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Glacial drones, beautifully sung songs by/about a notorious killer, thousands of buzzing bees and a death metal cameo...all are elements of this gorgeous and bizarre soundtrack to one of the weirdest and biggest budget art/film projects ever, Matthew Barney's million-dollar "Cremaster 2".
We were lucky enough to get a hold of some copies of the rare soundtrack composed by Johnathan Bepler. For the most part, Bepler layers multiple atonal church organ chords with varying effects that tweak the underlying sound. The Mormon Tabernacle Choir makes an appearance as does some digitally bent country twang. But the mindblowing highlight (both here on the cd and in the film) is the massive blastbeat provided by ex-Slayer drummer Dave Lombardo as Morbid Angel's bass player and vocalist Steve Tucker sings into a phone while cloaked in bees, who also contribute much buzzing to the wall of sound.
Barney's "Cremaster" series is arguably the most important work to emerge from the artworld in the past decade. To discuss in depth Barney's convoluted symbolism and bizarre Lynch / Cronenberg / Greenaway imagery would take up far too much space even for this increasingly verbose new arrivals list, but we'll attempt a brief introduction for the uninitiated: Barney's sound / film / installation pieces are poetic and difficult allegories, centered on the growth of human sexuality and its psychological implications. "Cremaster 2" is actually the fourth in a five part series (the order went 1, 3, 5, and then 2), and is, quite crassly put, a really good dick joke. More critically put, Barney abstracts the life & times of the serial killer Gary Gilmore to portray an archetype for a pre-linguistic male figure who lacks the super-ego control over the id's proclivity for sex & violence.
Music has always played an important part in the Barney work, and Jonathan Bepler's score for "Cremaster 2" certainly does its best to support Barney's complex visual elements. If you haven't seen the film, this soundtrack will make you want to.
Hot shit musique concrete found here! There are so many stuffy compositions and constructions that look back to the salad days of tape experimentation in the '50s and '60s. Works can get so conceptual with each sound being meant to allude to some particular phrases of Beckett or recapitulate the Merz of Schwitters that the interplay between this found sound and that electronic blorp is totally lost amidst a dull and boring concoction that serves little more than an execution of a grant application. This is certainly not the case for Canadian composer Nicolas Bernier, whose dexterous yet ominous concrete album has landed in the good hands of Hronir, a label which has a small catalogue of brutal collage artists (e.g. Sudden Infant, Raionbashi, GX-Jupitter Larssen) to accompany more oblique voices from the academic world. While Bernier's work isn't nearly as toxic as those jackbooted noiseniks, his compositions are wholly discomforting, and we mean that in the best possible light. Within the avant-garde pantheon, Bernier's work follows that of Michel Chion and Luc Ferrari doing their finest work, through dynamic juxtapositions blurting concrete sounds (bellowing car horns, steam engine growls, leaden explosions, etc) against unsettled atmospheres and spackled dronings that start and stop with a series of repeating punctuations not unlike the strategy that Nurse With Wound mastered on Homotopy To Marie. He's aware of the cinematic urge for acousmatic works, and pushes "Les chambres de l'atelier" towards a Lynchian noir with a soft-focus melody warbling in the background to a series of crunched abrasions and eerie footsteps, ruptured by ghostly noises. Excellent, through and through! Limited to 300 copies as well.
