. Life Review is a retrospective culled from their eight albums, handful of singles, and archive of unreleased material, including one mighty odd re-interpretation of Pink Floyd's "Interstellar Overdrive." Revisting The Shadow Ring has been a very worthwhile experience for all of us here at Aquarius, conjuring thoughts of Jandek and The Shaggs working together through the Current 93 back catalogue. Brilliantly fucked up.
A harrowingly good introduction to the bleak power electronics from She Spread Sorrow, the nom de guerre for the Italian transgressive artist Alice Kundalini. The industrial culture has long employed the language of violence as an aesthetic and conceptual tool, with varying degrees of grand rigor and varying degrees of thrill-seeking titillation. Kundalini certainly positions her work on this continuum, though there is more of a personal horror which she seems to wish to exorcise through the work. While she never outwardly expresses what that is, all of the signifiers point to some sort of sexual abuse; with the whispering declarations above the rasping low-end distortion holding a very uncomfortable position as a nexus of unmentionable past events of cruelty, present states of shame, and a future that grips with a potent sense of control of self. Kundalini's production stands solidly on foundations constructed by the likes of Anenzephalia, Puce Mary, and Atrax Morgue, with belicose noise, anxiously claustrophobic gloom, and an obsessive discipline all on display on this unblinking album. Would have been on the aQ best of 2015 had we gotten this in earlier.
The veil of mediated sound hangs heavy upon the work of Colin Andrew Sheffield, a Texan born sound artist currently living in Seattle. His work is almost entirely based upon recontextualizing sounds from already released works, although unlike such plunderphonic artists like Christian Marclay, John Oswald, and Wobbly who allow for the samples to utter their origins, Sheffield obliterates almost all of the references into a field of static vibrations, densely compacted layerings, and hyper-stretched drones. Through his digital crucible, Sheffield extracts something almost completely different out of the sources that he puts into it.
In running the ever impressive Elevator Bath label, Sheffield has found an outlet for a handful of his recordings, mostly as small run editions with the one exception being his outstanding First Thus cd. Signatures was commissioned by the San Francisco based label Invisible Birds, as the debut in what hopes to be a great catalogue of sound art composition that's somehow related to bird sounds and their environment. Keeping true to his working methods, Sheffield's contribution to Invisible Birds reclaims sounds from other records amidst what Sheffield claims to be field recordings of water and birds. The results have been so heavily obfuscated through the process that it's hard to hear any twitter of birdsong. The thunderous low-end repetition on the last track is purported to be the flapping of a bird's wing, but it's hard to discern. All of this said, Sheffield's results are gorgeous. At first, the album has almost an ominous feel, as a shimmering, arctic hush is shot forth from the speakers with layer upon layer of sympathetic vibrations interweaving into a hypnotic, if cybernetic sound. It sounds sort of like the classic Chain Reaction artists like Porter Ricks or Hallucinator with all of the techno extracted, and only a cold, cold drone of digitality left behind. By the end of the album, Sheffield brightens things into a stunning crescendo of church organ-like chords suspended in time and space with glints of vinyl crackle hanging like sunflecked dust floating in air. Here, Sheffield gives the impression of William Basinski reclaiming a Ligetti choral piece. Very highly recommended.
INSANELY LIMITED. Already out of print. This is the super deluxe version which comes housed in a quite nice box, the disc wrapped in fabric, and includes a booklet and a bonus 3" cd-r!!
A very prescient, and very good, record by the sound-artist / field recordist Matt Shoemaker, Erosion Of The Analogous Eye pushes his work of tonal exploration and exaggerated found sounds into the neighborhood of many of the post-noise cosmic explorers who have been blossoming in every corner of the US it seems. At the same time, this is very much a Matt Shoemaker record, following a trajectory set forth through his acclaimed work on the once-mighty Trente Oiseaux label.
An ur-drone of analog synthesis opens the album, obviously harkening to '70s kosmische activities certainly a muscular revisitation of Schulze or even an extraction from Richard Pinhas. Such a lazerbeam of a drone has a lysergic sunrise feel to it, with the light and shadow brought into sharp relief, the colors shifted and separating into spectral bursts of yellow, red, pink, and orange. Yet, slowly, Shoemaker introduces atonal drones which clash with that introductory suspension. At first, the metallic slashes have almost an Andrew Chalk and Jonathan Coleclough feel, but Shoemaker quickly dispels those notions with a layer of field recordings of insects ravenously scurrying about. That introductory tone, which still continues through this first track, bends like a divebombing plane with Doppler tones trailing behind, descending in a series of bell tones. All of this in a seamless 17 minutes. A steady rhythm of gamelan bell tones opens the second track with accumulated complimentary drones shimmering and vibrating while harmonic dissonance abounds, collapsing into a quiet stream of percolating textures. Spread across 24 minutes, this track seems ancient and sounds beguilingly beautiful. Bellowing rumbles amplify out of recordings of rain, mud, and water and steadily arching through a metallic rattling of various pipes and gongs for the final track, which eventually gives way to an uneasy set of recordings of birds in a rainforest whose calls echo through the trees.
As with all Helen Scarsdale releases the packaging is stellar. Letterpressed text with hand-dyed paper. Each are different, each are quite special. Oh yeah, limited to a mere 300 copies!
Before the days of email blasts and newsletters, mail order was almost always done by way of xeroxed lists from various outlets. One of the more incredible lists cam courtesy of Anomalous Records, who had itemized hundreds of records, cassettes, and various shapes of vinyl on one or two pieces of paper by printing everything an incredibly small font, often hovering around 3 pt in Helvetica or something like that. Not only was the list a task to read in terms of the sheer volume of material crammed into a very condensed amount of space, but the list also held an extraordinary amount of incredibly cool experimental, post-industrial, and avant-garde music that could not be found anywhere else. Sadly, Anomalous Records decided to close up shop about five years ago; but their importance as an outlet for obscure music is still felt today.
Matt Shoemaker's Groundless was one album that had been stocked from time to time on the Anomalous list with a curious description that said something to the effect that Groundless resembled the work of Andrew Chalk. Then in 2001 when Shoemaker's debut was released on Trente Oiseaux, references to Andrew Chalk were not all that common, as his seminal project Mirror had only just begun and his solo records had yet to catch the imagination of every producer of dronemusik. Needless to say, such a parallel was one that caught our attention; and the album was quickly ordered only to discover a strident realm of quiet crackling that was quite foreign to Chalk's all-consuming dronescaping. While Groundless sounds nothing like any of Chalk's recordings, it is still a brilliant piece of tactile sound abstraction. It may seem a stretch but perhaps Anomalous was only making comparisons on the impeccable quality of both Shoemaker and Chalk as composers, even if they don't share much in the way of aesthetics. Instead of the expansive drone, Shoemaker posits a dizzyingly cinematic sound design of streaming crackles, agitated piles of sand, and sympathetic field recordings that burst in dynamic fashion out of extended passages of queasy stasis into sharp snaps of electromagnetic propulsion. These techniques have more of an avant-garde film drama to them as blurry, soft focus objects give way to something which snaps to the foreground announcing all of its ugly bruises and scars with a sharpened clarity. Groundless emerges as yet another amazing recording from Matt Shoemaker.
Seattle's Matt Shoemaker has long stood as one of the few consistently great drone tacticians around, principally because his take on the drone supreme is punctured by humid field recordings laced with occasional bellowings of atmospheric dread. His previous works such as Erosion Of The Analogous Eye and The Wayward Set are demonstrations in equal parts of rich transcendence and hallucinatory isolationism. Given the titles of the two pieces on this gorgeous picture disc released by Elevator Bath, you can make a pretty solid bet that this tends more toward the latter aesthetic of Shoemaker's black-hole expressionism.
Shoemaker begins with a tense diamond-shot drone from overlapping sinewaves generated from controlled feedback. These pierced frequencies slide downwards amidst a curious set of clattering noises, almost like the amplification of a paramecium undulating its way into the crevices of its host body. Extended wheezes of grey gasps of air and motorized growlings swallow everything that came before with a ghostly echo of those feedback tones broadcast from way back at the event horizon. The second side (which may be the first, as Elevator Bath's picture discs are very trickly to discern track listings!) immediately expands into one of Shoemaker's signature pieces of lysergic darkness, with all of his ill-tempered vibrations colliding into huge phase patterns that mutate, deviate, and detour the linearity of his cold drone fundamental. Always bending and set off-kilter this composition is dangerously slippery as if set upon quicksand with the various layers upon layers splitting off in asynchronous, oozing, droning directions.
Very highly recommended as with all of Shoemaker's work! Limited to 233 copies.
If Aquarius Records wasn't located in the temperate climate of San Francisco, would we be so enamored with the sounds of ice? If we had to deal with burst water pipes or having to shovel through several feet of snow just to get to the front door or trying to stay warm in bone chilling temperatures, the romance of ice would probably be lost on us. But as it stands, we love the sounds of a frosty winter. Give us the sounds of the windswept Nordic tundra, the subaqueous squawks of Antarctic penguins, the clank of Finnish oddballs building instruments out of ice, and these frigid recordings from one of our favorite sound artists.