It's a mystery how we managed to miss the previous recordings from the British ultra-minimalist Keith Berry, because if there's any justice in the world, he should be mentioned alongside such blue-chip drone artists as William Basinski, Thomas Koner, Bernhard Gunter, and Akira Rabelais. Yeah, his work is that good! He's got the sublimely romantic melodicism of Basinski, the glacial pacing of Koner, the hushed restraint of Gunter, and, um well, he's got a copy of Rabelais' legendary Argeiphontes Lyre software in his repertoire. But Berry is no mere aggregate of previously mined aesthetics, there's plenty to his work that speaks of his own beliefs and agendas which all draw heavily from Zen philosophies. While Berry's previous work The Golden Boat (Trente Oiseaux, 2003) and The Ear That Was Sold To The Fish (Crouton, 2005) were both exceptional releases (with the Crouton album easily being the best smelling record of 2005!), each of Berry's albums makes small adjustments that add up to an improvement and refinement of his sound; thus A Strange Feather stands out a remarkable achievement. Like all of the previously cited composers, Berry's fundamental structure is the drone supreme into which he bends field recordings, subtle instrumental arrangements, and small tactile events. Like falling snow, his dreamy work drifts with a poetic chill and tranquil hypnosis through which peripheral elements tease the listener with subtle details. It's so damn beautiful; and oh yes, the double cd version is very limited to 100 copies of which we only have a handful!
It's been way too long since Keith Berry has put anything out. The last time we had one of his records in stock, it was the impeccable 2005 album The Ear That Was Sold To A Fish, which was housed in an oversized box filled with fragrant flower petals. On that album, Berry's somber ambient constructions looked forward to the hauntological wash of Leyland Kirby, but also ran parallel to Thomas Koner's isolationism and the miniscule musicality of the later works of Bernhard Gunter. There had been rumors of an album to appear on The Helen Scarsdale Agency; for reasons unknown, the album never surfaced. Outside of a compilation track here and there, this British artist has kept a very low profile until this breathtaking album, released as a part of Elevator Bath's ongoing series of picture discs. Berry presents five extended pieces of soft-focus ambience, whose elegant suspension of sound gently bends along a majestic orbit with huge expanses of sounds undulating with ghostly melodies transmitting from way back behind Berry's dense fog. Where Kirby imbues his work with a maudlin strain, Berry's casts an eye into heart of the sublime. Something beautiful is afoot here, and at same time, the feeling is darkened and just unsettled enough. Let's hope that it's not another 5 years between albums, as Berry is too good a composer to be forgotten about! Limited to 233 copies.
In case such a declaration matters in the grand scheme of things, The Ear That Was Sold To A Fish is my (Jim's) Record of The Year for 2005.
That said, there is a unique facet to Keith Berry's impressionistic masterpiece that I cannot fully enjoy. You see, I have a very limited sense of smell. I've always blamed it on my pyrotechnic stunts during my college days when I would light my paintings on fire; and as grandiosely stupid as this made me look, the sensorial failings of my nose is more the result of genetics than anything I could have done to it. So when I opened the box for the first time to Keith Berry's The Ear That Was Sold To A Fish, I got a small tingle as something perfumed and pleasant drifted from the contents of the box, which contained not only a CD and booklet but also a delicate pile of dyed flower petals. Those of you who are not sensorially damaged might be able to place the scent; but I simply cannot. Regardless, Berry (with the help of the fine folks at Crouton Records) engineered an amazing feat: an album with a fragrance.
For very obvious reasons, the smell-o-rama trick is not what attracts me to the record; it's the seductively restrained compositions for quiet flickerings, muffled rumbles, and whispered reverberations that truly captured my imagination. Berry defines his work through the teachings of Zen Buddhism and Sufi poetry, striving for an artform that could "unlock the mechanisms inside one's mind that leads to enlightenment." In doing so, Berry begins with a series of unremarkable sounds which fall somewhere in the hushed white noise territories, possibly including the sound of a gentle spring shower or the empty spaces on shortwave bands. He molds these hisses, crackles, and shadows into subtle repeating forms which do, in fact, lend themselves to any number of images, metaphors, and ideas. Given that he landed his debut album on Trente Oiseaux, Berry's work falls in the lowercase school of ephemeral electronics alongside Steve Roden and Bernhard Gunter; but there is an antiquated tactility to his albums which hint at the same temporal netherworld as heard in Philip Jeck's avant-turntable melodramas.
Given the packaging constraints, The Ear That Was Sold To A Fish is strictly limited to 300 copies.
The Ear That Was Sold To A Fish was released back in 2005 by Jon Mueller's now defunct label Crouton, and it came packaged in slightly oversized cardboard box filled with dried flowers drenched in a silken perfume. While devoid of this smell-o-rama trickery, the much-needed reissue of Keith Berry's masterpiece of hallowed drone does come with an unreleased body of work as a bonus disc, which is just as good of The Ear That Was Sold To A Fish.
Here's what we had to say about the album way back when, and these words still ring true today: Berry defines his work through the teachings of Zen Buddhism and Sufi poetry, striving for an artform that could "unlock the mechanisms inside one's mind that leads to enlightenment." In doing so, Berry begins The Ear That Was Sold To A Fish with a series of unremarkable sounds which fall somewhere in the hushed white noise territories, possibly including the sound of a gentle spring shower or the empty spaces on shortwave bands. He molds these hisses, crackles, and shadows into subtle repeating forms which do, in fact, lend themselves to any number of images, metaphors, and ideas. Given that he landed his debut album on Trente Oiseaux, Berry's work falls in the lowercase school of ephemeral electronics alongside Steve Roden and Bernhard Gunter, but there is an antiquated tactility to his albums which hint at the same temporal netherworld as heard in Philip Jeck's avant-turntable melodramas. These seductively restrained compositions for quiet flickerings, muffled rumbles, and whispered reverberations truly captured our imagination.
Not to be confused with a track on his Twenty Hertz album whereby he instructs the listener to veer left, Turn Right A Thousand Feet From Here is a far more nocturnal album than The Ear with its enveloping shadows, snowblinded mirages, and slow-motion tumbling of obfuscated noises into half-melodic passages. One would be forgiven for thinking these recordings to be a lost Thomas Koner record around the time of Kaamos or Daikan. Both discs are completely mesmerizing and come with our highest recommendation.
Long in the works, this weighty box set represents the complete recordings of Harry Bertoia - the furniture designer, sculptor, and sound artist who produced eleven albums in the late '70s all of which were released on his own Sonambient imprint, many of them posthumously, as he died in 1978. Bertoia first achieved acclaim for his mid-century designs for furniture which were formed through lattice works of welded thin steel rods, first commercially available through Knoll and later through Herman Miller. These same thin steel rods became the principle materials for his scultures, many of which featured hundreds of vertical rods mounted to flat bases that would waver and crash into each other with a force as delicate as the wind. The sounds produced by these sculptures are eerie and hallowed - with dense billowing clouds of rich, psychoacoustic overtones and slow decay on the long sustained tones. He produced numerous variations on these sculptures, many of which had made their way into art museums (where they will never be played, only looked at... how fucking sad); and he housed much of his personal collection in a barn near his Pennsylvania studio. This is where all of these Bertoia recordings were made. Throughout the '80s and '90s, the Sonambient lps slowly disappeared from circulation, and in the wake of artists like Andrew Chalk and Alan Lamb generating similarly sublime compositions, Bertoia's work became all the more timeless. Beautifully remastered from the original tapes and housed in a handsome box with 114 page book filled with images, interviews, and expository texts.