Ice, the source material for Matt Shoemaker's contribution to the Ferns series of 3" cds, which seems to be on the way to rivalling Metamkine's Cinema Pour L'Oreille series of electro-acoustics through their set of expressive drones and molded field recordings. This all-too brief composition begins with a stoic set of raw field recordings from drippings of cold water, the crack of ice breaking under temperature fluctuations and pressure, and unsettled squigglings of water being forced through tiny fissures. After several minutes of this squishy introduction, Shoemaker sets forth a parabolic arc of dense gray drones whose frosty demeanor matches the source material. Eerie blasts of pierced electric tones mark the track's crescendo, after which Shoemaker authors a steady retreat in density back towards the dripping and crackle. Fans of William Basinski, Chris Watson, and BJ Nilsen should definitely take note of this excellent recording!
Undeniably, this is a Matt Shoemaker recording. This Pacific Northwesterner has long been a favorite dronologist here at Aquarius with his ominous recordings spawned from electro-acoustic feedback systems, humid field recordings, tonebent mood engineering slanted toward audio hallucinations, dense guitar swarms, and elongated, zoner synth passages that give John Elliott a run for his money. Soundtrack For Dislocation is a self-evident title for Shoemaker, given how his work fractures temporal / psychogeographical planes, teleporting the listener from one opiated mirage to another. His process is just as interesting as the sounds that he produces, as he drives and controls feedback through a system of slinkies that act like something of a hybrid between a stereo spring reverb unit and an omnidirectional microphone, with Russian synths, VCO filters, and noise-aggregators positioned at various points on the feedback loop track. We had once thought that the pre-digital Merzbow recordings had developed into something of an organism that thrived on electricity, had an intelligence that dictated the course of the noise, and begrudgingly entertained a relationship with Masami Akita. Shoemaker's electro-acoustic contraptions seem to be approaching this Frankensteinian, electric organism on par with Merzbow's, although the architects of both projects have very different designs.
Hence, this is not a torrent of distortion, but a vertiginous path of drone, hiss, blur, shadow, grit, and decay. Placid atmospheres shimmer at times with all of the cinematic grandeur of Stars Of The Lid, only to dissolve, mutate, and crumble into hallucinatory slippages where flecks of environmental sounds breaking through, twisting once again into a metallic resonance on par with the most haunting of Nurse With Wound constructions. Thrumming tones pulse into skittering vibrations that build to rupturing crescendos that snap into near-silent voids of disquieting rumble. All of this comes together in another magnificent album from Mr. Shoemaker. Highly recommended!
BACK IN STOCK!!!
Have a glance back at our most verbose descriptions about anything from the avant-garde fringes of music making, and you'll most likely find a common metaphor of specific locations, or rather the memories that the author attributes to that space -- good, bad, holy, abject, transcendent, etc. Upon listening to Spots In The Sun, we find ourselves returning to the well-trod linguistic device of comparing sound to the detached memories of place; however, Shoemaker's exploration of psychogeographic sound never grounds itself upon a specific location -- like a crumbling hospital, reclaimed World War II bunkers, or even his own favored locations of the jungles of Indonesia. Rather, Shoemaker drops the listener into a sunbleached environment, where heat, humidity, jetlag, fatigue, and general environmental claustrophobia prevent any of the specifics to make themselves known. While Shoemaker's landscapes are openly hostile toward the listener, these swarming masses of sound are incredibly alluring, drawing us in even though we may know better than to enter these openly toxic spaces. Shoemaker is always teasing us with small hints as to where we might be, with screeching birds, temple bells, and the patter of rain; but before we can begin to triangulate a position, Shoemaker rips us from our locale with a ruptured crescendo and drops us somewhere else. It is through the drone that Shoemaker achieves all of this and more, his swarming monochrome morphs from complex vibrations into radioluminescent clouds. Spots In The Sun is an exquisite manifestation of abstracted field recordings pushed to the point of grotesque minimalism, and is indeed some of the finest that we've heard (comparable to the likes of BJ Nilsen, Machinefabriek, Loren Chasse, Philip Jeck's Surf, and mnortham).
The music found within Matt Shoemaker's Spots In the Sun certainly makes for one of our favorite records in recent memory, unfortunately this ultra limited version is already out of print and will most likely not be around for long (but fear not, the regular version will follow soon after).
Shoemaker's exquisite manifestations of abstracted field recordings pushed to the point of grotesque minimalism is some of the finest that we've heard (comparable to the likes of BJ Nilsen, Machinefabriek, Loren Chasse, Philip Jeck's Surf, and mnortham), but what makes this "special edition" so unique is the packaging. You may remember many moons ago that The Helen Scarsdale Agency issued an edition of the BJ Nilsen & Stilluppsteypa release with a copper foil cover mounted within a jewel case as the artwork. Well, Matt Shoemaker's Spots in the Sun sports similarly dazzling packaging, a corroded sheet of brass upon which the album text has been silkscreened, only to be slightly distressed in order to give it a beautiful worried quality. How limited is this edition? Fifty, of which we only got less than a dozen. So act fast, or bide your time until the regular version comes out in a month or so...
The music found on Matt Shoemaker's Spots In the Sun makes for one of our favorite field recording / drone based records in recent memory. Even though the ultra limited version is already out of print, the regular version (which is still quite fancy) is finally here. So everyone who missed out first time around gets one more chance.
As we spent more time extolling the virtues of the packaging in the review of the super limited version, now we'll focus a bit more on the actual music...
Have a glance back at our most verbose descriptions about anything from the avant-garde fringes of music making, and you'll most likely find a common metaphor of specific locations, or rather the memories that the author attributes to that space -- good, bad, holy, abject, transcendent, etc. Upon listening to Spots In The Sun, we find ourselves returning to the well-trod linguistic device of comparing sound to the detached memories of place; however, Shoemaker's exploration of psychogeographic sound never grounds itself upon a specific location -- like a crumbling hospital, reclaimed World War II bunkers, or even his own favored locations of the jungles of Indonesia. Rather, Shoemaker drops the listener into a sunbleached environment, where heat, humidity, jetlag, fatigue, and general environmental claustrophobia prevent any of the specifics to make themselves known. While Shoemaker's landscapes are openly hostile toward the listener, these swarming masses of sound are incredibly alluring, drawing us in even though we may know better than to enter these openly toxic spaces. Shoemaker is always teasing us with small hints as to where we might be, with screeching birds, temple bells, and the patter of rain; but before we can begin to triangulate a position, Shoemaker rips us from our locale with a ruptured crescendo and drops us somewhere else. It is through the drone that Shoemaker achieves all of this and more, his swarming monochrome morphs from complex vibrations into radioluminescent clouds. Spots In The Sun is an exquisite manifestation of abstracted field recordings pushed to the point of grotesque minimalism, and is indeed some of the finest that we've heard (comparable to the likes of BJ Nilsen, Machinefabriek, Loren Chasse, Philip Jeck's Surf, and mnortham).
It has been far too long since we've been graced by any recordings from Matt Shoemaker, Seattle's electro-acoustic hermit who sculpts field recordings and electronics together into vibrantly imagined visions of virulent algae blooms, prismatic growths of crystal from magma, and hallucinatory fever dreams from consuming some quasi-mystical, mostly-nausating tea boiled by a madman passing as a sage. His work has never garnered the acclaim that it should in part due to his deliberately low-profile and grotesqueries of composition that vertiginously twist and turn beyond the scope of the drone and conflate the purity of a field recording with mutations and disease. The Late Day Spectrum is the first published work in nearly four years, and the format of choice isn't doing Shoemaker any favors in expanding his audience. But this micro-edition release exhibits a further refinement of Shoemaker's craft with his sheared metallic timbres carved into elegant arcs following downright melodic phrasings, albeit at the stately pace of Morton Feldman's late period compositions. During the four year absence, Shoemaker has wandered the islands of Indonesia, and the gilded hues of gamelan have clearly struck a chord with Shoemaker, who maps similar sounds out of his tangles of wire. Beautifully eerie is this cassette, and we really do hope it ain't gonna be another 4 years til we get to hear more.
In the handful of exceptional records from concrete/drone composer Matt Shoemaker, the field recording has been central to his work. Take the aggregate tumblings of minerals from Groundless or the woozy humidity from Spots In The Sun, Shoemaker's use of the field recording in his pieces is miles apart from the pastoral use of bird songs or a gentle rainstorm to offer something 'natural' for an electronic ambient record. No, Shoemaker amplifies the more threatening aspects of nature with insects emitting nightmarish chorales, beetles aggressively scurrying towards hapless prey, and the air of a landscape so heavy and pungent with decay as to be impossible to breathe. For Shoemaker, the world may be nasty, brutish, and short; but he's discovering a weird beauty way out there amidst the grotesqueries of the world.
On the last two records from Shoemaker, a greater emphasis on synthesized psychedelia shot through his tense drone constructs; so with Tropical Amnesia One, Shoemaker has built an album that's just field recordings, without much of the atypical filtering, gizmos, and effects that turn Shoemaker's studio into a scientific laboratory. All of these recordings came from a two week residency Shoemaker spent deep in the Amazon forest, where silence was never afforded amidst the constant buzz of insects, torrential cloudbursts, and burbling streams all teaming with life. Watery sounds introduce the first 20 minutes to this album with all sorts of sodden creaks, slurping movements, and mud-sucking events amassed together. It's as if the vantage point to Shoemaker's sounds were just below the surface of a stagnant body of water next to a muddy embankment, crawling with leeches, skin-breaching worms, and any other parasitic creature that could come to mind. Shoemaker then shifts his attention for the remaining 44 minutes upward to the tops of the trees, where the insects have conspired to broadcast an ominous nocturnal hiss worthy of horror film sound design. A few insects and birds puncture the swarming noise, making the environment seem a lot less threatening that Shoemaker has contextualized it to be. A powerful, sublime recording, and what looks like to the be first in a series of recordings from the Amazon.
It has been many years since Metamkine has released anything through their highly esteemed Cinema Pour L'Oreille series of electro-acoustic / musique concrete masterpieces; but if they did, one sound artist who should stand shoulder to shoulder with the likes of Eliane Radigue, Luc Ferrari, Jean-Francois Laporte, and Jim O'Rourke would be Matt Shoemaker. If anything, Shoemaker's work has such an intensely cinematic quality as the edits of his sound design snap to and fro in dramatic fashion with static periods for magnetic drone, uneasy field recording, and agitated objects; and this cinematic undercurrent to his work alone would make him a strong candidate. But concepts are only really as good as their execution; and few have the panache of Matt Shoemaker. We recently posted a review of his third album Spots In The Sun, and we had been so taken by the quality of that record that we uncovered some copies of his second record Warung Elusion, which had been released back in 2001 on Bernhard Gunter's Trente Oiseux label. This is an album of sheer sonic abstraction whose sun-bleached, disquieting dreaminess parallels many of those 'lost-memory' albums that we have lauded so many time in the past (e.g. Phillip Jeck, Jasper TX, Tim Hecker, etc.). Yet, Shoemaker is not one to sentimentalize such sounds, rather he presents these flickering sound, erratic crackles, and deconstructed ambience as a reminder of human failings in the memory process. Here, meditation might drift into a lulling stupor in need of hard smack against the ear. It's a blow that Shoemaker is more than willing to impart upon his audience. Highly recommended!
- MPEG stream: I
- MPEG stream: III
Fantastic drones found here! Seattle's Matt Shoemaker has been quietly making some of the best dronemusik over the past decade with little to no aplomb whatsoever. He hybridizes field recordings, modular synthesis, speaker / feedback constructions, psychedelic colorations, and minimalist stasis into forms which grow, twist, and evolve throughout his work. The last album we heard from Shoemaker was his far more tripped out, post-Kosmische zoner album Erosion Of The Analogous Eye; but this live set recorded at the Good Shepherd Chapel in Seattle harkens more to his earlier albums Spots In The Sun and Warung Elusion, which manipulated field recordings into disquieting, grotesque (in his own words) passages of cinematic sound design. Upon introducing an undulating web of sustained tones woven into complex harmonic phrases, dissonant bellows, and lulling hypnosis, Shoemaker gradually introduces a revolving set of field recordings into his mix. At first the tussle and rumble of leaves, mulch, and sticks in the forest give way to a percolating chorus of frogs, probably originating from the Brazilian rain forests given Shoemaker's excursion into the forest through a residency guided by Francisco Lopez. He then embarks upon a slow descension of his magnetic drones into ominous clouds of static and ghostly reflections of grey noise, arching these sounds through harrowing turns as if he were piloting an airplane through that aforementioned rainforest trying not to crash into a cliff obscured by clouds. This is eerie, hallucinatory music for sure, and this release is strictly limited to 100 copies. Highly recommended!
Another marvelous album from Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson, one of the founding members of the Icelandic experimental / electronica ensemble Stilluppsteypa. Generally speaking, the themes of contradiction and tension that run through Stilluppsteypa's recordings also appear in the solo work of Sigmarsson, although he spends much more time allowing all of his ideas to unravel, slowly articulating each sound before offering semiotic and / or acoustical counterpoints. "A Little Lost" opens with a fluttering drone from a digitally enhanced church organ sounding quite similar to the sounds heard on "Ship" his sublime debut for Trente Oiseaux. Flicking in and out of audibility, these drone hamonics subtly couple with a quiet smoldering of static to offer an expanse of lulling sound. Throughout the album, Sigmarsson slowly dismantles the hypnotic atmosphere, first with pronounced lapses of the drones in favor of delicate textural sounds, then through a series of repeated chunks of elemental grit sliding backwards and forwards against the grain of the drone, and climaxing with a tumultous blast of digital noise shaped into offkilter metal riffs which abruptly cut to some drunk yokel barking the alarm call from a German U-boat. Sigmarsson's genius becomes apparant in how he has moved from the calm beginning of the album to this abrasive pinnacle with a self-contained intelligence and sly continuity in sound construction. The album returns to a sense of calm through the final track, a lengthy remix of mutant minimalism provided by Irr.App.Ext, the sorely under-represented project of Santa Cruz artist Matt Waldron. Very, very nice!
Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson is a member of the transplanted Icelandic trio Stilluppsteypa, whose work has evolved over the past decade from avant-rock wackiness to studied drone / glitch work but has always maintained an off-kilter and at times absurdist approach toward their concepts. "Ship" is Sigmarsson's debut solo recording and continues in the minimalist direction that
What a strange and wonderful trip it has been for Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson! Despite a journey that currently extends into its third decade, Sigmarsson's course as an artist has never lost its youthful charm, emotional resonance, and Scandinavian grandeur. Since 1994, he has been the crux for the Iceland outfit Stilluppsteypa. Once, a damaged art-punk trio of drunken Dada noise, Stilluppsteypa effortlessly reinvented itself into one of the more adventurous of glitched, fizzed, and digitally abraded outfits right before the paranoiac lapse of Y2K, only the shed those clothes for taciturn sound design of radiophonic drone and polar spelunking which earned them more than their fair share of exemplary dronological recordings often joined by the esteemed BJ Nilsen. Dotted throughout Stilluppsteypa's catalogue of recordings, you will find a few recordings from Sigmarsson on his own, occasionally reflecting a similar aesthetic course to Stilluppsteypa; but often veering even further towards austere minimalism and colder than cold electronics. The ice that is in Sigmarsson's veins belies some of the summery poetry that he has affixed to his solo work. His early masterpiece Ship ripples with sepulchral organ tones and rumbling frequencies that were in many ways the personal soundtrack for Sigmarsson's excursions of floating in the sea around Rejkyavik, while staring at the sun daydreaming about clouds, girls, booze, etc. What could be better? So Long is an album that began around the same time as Ship, in the form of extracts of luminously dark organ drones whose pools of sound never made their way on to any other recording. Slowly over the years, Sigmarsson began shaping those lumps of aural clay into a somber wanderings of soft noise, gorgeous hypno-mesmerism, radiant black drone, and elegantly subtle melodies buried under six feet of snow. Until, the next Thomas Koner record, we can delight in the heavy drones from Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson!
While the majority of contemporary digital minimalists furrow their brows while contemplating which filter to tweak in order to get the perfect attenuation of a completely inaudible sound, a few practitioners of minimalism have managed to dig a little deeper
The artwork is a series of poorly shot photographs of urban detritus, grimy hallways, discarded plastic bags, refrigerators filled with frozen meat, empty bottles of vodka, children's drawings, and even a portrait of Sigtryggur after an extended bender. Not the most readily discernable collection of images, but provides the sense that Sigmarsson still views himself as the chaos-loving Icelandic punk who founded Stilluppsteypa a decade ago. Match the music and the images with such idiosyncratic titles as "If I Remember, I Have Always Been Certain" or "The Sometime Charm," and Sigmarrson has developed an intriguing set of semiotic puzzles that may or may not have any solutions. When asked by Rob Young of The Wire if his Stillupsteyppa was willfully obscurist, his obvious answer was "In a way we are astronauts, we are filling in the missing gaps." Anyway, this is an album the more than lives up to its title.
Silent Servant's dour techno emerges from the now defunct Sandwell District collective of techno-heds keen on bending the Detroit / Berlin axis to allow for the grim pathologies of Industrial culture and all of its post-punk offshoots to infiltrate the boom-boom-boom of a 909 drum kick. Sandwell's Karl O'Connor is certainly the most vocal, hardlined, and aggressive of the District's members through the brutalist techno that he's produced over the years. His DJ sets are notorious for dropping Whitehouse and other power electronic squalor amidst furiously hard breakbeats. Juan Mendez (aka Silent Servant) strikes a gloomier pose than O'Connor through the Sandwell District and carries this over into the ethereally witched-out Tropic Of Cancer. Silent Servant's Negative Fascination drops from Hospital Productions, whose ghastly noise aesthetic parted once before for Cold Cave's gritty synth pop, making room for head honcho Dominic Fernow to follow suit with his own adventures in rhythm (e.g. Vatican Shadows, Christian Cosmos). If one were to imagine what Dom would want out of a techno record on Hospital, Negative Fascination is exactly what comes to mind - Chain Reaction's dub-inflected heroin house, Clock DVA's cybernetic futurism, and the atmosphere from the mournful dirges of New Order's first album.