It's finally here, the debut from Cali sunshine retro poppers Best Coast, and as much as all the internet hype might make you want to think otherwise, it's just as good as they all say. The seven inches we've heard definitely already had us hankering for a full length, and as much as we dug those singles, the band has benefited big time from some serious production upgrade, the sound on Crazy For you finally realizes their potential. All the comparisons to Spector's wall of sound and sixties girl groups, now totally make even more sense, the sound here is totally timeless, fuzzy and reverby, like a treasure trove of rare sixties 7"s, but at the same time lush and lustrous and subtly modern, the guitars warm and liquid, and the vocals, wow, Bethany Cosentino manages to channel every torch singer and chanteuse that she was ever inspired by, her voice rich and smokey and passionate, every line sung with such conviction, the songs melancholic and wistful, a heartbroken longing infusing the sad songs, a pure unfettered joy, and enthusiasm for all the little things, sunshine, love, friendship, oozing from the happy ones, the drums simple and propulsive, the background vocals soft focus clouds of oooohs and aaaahs, Bobb Bruno's understated guitar parts sealing the deal, mirroring the vocal melodies but occasionally spiralling off into soft psychedelic swirls, and the songs, the songs are so good, catchy and fun, and dreamy and heartfelt, and like the sound, totally timeless, opener "Boyfriend" is an instant classic, the melody utterly beguiling, the perfect encapsulation of what Best Coast do so well, right down to Bruno's minimal leads, which perfectly compliment Cosentino's harmonies, the soaring chorus, and the simple propulsive rhythm that drives the song. "The title track is another practically perfect summer pop gem, more jangly and driving, like a sixties girl group jam as interpreted by vintage Unrest, more oooh and ahhhs, and plenty more hooks. The whole record is overflowing with perfect pop, with summery vibes, everything you could possibly want from a feel good pop record. And while they last, we have the version that tacks on the bonus track "When I'm With You", the closest thing the band has to a 'hit', a woozy, soporific intro, quickly exploding into a gloriously infectious pound, the main melody so awesome, and the chorus, a stone cold killer, the harmonies, the arrangement, the fuzzy guitars, the drums, everything. Perfect. Yeah okay, we totally love this record. Like crazy, and we're pretty sure you will too.
The bloodletting goth-punk of LA's Bestial Mouths is likely to find black-clad company with contemporaries like Zola Jesus and Chelsea Wolfe, but this outfit harnesses a creative dualism between voice and drums that's a unique take on what Siouxsie and Budgie had done so brilliantly for so many years in the Banshees and Creatures. Vocalist Lynette Cerezo shrieks, barks, and howls between the operatic vibrato that reaches for the atavistic bellowing that's something of a cross between Diamanda Galas and Rozz Williams of Christian Death. Ebrahim Saleh's percussion is hardly the death-disco that's so often heard from goth drummers, but more of a splattercore punk likened to a No Wave version of Crass regressing at times to caveman pummelling. Christopher Myrick's synths fill in the blanks, and often do get upstaged by the spiralling dynamism between Cerezo and Saleh with all of their car-crash stops and thunderous stomps. Where many of the songs on Hissing Veil are short sharp blasts of feral energy, Bestial Mouths settles into an effectively infernal dirge that's equivalent to Lydia Lunch ripping apart The Cure's Pornography and leaving the parts ugly and abused in some forgotten alleyway. A great addition to the Dais catalogue of recordings!
The last time we remember Maurizio Bianchi (who often referred to himself as MB) producing a good record was back in 1984 when the Italian industrialist produced Armaghedon. After he released that cold cold record of neurally fused electronics, Bianchi infamously quit making music and declared himself a Jehovah's Witness. The transition for a man who produced records alongside Whitehouse and Nurse With Wound toward a fringe contingent of Christianity certainly draws one's attention to the work that he made immediately before this conversion, as the bleakness of the sounds take on grand epistomological references. It was assumed that he was never going to make any music ever again; however in the late '90s, Bianchi returned to music, only to produce some of the worst New Age ambient drivel we'd ever heard. These records were so incredibly bad that when labels ballyhooed one of his records as something as good as Carcinosi or Endometrio (universally considered his best and most devastating recordings), we were more than a little skeptical, thinking back to the lame New Age outings.
Thank God, we gave Psychoneurose a listen, as this record is so spectacular that perhaps we will be searching out some of those other records to see if they are as good as they were claimed to be! Is Psychoneurose as good as the aforementioned Carcinosi / Endometrio dyptic? Well to be perfectly honest, no; but Bianchi and whoever the hell Land Use is have really done well in returning to the all-encompassing, utterly blackened, subterraneanly frigid, nightmarishly grim, soul-crushingly bleak, death-shroud ambience that Bianchi had produced back in the day. Expansive, Frankensteinian drones constanly broadcast a black energy, marred with tactile corrosive noises and synthetic twitches which could only be made by the same anaglog technology of Bianchi's classic recordings. So until those aforementioned albums come back in print yet again, Psychoneurose holds its own as a worthy substitute.