A fine grit coats the production of Negative Fascination, and it's something that electronic purists may find off-putting, but it suits the bleakness and dystopian overtures that Mendez injects into his production. Acid-like gurgles propel the minimalist techno thump of "The Invocation Of Lust" and "The Strange Attractor" both of which rise and fall through a complex sequence of churning rhythms and shifting drones. "Temptation & Desire" lifts a taut rhythmic stab straight from The Sisters Of Mercy circa Body Electric and mutates it into a punchy minimal wave number with appropriately coldly theatrical drones hovering in the distant. The finale "Utopian Disaster" is right out of the Sandwell playbook of modulated techno sequencing, Chain Reactive dubby rhythms, and stealth bomber vibes. A fucking great record. (FYI, turntable types: the vinyl version's first pressing sold out, but is being repressed right now, so back in soon.)
All that we get from this label about this here cassette is "debut tape of hushed, lonesome ballads from this haunted bedroom troubadour." There's not much said about the shadowiness that is Vaald Tapes either, although the black noise, impenetrable goth demeanor, and funereal dirge-drones from the label's mysterious artists have all been top notch. Silver Casket's stripped down ballads for dour acoustic guitar impressionism strip away all of the electronic floweriness of Mountains, leaving behind the plaintive spaghetti western motifs spun in some loner's bedroom with only a melodica or a couple of bells to simulate Morricone's flourishes. An atmosphere of futility, sadness, and desolation hangs heavy on these skeletal tracks dripping in reverb, echo, and subterranean vibes; and after the brief 23 minutes of ghostly deathfolk gloominess, we're left wanting much much more. Whoever the fuck this is, keep it up. This is great work! Unfortunately limited to 25 copies of which we have a good chunk of the run.
When the pioneers of techno began laying down their tracks in the mid '80s, the futurist sound of Juan Atkins, Derrick May, and Kevin Saunderson had little to do with the ideals and / or decline of the Detroit automotive industry. The sleek, motorik tracks were reflective of cultural dialogue with German electronics in parallel with a distinct African American science fiction emphasizing racial and class-based tensions. Detroit Techno's incredibly long shelf-life results from the mirage of club culture that emphasizes the new and the innovative while recycling the dominant lexicon of whumped basskicks, ecstatic melodies, electronic minimalism, etc. Those dudes did it first back in 1987 and it still sounds bad-ass. Siobhan (nee Travis Galloway) hails from Detroit and creates his own fucked / Goth-jam techno that has no discernible connection to the prevailing aesthetic of Detroit Techno. These crunchy, lo-fi tracks have none of the sleek production tricks from those Detroit elder statesmen, rather Siobhan takes a guttural, rock approach to production, compressing the fuck out of everything, cranking the tracks into the red, and probably even recording onto tape. One gets the sense that he could be jamming these tracks in an empty warehouse (or nearly empty with a couple of wasted goth-girls headnodding alone this corners) through a daisy chain of guitar amps and recording the result through a single microphone. As rough as that sounds, he's a damn fine programmer - squelchy acid percolations that would make Richard James blush, ghostly melodies channeled from Cold Cave, and potent industrially minded drum programming akin to mid-'80s Ministry, 242, Skinny Puppy, etc. One of our favorite cassettes in recent memory, and it makes for a great introduction to a hitherto unknown musician.
Before Skullflower became a blissed out free drone, psychedelic raga outfit which would eventually morph into the ultra dreamy Sunroof!, they were trolling much darker, much harsher waters. When IIIrd Gatekeeper first came out way back in 1992, it fell right in alongside its sonic brethren, Swans, Godflesh, Pitchshifter, Terminal Cheesecake, Ramleh and all of those industrial dirge rockers. Originally released on Justin Broadrick's hEADdIRT label, IIIrd Gatekeeper is definitely one of Skullflower's finest moments (and quite possibly both Andee and Allan's favorite SF record EVER), a slow murky trudge through a blinding squall of psychedelic guitar freakout, dense swirls of which lurk behind a lurching slow motion bass dirge and pounding near industrial drumming. Each track picks a riff and pounds it into the ground, repeating and repeating until you can't help but be drawn in, while white hot streaks of guitar skree and low end rumble spin around the relentless plodding. SO much heavier and scarier than almost any other record. A bit like a heavy metal Whitehouse, or a more psychedelic Swans. A muddy, filthy, drug drenched metal club to the side of the head. So fucking awesome.
THIS WAS A WAREHOUSE FIND. THIS RECORD IS SOOOO OUT OF PRINT, BUT ONE OF OUR DISTRIBUTORS FOUND A BOX SO WE TOOK AS MANY AS THEY HAD. ONCE THESE ARE GONE IT'S BACK TO eBAY WITH YOU...
Feverish excitement might describe it when we heard that a bunch of crucial early Skullflower artifacts were due for impending reissue! Now they're here, four volumes of some of the most heavy and noisy and extreme "rock" ever. We're highlighting the first two discs (Birthdeath and Form Destroyer) this week, and will do the same with the discs three and four (Xaman and singles collection Black Sun Rising) next time, though they're in stock if you want 'em now.
While Skullflower is virtually synonymous with the madness of Matthew Bower, the project emerged out of a motley bunch of crusty noise merchants including Stuart Dennison, Stefan Jaworzyn, and Gary Mundy. According to the lengthy interview with Mundy in As Loud As Possible on the history of his Broken Flag label, this Skullflower line-up was virtually identical to that of Ramleh at the time, with Mundy calling the shots for the latter and Bower for the former. Both Bower and Mundy came into Skullflower through the UK power electronics / industrial scene with Ramleh and Bower's solo projects Total engaged in the throat gargling vocal shrieks and scorched-earth noise generated through both monikers; yet, by the late '80s, the noise nestled into a primitive bleak psychedelia and a black hearted, riff-heavy brute-rock with very obvious connections to the acid-fried grooves of the early Butthole Surfers and the monstrous hypnosis of Les Rallizes Denudes.
Birthdeath was the very first Skullflower release, originally a four-track 12" released on Broken Flag in 1988. Sometimes this 12" is referred to eponymously, but Birthdeath is the title it has been officially granted for this reissue campaign of the band's earliest recordings. The title song is an apocalyptic plodding rhythmic track with the basslines violently played by Bower who grabs all the strings at once and nearly yanks them from the instrument's neck. A diseased whistling of guitar feedback morosely wheezes and moans behind the primitive bass & drum throbbing dirge, but the band's feral-rock demons really come out on "Grub Song" which debases the already deconstructed sound of Public Image Limited's motorik post-punk into a shit-stewn brainmelt of Sister Ray distortion, bullhorn garbled vocals, and lead-guitar freakouts cranked through a brutal-yet-groovy muscularity. This one song could have established Skullflower's legacy even if they just stopped at this 12" with a lineage from the Stooges through Swans into Skullflower and onto the likes of Aluk Todolo. Thankfully, the band did not stop. In fact, Bower's madness continues on to this day albeit in a very different form. Also, he somehow found six additional tracks of unreleased material dating back to the earliest Skullflower recording sessions. No shit!
This is some serious holy grail reissue action here, a handful of crucial early Skullflower releases remastered, reissued, repackaged, with bonus tracks to boot! We'd been hearing rumors for ages, but they're here now, four volumes of some of the most heavy and noisy and extreme "rock" ever. We're highlighting the first two discs (Birthdeath and Form Destroyer) this week, and will do the same with the discs three and four (Xaman and singles collection Black Sun Rising) next time, though they are here if you want 'em now (and trust us, you do!!).
Form Destroyer. What a fucking perfect name for this record! The title had become adopted as shorthand by David Keenan / Volcanic Tongue to describe the obliteration of rock into noise only to be shaped back into rock with lots of malice and / or drugs tossed into the mix. Maybe it was Byron Coley. It doesn't really matter, now does it? Form Destroyer was the first full length album from Skullflower, released in 1989 on Broken Flag following the Birthdeath 12" from a year earlier. For the most part, these sessions again featured the same rotating cast of characters as on that earlier release - Stefan Jaworzyn and Ramleh's Gary Mundy joining the stalwart Skullflower partners Matthew Bower and Stuart Dennison - with additional insight from Anthony "Ax" DiFranco and Coil's Stephen Thrower.
The rock-primitivism of Skullflower can be traced back to Sabbath, Swans, and the Stooges; but Bower and company intercede the stoner fuzz plod with a muddy miserablism and squallid filthiness. The wah-wah freakouts from Jaworzyn's guitars on "Elephant Graveyard" are mixed into a monochromatic smear of swirling black chaos amidst the suitably grim rhythmic pounding; and the twin guitar corrosion from "Thirsty Animal" lands on the abject side of Sonic Youth's mack-truck riffage circa Confusion Is Sex. The moroseness is felt most clearly on Skullflower's epic "Woodland Death March" with Bower's distorted basslines setting a bleak hypnotic melody that stablizes the cavernously echoplexed guitar explorations from Mundy and Jaworzyn. "Procession Of Eternity" closes the album with a slumping wall of mercury-poisoned freenoise and downpitched subharmonic riffs that looks foward to the viscera churning avant-dooooooom of Earth, SUNNO))) and the like. The cd reissue of Form Destroyer features the two cuts of bad acid trip alchemy that had also appeared on the Ruins anthology from 1990 and two unreleased bonus tracks as well! With the Ruins anthology suffering the curse of cd bit rot, much of this early material from Skullflower has been the stuff of legend. Yeah, it does exist, and it's just as good as everybody is claiming it to be. Form Destroyer is in fact Jim's favorite Skullflower album of all time. (For Andee and Allan though, that honor still belongs to IIIrd Gatekeeper, at least as far as the early SF records, although in a desert island disc scenario, we'd probably try to figure out a way to bring em all!). So absolutely essential!!!!!!!!!
This long in the works reissue campaign has had aQ staff and aQ customer Skullflower nerds freaking the fuck out. Four, count, em FOUR reissued rarities! On the last list, we reviewed reissues of both Skullflower's very first 12"ep Birthdeath, and their first proper full length Form Destroyer, both absolute psychedelic noise rock crushers. But that was only the beginning. Since most Skullflower fans were already super familiar with those records anyway, it was more a chance to revisit, as well as preach the gospel of early Skullflower to the uninitiated. But it's the other two reissues that might be the most thrilling. Elsewhere on this week's list, you'll find a review of Xaman, Skullflower's 1990 second album, one that due to a manufacturing defect found most copies eventually rendered unplayable, and thus essentially unheard for decades. And then there's this one, a singles comp, hopefully the first of many, gathering up three different singles, originally released on Majora, Forced Exposure and Shock, and the crazy thing is, even the Skullflower freeks here, had only ever actually heard ONE of em! So that alone made this totally essential. But in addition to those singles, there are also SIX previously unreleased tracks, as well as Skullflower's three contributions to The Portable Altamont compilation (which also featured such noisy luminaries as Coil, Current 93, Nurse With Wound, and Drunks With Guns), all of which add up to some of the filthiest, noisiest, most pummeling, tranced out, knuckle dragging, psychedelic krautrock-style dirgery you've every heard. Cuz really, for all the skree and crunch, all the noisy churn and caveman pummel, most early Skullflower jams are stretched out hypnorock sprawls, albeit constructed from crumbling superdistorted bass, wild tangles of angular melody and shards of noise guitar skree, and some surprisingly motorik drum bashing...
The only one of the three reissues that's sort of new, begins with the weird choice of starting not with any of the previously released 7" tracks, but instead, a double shot of unreleased rarities, the opener "Night Tripper" as good as anything SF was doing at the time, squalls of feedback, thick, blown out riffage, damaged drumming, yowled, buried in the mix vox, super murky and hypnotic, which leads right into "Kasso's Blues", which is loping and lumbering, a sort of detuned atonal main riff, and some garbled vox wrapped around tribal beats make it sound like some super obscure, super wasted Butthole Surfers jam. The aforementioned single, the only one we HAD heard, is the "Rift / Avalanche" single on Majora, and it's some of our favorite Skullflower, smoldering, brooding, dirgey, but sorta dreamy, a locked minimal rhythm, buried vocals, and then long arced tones, super mesmerizing and so epic, the 'flipside' though is a wild nois drenched heavy psych freakout that looks forward to groups like Rusted Shut. The Forced Exposure single delivers one part noisy Dead C style plod rock freakout, and one part billowing psychedelic space out, while the Shock single is super swaggery and dirgey, the recording muted and murky, total cave like rehearsal style sound, but it suits them, the second half getting downright rocking.
After that, there's the awesomely titled "Bo Diddley's Shitpump" , which might be the most bloozy of the bunch, as is hinted at by the title, but it's more like Pussy Galore style blues, tangled up with some Swans and some Hawkwind, and with a hint of mutated AmRep style bash and howl. "Against Everything (A Guide To Canine Foreskin Retraction)" sounds like a Crash Worship record on Shock, wild dense tribal drumming, wreathed in a cloud of flanged shimmer, wah wah splatter and spidery tendrils of tangled guitar melody, and girded by some strange industrial whirring buried in the mix. "March Of The Lemmings" is all garage blooz swagger, with echo drenched vocals and a thick chugging main riff, even some bleating horns, everything dubbed to high heaven, and then wrapped in a spider web of noise guitar skree, and finally closer "The Punk Rock Song" is about as punky OR poppy as SF get, but they manage to fuck it all up and douse it in just enough noise to keep it interesting...
Holy shit, so much amazing, twisted, noisy sonic genius. As far as we're concerned all four of these Skullflower reissues should have /could have been Records Of The Week, but forced to pick one, it had to be Black Sun Rising. But seriously, who are we fooling, you NEED all four!!!
Nice packaging too, mini gatefolds, printed inner sleeves, and a booklet with reproductions of the original 7" covers.
Wow! The Skygreen Leopards are yet another brilliant facet of psychedelic oddities to shine forth from San Francisco's loose Jewelled Antler collective, featuring the incredibily prolific Glenn Donaldson (Thuja, Blithe Sons, Knit Separates, ex-Mirza,
As with all of the Jewelled Antler manifestations, there's a strong pull by the British psychedelic era, but here far more entranced by druggy, carefree pop songs than the mythologically charged folk scene. The Skygreen Leopards maintain the same wistful, melancholic reminiscence as many of the psychedelic revivalists from the past decade (embraced by such labels as Elephant 6, Creation, and early Spin Art), but have developed a wonderfully playful sense of songwriting. Behind rich guitar leads that have been bathed in colorful, echoplex reverb, Donaldson and Quinn march through acoustic guitar jangles contrasted with breathy vocals floating freely in the distance, sort of sounding like early Pink Floyd or Tyrannosaurus Rex. Like those VHF releases we recently listed, Jewelled Antler is one of those CD-R outlets that is certainly worth checking out, with exceptional music on the inside and nicely conceived artwork on the outside.
We love bands whose music-making formula appears, on the surface, simple and intuitive, yet the sounds they create are huge, engulfing and seemingly complex. Using two synthesizers and echoing vocals, The Slaves inhabit a sound that is as lush and dense as it is mysterious and minimal. Their debut album, Ocean on Ocean, is the perfect showcase of a group that can conjure up bountiful sounds within a restrained approach. Honestly, we can't get enough of Ocean on Ocean, something about those enormous, dreamy, engulfing songscapes just leaves us wanting more. Their oozing brew of minimal pop melts and blurs with the melodic thickness of MBV's Loveless or early Slowdive, but surrenders to a contemplative mode that falls somewhere between Gregorian hymn and pagan ritual. The duo spin a radiant web of sustained vocals and heavy synth, each chord drawn out and smeared into a neon haze while indecipherable lyrics suggest longing, loss and submission to oblivion.�
"Seventeen" unfolds with a slow arching chord progression that grows and dissipates like a coastal tide. Female vocals creep into the oceanic haze while fluttering noise and cosmic wash hover in obscurity. And though the rhythm-less wash may appear to be aimless improv, a close listen reveals a defined structure beneath the veil of long tones and heavy atmospherics. And yes, The Slaves are heavy. And it's not a 'down-tuned guitars through a wall of amps' kind of heavy. It's more evident in the slow movement of the songs, and the visceral effects felt by each musical gesture. The duo have perfectly crafted a searing offering of 'soft doom', so gorgeous and mesmerizing we've had Ocean on Ocean on repeat for the past week. "Shadows" is another noteworthy track. We love the push and pull of heavy synth and whispery vocals, whirls of female voice echo into the night then dissipate into huge swells of HEAVY distorted synth. Crumbling low end amid ethereal dream chants, what else could we ask for?? One of our favorite records in recent memory and highly recommended!�
Last year, when we listed the Paradigms cd of Grey Angel by The Slaves, we lamented that the band had already ceased to exist. They had only produced two full albums (the aforementioned Grey Angel and the currently out of print Ocean On Ocean, which will get reissued on 2lp in early fall 2012) and a mini-cassette, all of which were thoroughly brilliant amalgams of ethereal shoegaze and doom-tinged heaviness, akin to Lovesliescrushing genetically re-engineered to sound like Barn Owl. Fortunately, the declaration of the defunct-ness of The Slaves was indeed premature, as the Portland duo of Barbara Kinzle and Birch Cooper have returned and released this epic lp Spirits Of The Sun for Digitalis! The hiatus (which, seemed to be the result of the, um, romantic disentanglement betwixt the two) didn't change The Slaves' sound all that much, with elegantly fuzzed out synth melodies girding the liturgical, somber heaviness suspended upon the slow-motion crawl of the songs. Both Kinzle and Cooper intertwine wordless vocals around the fundamental tunes, which emote with the best of sound poems from Grouper but also align with plainsong chants from forgotten cathedrals. On top of all of this, they thoroughly smother everything in a beautifully luminescent blur of dream-pop / shoegazed noise. The album's opener "III" explodes with a dense accretion of guitar noise that pops in stark relief against the languid vocal chorales. "River" and "The Field" melt together with "III" to form the first side of the album with its oceanic heaviness of synth and guitar dronescaping. "Born Into Light" is a side long majestic epic that blossoms with much more blistering guitar noise searing through the melodic synth backbone, all of which deflates back to a nocturne of vocal incantations. Totally beautiful and totally recommended!
Finally, we got enough of these to list, the darkly dreamy lp debut of Stefanie Franciotti's hazy and gauzy solo outfit, Sleep Over. A new light in the field of female-led synthesization, a la Laurel Halo and Maria Minerva, Sleep Over is a stunning mix of Grouper's washed out and oceanic distortion, Cocteau Twins-ish pop romanticism and uncanny gothic dream soundtrack. We've been fans of Franciotti since her days as singer in aQ faves, Silver Pines, but in Sleep Over she has found her true calling as an experimental sound composer, synthesizing voice and sound in chillingly bright sonic environments and ambient textures. Gorgeous!