The mission has been terminated, once again. Without giving any reasons, Maurizio Bianchi has given up producing music. Of course, this is not the first time that Bianchi had ceased operations, as he famously disappeared from sight around 1984 after a frenzy of releases beginning around 1978. Those albums, in particular Symphony For A Genocide and The Plain Truth, as well as William Bennett's antics on two early MB records released on Come Organisation, secured his status as a heavy weight of Industrial Culture alongside Throbbing Gristle, Nurse With Wound, Ramleh, and Whitehouse; and the demonstrative cessation only served to buttress his mythology. But by the late '90s, Bianchi began recording once again, gradually returning to the frenzied pace he set during his earlier peak of activity. Unfortunately, the new work has not always been up to snuff, as he didn't seem to turn down any collaborative offer and didn't seem too interested in the finer points of editing his content. BUT, there have been some real gems amidst the chaff.
Hence, we announce Das Platinzeitalter. A quintessential Bianchi construction, this album meditates upon the minutiae of crumbling systems, returning to a common theme of Bianchi's classic period -- the cancerous body faced with a slow demise through ancillary pathogens. His sounds are blackened ambiences culled from stacked grey-smear loops and elongated ashen drones, some of which have been purported to originate from Jozef Van Wissem's lute recordings, although you'll be hard pressed to find anything lute-like in these shadowing sounds. Ominous. Grim. Foreboding. Oppressive. Neurotic. These are all apt descriptions to Bianchi's best work; and those all apply here, but with the strange twist that this ambience is somewhat contemplative, as if Bianchi's death-obsessed soundtrack is more of an enveloping invitation instead of a scream of horror.
This 2lp was originally released as a cd on Van Wissem's Incunabula a couple years back, and now appears on vinyl courtesy of Weird Forest in a modest edition of 500 copies.
We've long championed the work of Maurizio Bianchi, the grim electronic sculptor whose work in the early '80s paralleled the likes of Whitehouse, Ramleh, and Matthew Bower's early power electronics project Total. As much as we would like to ramble on about Bianchi's intriguing musical and existential history in reference to this record, it's almost a moot point as it's really hard to discern any sounds that bear the signature of Mr. Bianchi. Don't let that caveat scare you off from checking out this thoroughly amazing blur of noise, drone, acoustic tumult and electronics; but we have to be completely honest. No, it doesn't sound much like a Bianchi record; instead, the real author of the final mix of The Epidemic Symphony No. 9 is the little known Japanese sound artist Hitosji Kojo (who also records as Spiracle). If there's any justice, Hitoshi / Spiracle shouldn't be "little known" for very long. In fact, he should be heralded as the viable contender to replace David Jackman / Organum as the king of the droning acoustics. And no, none of the guttural drone expressionists who splatter cd-rs with quickly rendered cosmic exasperations come close to the power that Jackman was capable of in the '80s. But Hitoshi Kojo does.
Like Jackman, Hitoshi's work is a dense compounding of layered acoustic textures, each of which are impeccably recorded and carefully positioned within the stereo field. In working with the source material presented by Bianchi and Nobu Kasahara (another obscure Japanese sound artist who has collaborated once before with The New Blockaders, giving some clue as the cacophony he's capable of), Hitoshi continues this strategy of precisely placed sounds which are then given plenty of opportunity to growl, rumble, vibrate, and bristle however they see fit. Where the first lengthy track steadily builds up to a crashing crescendo that abruptly cuts to silence, the second track exhibits some of what may be Bianchi's sounds -- a return to the Sacher Pelz techniques of varispeed tape and crushed turntable clatter which Hitoshi compounds into rippled acoustic shimmer. For the finale, Hitoshi blurs the source material into an industrial chorale marked by a surprisingly elegant two-note melody. Highly recommended!