Even though we have yet to review anything on the aQ list from this deep listening black ambient drone technician, most of the drone lovers at aQ were already big fans, how could we not be? Sleep Research Facility, aka Scottish soundscaper Kevin Doherty, specializes in an ultra minimal, spaced out black ambience, weaving sprawling landscapes of hushed thrum and sinister murmur, often manipulating field recordings and processing them beyond the point of recognition, assembling them into bleak, epic, haunting, somnambulant drifts. We were particular taken by this most recent missive, which finds Doherty working exclusively from a selection of field recordings, samples collected from a B-2 Stealth Bomber, at a US Air Force base in the UK, and if there was ever a more appropriate sound source for this sort of hushed sonic mystery, it's the military's most mysterious aircraft.
And while these recordings are obviously not the sounds of the aircraft in flight, it's easy to imagine that this modern marvel of technology was in fact THIS stealthy, emitting just a strange series of hushed rumbles, a deep shimmery thrum, laced with the telltale sounds of radio transmissions, tinny voices from the ether that sound almost like EVP recordings, ghostly and wraithlike. Doherty's manipulations are subtle, weaving the original sounds into gentle pulsations, layering multiple recordings into lush textures, weaving strange sine wave tones and staticky gristle into the proceedings, blurring and smearing everything into hazy, darkly psychedelic sonic shadows.
The mix of abstract low end ambience, and strange transmissions, can't help but remind us of all time aQ fave the Conet Project. It definitely has that same vibe, the clouded provenance of these sounds, the pure musicality of the distinctly non-musical, but Doherty does work his magic, adding subtle swaths of melody, and giving the tracks here, no matter how minimal, a sense of propulsion, beneath the murk and the droned out whir, a barely there rhythmic pulse, while at the same time sculpting the various sound sources into sprawling fields of moody mesmer, a tranced out minimalism that is at once, soothing and darkly tranquil, this record quickly becoming one our favorite records to drift off to in the evening, and yet at the same time, crackling with energy, infused with not just the sounds themselves, but the implied weight of those sounds, borne of this strange machine, one that was devised to inflict violence, the ultimate delivery system for our collective bloodlust, the sounds of which, when at rest, are strangely lovely, albeit rife with a tension implicit in the source, and speak to an alternate purpose, one where this machine, even in repose, becomes less a means of destruction, and instead is involved in the creation of something beautiful and darkly transcendent.
The record proper is accompanied by a second disc, which is the 'source' material Doherty used to create his dark droney vision, and the most interesting thing is how musical that material already is. And while these aren't the raw unedited recordings, they are the 'pre-mix' versions, which are meant to represent those source sounds, and while they are definitely much less processed, they still possess a dark musicality, with much of the grit and gristle of the finished record stripped away, leaving just deep tones, and long shifting layers of thrum and hum and whir, like the record itself, occasionally the true source sounds do reveal themselves, whether it's the clang and clatter of work in the hanger, or the squelched blurts of radio static, but ultimately, the source disc is simply another version of Stealth, one that we actually find equally enthralling. Essential modern dronescaping from this master of the dark sonic arts!
With a name like Slug Guts, you might expect some ugly ultradoooooom from this band, but they express their misanthropy and disgust in another genre, as these punks Slug Guts are in fact Aussie underground garage rock wranglers, swampy and sinister in the grand tradition of Nick Cave & The Birthday Party, also sharing deviant DNA with the likes of Bird Blobs, King Snake Roost, Lubricated Goat, The Scientists, and other degenerate Down Under gutter crawlers of that ilk, from over the years...
We'd first heard 'em on their import-only debut Down On The Meat a couple years back, and are stoked that Sacred Bones have added them to their fine roster for this sophomore outing. Even if we hadn't heard of 'em before, the SB seal of approval (and the band name!) would have gotten us onboard.
Plus we love this sort of thing, being big fans of the bands mentioned above, so we're primed for Slug Guts' insidiously catchy caterwauling and late night, whiskey soaked dirgery. Perhaps not quite so noisy/nasty as Down On The Meat was, here Slug Guts show off their pop side, such as is, the record being a rollin' and tumblin', slow drunkard's stagger consisting of eerie guitar jangle, low-slung bass, and deep, drawled vocals, all bathed in loads of reverb, and menace. Opener "Howlin'" has a bit of a sinuous "Painted Black" vibe and indeed the entire album is cloaked in damnation and darkness.
An obscure project with an obscure agenda. Small Cruel Party was the brilliant / difficult sound project of Key Ransome, who operated in and around the Incubator warehouse in Seattle from the early '90s up until he left for Paris around 2003 when he became a vegetarian chef and shed much of the contacts with his former life. But back during his most prolific periods, Small Cruel Party managed over 30 releases (including a disproportionate amount of seven inches) and contributed to nearly as many compilations. But since he left, nothing. The precipitous cessation of Small Cruel Party can appear to have all of the trappings of Maurizio Bianchi's demonstrative retirement back in the early '80s, but where Bianchi might have cracked under the existential weight of his depressive electronics, Small Cruel Party may have transcended itself out of existence. In a rare piece of text accompanying the almost Dada-ist titles of his pieces, Ransome speculated that Small Cruel Party "... focused on the inherent mysterious and beautiful quality of sound itself, with the emphasis on noninstrumental sound sources, the source itself not being readily apparent. Work generally involves manipulation of physical objects in acoustic space and a great deal of concentrated activity. Even in pieces involving dense sound at high volume the resultant effect is one of intense calm." Even as one hears the haptic sounds from rocks, sand, bells, scribblings, strange whisperings, electrical hums, sodden field recordings, and barren drones, the raw sounds are given over to a ceremonial austerity whose liturgy is completely unknowable. The work is certainly informed by minimalism, but more from a context of sculptural physicality through the barest of materials instead of the musical forms of Phill Niblock or LaMonte Young. A Small Cruel Party composition is often just two or three sonic elements, with Ransome creating subtle shifts in the orbits of those elliptical sounds or mustering an ectoplasmic glow around a formless tone that ominously lifts out of nowhere to the foreground.
Accident In Substance is a wholly impressive document, collecting a bunch of those compilation and seven-inch tracks and presenting them in chronological order based on when they were created (and not necessarily when they were released). The earliest piece "Even The Lives Of Our Grandfathers" may be the most musical with a hypnotic, Terry Riley-esque repetition on a couple of piano notes, Ransome layers such with scabrous textures and breathy whispered utterances devoid of any specific words. It's eerie, beautiful, and sublime. While Ransome eschews the melody on every other track since, that haunted, hidden sensibility strengthens throughout his body of work. Thickets of acoustic noise and thudding rumbles find strange bedfellows with a chorus of handbells on the dramatically intense track "Home Borders" all of which cascade like a grim kaleidoscope of urban refuse. Those same bells blossom into a Ligetti-like swarm of linear dissonace on the blindingly glistening track "Iron Moment." Stuttering electrical pulses murmur as distant beacons amidst the field recordings of unknown actions in dank warehouse spaces on the "Second Honor" and "Ceremonies of Memory." The sense of mystery that hangs on Small Cruel Party's recordings is really something to behold. Our own Jim Haynes claims Small Cruel Party as a huge influence on his rusted sound-art, to the point where one of the tracks on his 2009 album Sever is an homage to SCP. Accident In Substance is required listening for anybody whose been smitten by AMM, John Cage, Daniel Menche, Zoviet France, Organum, Loren Chasse, and Steve Roden. Yeah. It's that fucking good.
Small Cruel Party turns up again, just a few weeks after the release of the impeccable 3cd anthology An Accident In Substance released by Harbinger Sound. As we mentioned in the review of that set, Small Cruel Party was the obscurant sound-art project for then Seattle-based Key Ransome, who applied the grandeur of minimalism to the sodden detritus of his surroundings, creating a brilliant amalgamation of texture, noise, drone, atmosphere, tension, bombast, industrial euphoria, and mystical threat. Three Simple Eyes Of The Insect Ancestor was an early cassette by Small Cruel Party, released by Apraxia in 1992 in a package smeared with wax and oversized sticks that would have surely fallen off merely by looking at it sideways. In a rare piece of text accompanying these recordings (found on the Kaon website, and not the cd), Ransome describes a considerable difference in the sound quality between the original cassette and remastered cd, the latter of which negated the former's overblown mulched sound from faulty replication providing 'clarity' for the murky sounds found within. Ransome admits a lack of memory when it comes to the recording of the first track "Crowd Of Small Things" - but the dank atmosphere that hangs on a mysteriously motorized droning erratically hums amidst a slow arcing crescendo of ever-increasing tactile crunches. If anything, it's an existentially bleak soundtrack to an environmental disaster, with the damp forests of the Pacific NW suffocating under the slow ooze of a bunker oil spill. The second track "Tank Ecstasy Between Floors" features recordings make with the members of Yeast Culture in the reverberant stairwell of the Seattle Public Library. Those huge thumps and klangs from the SCP/YC industrial pipe fights are set against a shimmering stream of aquatic field recordings processed with a dreamy delay & reverb combination. In the final mix, Ransome balances the menace of those heavy-handed, thunderous booms in the stairwell with the rapturously hypnotic calm of the watery recordings. A classic Small Cruel Party strategy that's as brilliant as ever.