Here be the sad sounds of drowning. This Ohio-based pair has quietly amassed an intriguing catalogue of digitally treated dronemusic and manipulated field recordings, with Vryashn being maybe the best so far, oozing with a gorgeous subaquatic melancholia. Aside from all of their sound design tricks, the piano is the central instrument on Vryashn with its notes stretched and elongated into sinewy tones. While the treatments are quite similar to what Brian Eno did on Thursday Afternoon and to what Jonathan Coleclough achieved on Period, Bible and Henry attack the piano with much greater force through their heavy handed arpeggiations on the lower register keys. When wrapped into the slow-motion whirlpool of oceanic reverb and and cyclical drone construction, the brooding notes of the piano sound as if they are the last notes being played by some madman trapped on the ship slowly sinking into the depths of the Black Sea. Tactile bits of organic scrapes and cracklings sweep across the stereo field and dissolve into the ever deeper and blacker void of the waters below. Like Gavin Bryars' similar opus on oceanic collapse, The Sinking Of The Titanic, there is a sublime beauty to these sinking sounds. Recommended, for sure!
Utter obsession with a particular artist or style of music is, of course, something we're familiar with... and fully in favor of. In the case of the oft-praised by us Holy Mountain label, such obsession has lead to some quite amazing discoveries and reissues in the field of Japanese psychedelia, for instance, among other Holy Mountain specialties. This release, too, is the result of obsession, and it's been 10 years in the making. We remember way back, when Holy Mountain head honcho JW, before he had his label (he used to work at one of our suppliers), would rave about the vinyl-only 12"s of French "shuffletime" techno producer Fred Bigot (pronounced Bee-joe we assume). According to JW, Bigot's electronic tracks were in fact utterly psychedelic. And they were. Fuzzed out, raw and repetitive, hypnotic with their shuffle (schaffel) rhythms. We never forgot 'em, and neither did JW/Holy Mountain, who now finally presents the 4 cuts from Bigot's two 12" singles circa 1999 and 2000 on compact disc, along with 4 more tracks, one of 'em from a 2001 comp, the other 3 presumably previously unreleased. Definitely a bit of a 'dream come true' for Holy Mountain.
You may also know Bigot in his -other- guise of Electronicat, who has put out a lot of records we also like. But while Electronicat provides a playful dose of T-Rex style glam and glitter, and even rockabilly, with campy vocals and wah-wah guitars making appearances, upping the glam angle immensely, in comparison these tracks under Bigot's own name are stripped down, minimalistic, and without the more bubblegum elements. Imagine instead Pan Sonic, but with more of the synth-psych spirit of Christine 23 Onna. On the original 12" cuts, it's all about the mesmeric shuffle throb, the distorted crunch and scrunch, the almost drone-like repetition. (We like repetition. We've said it before, we'll say it again.) Definitely good headphone listening, or to be cranked LOUD on your home stereo. And then some of the tracks here, not from the 12"s, aren't even beat-oriented at all.
For starters, there's the intro sine-whine of opener "Chant", pretty abstract and clinical. Then, it's shuffle time, as that's followed by the one-two punch "Mono" and "Stereo" from Bigot's first 12", both tracks crude 8+ minute throb-a-thons, like followed by the equally effective cuts from his second 12", "Binary" and "Ternary", which adds glammy handclap sounds into the mix. Seeing as how getting those two crucial 12"s on cd is worth the price of admission alone, hitting repeat and playing those four tracks over and over again is certainly an option, but when you do continue on with the disc, there's further treats to be found. Next up, a change of pace with the void-ian atmospheres of the windily desolate "Extinction", full of spacey rumble. Then, bang, "Lr-Yz" is another monomaniacal, mesmeric cruncher in the tradition of the 12"s. Following that is "Outside", a 10 minute track suggestive of field recordings, with electronic sounds like crickets chirping, something like Ryoji Ikeda conducting a nighttime nature sounds symphony, but one that speeds up nervously if that's wasn't enough. And then, "Symmetriad" ends the disc, combining the distorted throb of the 12" cuts with the more haunted ambience of the likes of "Extinction" and "Outside". So it all kind of appropriately comes together, and for a collection of tracks not originally intended as an album, this actually adds up into one surprisingly well, a unified vision with a bit of variety. Maybe 'cause all the tracks, recorded in Paris and Berlin, were made with the following only: "Roland TR808 + Rat distortion + Waldorf filter + Sherman filter + Lexicon Jamman". We don't know... but we do like it, can't get enuff. Big ups to Holy Mountain for bringing these Bigot tracks back!! That old obsession never let go we guess, and pays off for all of us now.