A functionally difficult proposition, Small Cruel Party is the defunct sound-art moniker of US ex-pat Key Ransome, who generated a considerable amount of material back in the late '80s and early '90s when he was residing in the Pacific Northwest. His post-industrial / phenomenologically centered work is always tactile with the scraping of found objects, the grinding of wires, the cascade of bells, the whir of some unseen turbine, the rustling of abject garbage strewn in a sodden warehouse. Very little electronic processing seem to go into the whatever Small Cruel Party happens to be recording, just some overdubbing here and there maybe. Unroof The House Of The Fishes was originally a cassette from 1993 on the seminal if obscure Japanese label G.R.O.S.S. curated by Akifumi Nakajima aka Aube. Both sides of this record operate as two distinctly different pieces, with one side quietly rumbling with somatic gurgles, nocturnal thrumming, haunted chanting, and the din of cargo ship engines echoing through abandoned warehouses. It's not far from Robert Ashley's Automatic Writing, though far more ominous and creepy. The otherside is quite a bit more tortured with layering metal-on-metal grinding and deep resonant frequencies with the near constant churn of cobalt black textures scraping against each other. Here, Small Cruel Party's nearest neighbor would be the more scabrous moments of Organum or perhaps the anti-mnemonic compositions of intertwined frequency and texture from Giancarlo Toniutti. Remastered for vinyl by Scott Konzelmann (aka Chop Shop) and features new artwork by Ransome.
We managed to miss this one when it was released a while back in 2005, but we figured we weren't the only ones to let this import cd slip through the cracks. The Bedsit Tapes is the officially released collection of the early demos, escapades, and excursions from the megawatt new wave pop stars Soft Cell. These DIY recordings date back to 1978 when David Ball was attending Leeds Polytechnic, where he made full use of a makeshift recording studio consisting of a couple of reel-to-reel tape decks and a mixing board. Upon wiring up a Korg synth and primitive drum machine, Ball started to make "weird little tunes," one of which caught the ear of fellow student Marc Almond who asked if he could use one of those songs for his performance art shows. The two began refining those electronic blorps and bleeps into arty synth-pop numbers, snarling with contemporary punk energy and technological primitivism. Almond already had developed a charismatic persona, which he jubilantly expressed upon the wide vistas of grandiose theatricality, from the crooning balladeering of "L.O.V.E. Feeling" to the switchblade slashes on the uber-ironic "Bleak Is My Favorite Cliche" to the ominous bark of "Occupational Hazard" and onto the fucked-up delirium of their frenzied cover of Black Sabbath's "Paranoid." Yeah, you heard us right: Soft Cell covered Sabbath!
Given the stripped down arrangements and trial-by-fire approach to the technology at hand, Soft Cell certainly benefited from Almond's larger than life persona. Such is what gave the 'pop' elements of Throbbing Gristle and Reproduction era Human League their iconic status, and it certainly set the stage for the anthemic '80s hits that Soft Cell would produce later on. While many ordinary Soft Cell fans might be put off by the roughness of these tracks, it's precisely that fucked atonality, that avant-punk electricity, that giddy nervousness, those warbled, sci-fi effects and those ominous drones which make us totally dig this collection. Anyone into the whole "Messthetics" scene, and/or the current revival of retro new wave electronica old and new, should also dig.
Ok, bear with us here... Might anybody remember Steve Trecasse? We're guessing the answer is no. He has been a small-time music producer, who worked at a time for MTV way back in the mid-to-late '80s. He was responsible for all of the music on the shortlived MTV gameshow Remote Control, but he also composed the theme song for the first incarnation of 120 Minutes. The show grew into a rather banal rehash of major label sponsored "alternative" music, but the early years had some genuine underground acts showcasing their videos. Live Skull, Swans, Sonic Youth, and Loop were some of the more atypical groups to get their videos on the air, alongside more conventional college rock favorites like The Sugarcubes, Love & Rockets, and They Might Be Giants. But that theme song hedged toward the darker, grittier sound through a throbbing electronic underbelly girding an air-raid siren guitar swarm which was not too far from a Skullflower (circa Birthdeath & Form Destroyer) / Sigue Sigue Sputnik / Joy Division hybrid as bafflingly awesome as that may seem. Another weird piece of trivia about that theme song was that it was performed by Trecasse with Doug Di Franco (who might just be Double Dee, turntablist Steinski's partner in crime) and Josh Braun (who seems to be the same dude who played keyboards in Circus Mort, which was Michael Gira's band before Swans). Anyway, that theme song proved to be more haunting and menacing than anything else that 120 Minutes dared to broadcast. It is a bit strange that a song that good, that dark, and that bleak would make it as a theme song for anything, much less for MTV. While that track is clearly something for somebody to dig up beyond an odd YouTube clip here or there, the fact remains that The Soft Moon has unintentionally arrived at this exact same psychic, sonic environment, nearly 25 years later, in an act of convoluted convergent evolution.
The Soft Moon is the post-punk / minimal wave project fronted by Oakland's wunderkid Luis Vasquez, whose eagerly awaited debut album is the perfect extension of his two teasing singles which emerged on Captured Tracks earlier in 2010. Guitars, bass, keyboards, drum machines, and a whispered vocal delivery all come together in a series of monochromatic, mechanical, and gloomy propulsions that fit within the current resurgence of Factory inspired alienation through sound. Amongst his death disco vibes and downer post-punk dirges, Vasquez has a knack for an icy noise quotient that glides through the springy basslines and taut rhythms. Layers drift throughout each song, building never as anything so garish as a solo, but more as a scabrous doppleganger of the songs arching mood. These are tonebent squalls of atonal screeches exhumed from a lo-fi murk and rinsed in pools of reverb, very much like those really early Skullflower recordings when Gary Mundy and Stefan Jaworzyn provided the twin guitar attack. Where Skullflower had a drug-fuelled nihilism at their core, The Soft Moon is more of an alchemist of gloom, doubling rhythms with staccato electronics and downtuned Killing Joke-ish basslines to what would have been a standard Goth plod. In many ways, it makes perfect sense that The Soft Moon has landed on Captured Tracks, as he's mining the same aesthetic surfaces of Blank Dogs, but where Blank Dogs holds back with a subtle irony, The Soft Moon fully embraces the gloom of this music; thus making this one of the best records of 2010 that everybody will be hearing in 2011. Awesome.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY. [/cat/experimental165.html]
So now the Richard Avedon photo and the Disneyland photos have been blacked out of the cover. Soon enough the planet Saturn, Halley's Comet, and those woolly cows from the Swiss Alps will be threatening legal action, leaving only the typically lurid photo from Richard Kern as the only remaining appropriated image on the cover of Sister, which can be pegged as either the fourth or fifth SY album depending on whom you ask. Sister was first issued back 1987, and the album's lead track "Schizophrenia" is actually an homage to Kim Gordon's brother, who had been afflicted by that disease since his late teens. It's a suitably maudlin track raked with Sonic Youth's quintessential dissonant pop, holding back the dynamic avant-punk swagger that became their signature throughout the late '80s and early '90s. It's a gem of a track, opening the gates for all of frenzied discord and volatile noise-rock to follow, including one hell of a great cover of Crime's "Hot Wire My Heart" and the funhouse fluid psychosis via angular art-punk of "Catholic Block" to the Manson slasher dirge of "Pacific Coast Highway". If you've not picked up this record, you really should. Sister is a goddamn essential album.
Soror Dolorosa is a band that will confound many of those trolling the internet for any number of '80s deathrock / darkwave obscurities. You could easily slip Soror Dolorosa - with its Goth name, its monochromatic artwork, the theatrical vocals, the rhythmic savagery - next to the likes of Christian Death, Specimen, The March Violets, and The Virgin Prunes, and none would be the wiser. Of all the '80s references to make, Clair Obscure (while very well, obscure) is probably the closest, if that French band had been much better in grafting songs to match the ritualistic deathrock throb.
The biggest surprise here might not in fact be that this is new and not some archival eighties lost gem, but that it is in fact the project of Nuit Noire drummer Andy Julia, who has also played in Peste Noire, Mutiilation and other grim black combos. None of which would at all prepare you for the glorious cold wave miserablism found here, Julia has such a distinctive croon, and the band conjure up such an amazing batcave new wave gloom, it sounds like it has to be from the eighties.
The guitars shimmer and chime, the bass is thick and throbbing, the drums are simple and propulsive, the sounds is spacious, lots of reverb and delay, but it's all about the vocals, a mournful dramatic croon, somewhere between Ian Curtis and Andrew Eldritch. In fact, this totally channels the spirit of the Sisters Of Mercy, as well as the Virgin Prunes, the Fields Of The Nephilim, the Cure all that awesomely epic gothic darkness we grew up on.
But as we know, it's easy to just emulate a sound, any band can sound like their favorite band of old, that phenomenon is responsible for at least several scenes and sounds. But that music, that classic sound, is as much about songs as it is about sounds. We often lament, that songwriting seems to have been supplanted by the mere act of being in a band, of making the right noises.