Glenn Donaldson has been incredibly active lately in a number of San Francisco psychedelic / improv outfits (all with records out on the local Jewelled Antler cd-r label), including Thuja, the Knit Separates, the Blithe Sons, the Sky Green Leopards, Youth
Currently a faculty member in the Center for Contemporary Music at Mills College, John Bischoff has been composing music with computers and electronics since the mid 70s, and has always focused his compositions towards malleable forms that best suit live performances. Within this context, Bischoff seeks to position the construction of sound far beyond the common perception of synthetic music as a mere simulation of the intrinsic sounds of traditional instruments. Instead, Bischoff qualifies his work as the realization of a "reflective intention," where he determines sonic structure not only through the predetermined elements which go into a piece, but also through the active process of listening to the music as it happens and responding accordingly. During the '70s when programming involved crude systems of binary code, Bischoff's vision of the possibilities for computer-based composition fused to performative agency seemed implausible; yet in hindsight, his artistic imperatives were incredibly prescient of contemporary tools such as the nearly omnipotent audio synthesis language Max/MSP, which has been at the core of Bischoff's recent work. An aptly named set of compositions, Aperture opens the possibility for multiple readings through a series of diverse techniques ranging from additive synthesis to FM synthesis to sampled-based processes. Each of the pieces on the album was recorded in real-time with no overdubs. Aperture introduces itself with clusters of samples that sprawl with the deliberate pacing of Morton Feldman's later period, yet Bischoff renders what might be recognizable citations of a piano or percussion as pointillist condensations of digitized pixels and precise plastic details. Over the course of the following pieces, Bischoff unleashes coarse streams of electrons which flange and pulse within the caustic firestorm of divergent timestretching, giving the impression that Bischoff is quite literally tearing the fabric of sound. Bischoff also offers a collaboration with Kenneth Atchley and complements the oversaturated physical noise of Atchley's water fountain sculptures with short digital articulations that ride on the top of Atchley's dense textures.
This is Bischoff's first recording in quite sometime, and has been well worth the wait!
Having recently left the obscurant electronica ensemble Stillupsteypa, Icelandic transplant Heimir Bjorgulfsson has wasted no time in starting up some new projects. This collaboration with Swedish installation artist Jonas Ohlsson was commissioned by Extrapool - an arts residency program which, in conjunction with Staalplaat, gives two likeminded artists unlimited access to a really nice recording studio for a week and publishes the results as a limited edition CD. While Bjorgulfsson's work is certainly a known quantity through his numerous solo projects and the AQ-endorsed Stilluppsteypa albums, Ohlsson has primarily been active in the Northern European gallery scene, executing willfully sloppy installations of consumerist excess, punk-as-fuck attitudes, and that post-ironic sentiment that's so fashionable in San Francisco galleries these days. That said, Ohlsson's resume cites some training in electro-acoustic compositions and he also seems to have a taste for Acid House. In their condensed studio session, Bjorgulffsson and Ohlsson have produced a surprisingly diverse album, splattering through fractured techno beats, at times strangulated into Matmos-esque noise-funk and others into the classic Sahko sound with frigid shards of electricity cascading down upon taut rhythms.
Most everything in the Brombron series has been quite good, and "Unspoken Word Tour" is no exception.
The powerbook has pretty much replaced the razor tape splice as the primary instrument for musique concrete, and Heimir Bjorgulfsson's laptop has been a extra busy machine in expediting this transference from old to new. Outside his work in AQ-faves Stilluppsteypa, Heimir has produced his first solo recording, this cute 3". An alien array of mutable clicks and pops corrode a digital arena where the high frequency damage of Ryoji Ikeda meets the hypnotic malevolence of John Duncan. Very good!