And it's in that way that Soror Dolorosa stand out from all the other cold wave wannabes, they write amazing songs, filled with incredible melodies, hooks galore, the basslines as memorable as the vocal lines, dramatic, intense, personal, emotional, the vocals oozing with pathos, the songs themselves rife with parts and pieces that are incredibly catchy, when the vocals drop out, you're still hearing them in your head, you find yourself humming along to the bass, or slipping away from the vocals and getting lost in the shimmering reverbed riffage.
The whole record is fantastic, but opener "Beau Suicide" is maybe one of our favorite cold wave jams ever, past or present, so dark and driving, with a main riff to die for (the sort of riff Interpol has spent their whole career trying to come up with), a cool jagged angular guitar freakout midway through, an incredible and impossibly melodic bassline, and one of the coolest, most intense, and unforgettable vocal lines, so good. Just this track gets played so much in the store it's beginning to feel like the aQ theme song. Then there's the nearly 12 minute closing track "American Chronicle", a lilting, super dramatic gloom pop epic, with long stretches of dour drift, the guitar unfurling gorgeous echoey melodies, the vocals more emotional and anguished than anywhere on the record, which is strange, since the music is perhaps the prettiest and most melodic.
Needless to say, absolutely required listening for folks who like their pop gloomy, their eighties revivalists depressive and dark, and who count any of the above mentioned bands in their personal pantheon. And while we love the current revival of lo-fi new wave goth garage pop, Cold Cave, Blank Dogs, Gary War, Zola Jesus, etc... Soror Dolorosa has supplanted them all and now seems to be the record we can NOT stop listening to.
Hmm. There's no point in really "reviewing" Spacemen 3 records at this point. They're surely one of the top 10 greatest bands to ever exist and even with their influence touching so many bands everywhere, no one - NO ONE - sounds like Spacemen 3. They just got it in ways other bands couldn't. Simple as that. It sure is great to have the band's Glass Records output, their first three full lengths, available on vinyl (some nice 180 gram vinyl to boot) for the first time in God knows how long. They look amazing in their heavy duty sleeves, and after years of absorbing every molecule of the shitty looking Taang Records cd versions, seeing these records as they were initially presented puts things into perspective even more. They just look so classic, so timeless, and so many years later, it makes perfect sense why we felt like we uncovered some secret portal when we discovered this band. Any song they ever did is the perfect soundtrack to any moment of any or every day.
Sound Of Confusion was the band's first statement after building up a repertoire for a few years. It's their most aggressive record and even though the future was full of surprises, it is the album that set the template for how most people will describe Spacemen 3: loud droning guitars, a minimal but intensely psychedelic approach that is almost violent in its focus, and of course, an inseparable cloak of drugginess. Lyrically, you just can't fuck with songs like "Losing Touch With My Mind" and their mindblowing cover of Juicy Lucy's "Just One Time", retitled as "Mary Anne". The album contains three originals, and three amazing covers that manage to become originals, and a sort of original/cover hybrid. Everything Spacemen 3 did is worth your time, they're definitely an appropriate band to get obsessed with, so why not start at the beginning?
Spear is a Polish post-industrial / dark ambient ensemble who appears to have picked up where the nearly forgotten Cranioclast left off with their cryptographic adventures for linguistic puzzles and deep dronescapes. Amidst glowing ripples of prepared contrabass, tape reversed bells, time-stretched ambience, and fluidly sustaining reverberations, Sapphire Flower maps out a metaphoric narrative that delves into the weighty topic of the twilight between life and death, through the sporadic intervention of computer manipulated voices. The pace of the album is suitably slow and funereal, but never gets too heavy-handed or ghastly partly due to Spear's dedicated emphasis upon the construction of crystalline electro-acoustic droneworks. Thus, the music tells the majority of Sapphire Flower's story rather than the text itself.
Certainly fans of Biosphere and the more subtle atmospheric work of Current 93 / Nurse With Wound would do well to check this out.
The last time we heard from Mike Haley, it was in the guise of Wether on Monorail Trespassing, offering up a headsplitting noise cassette of powerdrone synths and sawtooth aggression. Here, recording under the moniker Spectrum Tickets for Hooker Vision, Haley dials those electronics into a glimmering pop ambient type of ethereal drift that certainly does muster favorable parallels to Hooker Visionary Rachel Evans' solo project Motion Sickness Of Time Travel. The stabbing John Carpenter arpeggiations are central to his science fiction electronica built out of swooshing fundamental drones with Radiophonic / Oneohtrix melodic flourishes, peppered with burbling electronics and strange fuzzing static. There's just enough paranoid android in Haley's electronics to keep things interesting, making this tape recommended for anybody whose enchanted by the like of Rene Hell, Oneohtrix Point Never, and much of the oddities found on NNA Tapes. As with all Hooker Vision titles, this one is super limited.
Spiracle's 20 minute composition Iris was actually released well over a year ago, but Clouds Of Static has been dormant ever since Mnortham abdicated his position as the artistic director for the label. It's a real shame, as there were some real gems which might have come out on the label, with recordings by Murmer and John Duncan and talks of reissuing the brilliant first cd-r from Of (aka Loren Chasse). Yet, none of that will probably come to pass; and it was quite possible that the remaining stock of what was released through Clouds Of Static may have languished in some Swiss castle (quite literally) for years. Fortunately, we were able to uncover a few copies of Iris by Spiracle (aka Hitoshi Kojo, whose collaboration with Maurizio Bianchi is reviewed elsewhere on this list). Taking cues from David Jackman's arsenal of growling harmonics from bowed metals, Ellen Fullman's long-stringed instruments, and Akio Suzuki's impeccable ear for tactile events, Hitoshi offers a dynamic drone composition of compacted layers of acoustic sound with slowly scraped strings amassing into a sustained drone made porous by tumbling fistfuls of sand poured out upon the floor and a weirdly compelling flanging bellow. We only got a dozen or so of these in; and we don't plan on storming any Swiss castle anytime soon, so these few copies are probably all that we'll be able to get!
Anyone familiar with the Vinyl On Demand label is probably well aware of how utterly amazing their releases are, how well researched, gorgeously packaged, and of course how limited and difficult to track down. We managed to get three titles, all of them amazing, we only have one copy of each, and wanted to give some of our mailorder folks a shot and snagging one of these. So a brief description follows, and we only have a single copy so first come first served.
SPK, Industrial legends. This over the top, already out of print box set is a doozy. Compiling recordings that document the band's first 5 years, the box includes 6 lps, all housed in printed numbered sleeves, collecting several long gone tape only releases as well as a handful of live performance. Also included is a shirt, with the same image as the box, size XL, a 36 page booklet, all housed in a gorgeous hinged wooden box.
LIMITED TO 800 COPIES. OUT OF PRINT. WE HAVE ONE SINGLE COPY! On your mark, get set, go...
Simply put, this is a weird-as-hell, warped, late night, difficult-listening 'trip' for all you AQers looking for truly strange atmospheres... Okay, first things first; Spoonbender 1.1.1 is not a side-project of I Am Spoonbender. The duo of Dustin Donaldson and Cup (of AQ!) consider Spoonbender 1.1.1 to be a self-contained project that ventures outside the 'populist avant-tronics' of I Am Spoonbender into the realms of sidereal soundtrack music, the transmission of ideas through subliminal means, manifestations of "third mind" techniques, and the non-logic of chance operations. Okay, not so different on paper, but put another way: there are no drums, singing, or 'songs' in the 1.1.1 project. The Stereo Telepathy Academy cd-r documents Spoonbender 1.1.1 live in SF while performing with (appropriately enough) Psychic TV.
The J.G. Ballard-esque text was taken from David Cronenberg's 1969 student film 'Stereo', a faux-documentary detailing the work of a Dr. Luther Stringfellow, which concerns surgical procedures for the advancement of telepathic communication, while the visuals came from 'Crimes Of The Future' (another Cronenberg film, which transpires in an urban dystopia populated by pedophiles and oozing victims from a female-eliminating cosmetics related catastrophe). As creepy and sterile as the images were, we have to say that its Canadian-ness was positively charming, somehow. Spoonbender 1.1.1 composed a musical accompaniment for these texts and images to a third film whose identity is both unknown and irrelevant. As Donaldson announces in the introduction to this performance / recording (a sort of 'Wizard Of Oz/Dark Side Of The Moon' for telekinetics), Stereo Telepathy Academy features "text taken from one film, overlaid on images from another, and the audio score was written around a different, third film... the results appear to be intentional". In this score, Spoonbender 1.1.1 lunges ominously forward with an otherworldly radiance of slow motion electronic pulses and melodies that retain an even darker hue than that of Klaus Schulze, Coil (e.g. Coilans / Time Machines), and Alan Splet, who are probably Spoonbender 1.1.1's closest sonic neighbors. Given the nature of their intense, masterfully detailed sea of electric sound, Spoonbender 1.1.1 hedged their bets that Cronenberg's pseudo-scientific spoken text would situate nicely against their audio. And indeed, this freakish document of prepared-chance context, atmosphere and appropriation works exceptionally well.
Special handmade packaging comes with a single white glove (as seen in the film) for your edification.
PLEASE NOTE: In keeping with the numerological-binding-of-3 theme, there will be 3 released versions of Stereo Telepathy Academy, all with different packaging (versions 2 and 3 will be non-cd-r, and on a proper label, with pressings of 333 and 3 copies respectively). Available here at AQ exclusively, this first version is limited to 111 cd-r copies only, so you know what to do!