We've been super obsessed with this killer slab of grim, blackened, nocturnal, techno minimalism, a dread fueled sprawl of bleak electronica and droned out sci-fi industrialism that's even more remarkable as it's the first Black Rain release in 18 years!!
Black Rain mastermind Stuart Argabright is hardly a household name, yet the man has an impressive catalog of high-caliber recordings along an axis of futurist / cyberpunk / darkly post-punk electronica dating back to the late '70s. His first fruits were in the form of the Factory sponsored Ike Yard, whose gloomy electro-dirges followed in the wake of the No New York contingent, followed by some far more club-oriented projects including the one-hit wonder Dominatrix and the eccentric Death Comet Crew (working with the pioneer of Afro-futurism, Rammellzee). Black Rain was the band that Argabright began with fellow DCC-member Shinichi Shimokawa in 1992 or thereabouts, and was originally commissioned to draft the score for a film version of Johnny Mnemonic. Despite his long-standing friendship with Phillip K. Dick, the Black Rain tracks were scrapped in favor of a high-budget Hollywood score after Keanu Reeves was pegged for the lead. After Blackest Ever Black pressed up a short-program lp 2010 of that soundtrack work from the early '90s (all of which had appeared on the Fifth Colvmn cd entitled 1.0), Argabright returned to the Black Rain moniker, possibly with Shimokawa at his right hand again.
Dark Pool continues the thread of tense cyborg-electronica crafted through those nixed Johnny Mnemonic soundtracks. The introductory track features a spoken word preface from Sean Young (best known as the android Rachel from Blade Runner) amongst a flurry of electrically screeching birds, extending the P.K. Dick allusions. Dystopian electronic shadows and hauntological drones brace much of Dark Pool, with Black Rain snapping into rhythmic passages of taut pneumatic samples and polished-machine drum programming. "Xibalba Road Metamorph" is a track that Dominick Fernow could only dream of producing as Prurient or Vatican Shadow, hammering its electro-static pulses with iron-fisted brutality and cold-blooded precision. The aptly named "Data River" spills out clinical beeps and drill-hammer rhythms on par with the sterility of Mika Vainio's Metri or any of the Raster Noton folk, with toxic drones of any villainous techno track lurking in the distance. Black Rain does pull the rug out from under us on the final track which rockets forward with a modern-day Moroder-esque tension, all dynamic arpeggiation and teeth-gritting electronic suspense only to abruptly cut the power, marking the end of the album. If we were to apply the cinematic, gothic / sci-fi allusion that this albums begs for, then this coda marks the unexpected termination of the android protagonist. Achtung! Bang! Click. End.
As of late 2008 and early 2009, there's been some serious hubbub over Slumberland, the stalwart indie label of Brit-inspired, shoegazing bliss pop, thanks to a couple of kick ass records from Crystal Stilts and Pains Of Being Pure At Heart. So a revisitation into perhaps the quintessential Slumberland outfit seems appropriate. Black Tambourine was a shortlived project featuring two of the guys from Velocity Girl, a chanteuse named Pam Berry, and Slumberland label boss Mike Schulman. They only released three singles, contributed a track or two to compilations, and played less than five shows before breaking up in 1991. Go figure that Complete Recordings anthologizes all of these tracks plus an unreleased single.
Black Tambourine's songs begin as jangly, melodic pop which gets tousled about in a blur of amplifier distortion piled onto reverb piled onto more amplifier distortion and just a little more reverb. Yup, it's the same wonderful sound that was also broadcast from the Shop Assistants, My Bloody Valentine (circa Isn't Anything, well cuz Loveless hadn't been released yet!), Jesus & Mary Chain, the Pastels, and almost any given band on Creation circa 1988. But no matter how great that all consuming shoegaze sound can be, the band has gotta have good songwriting chops; and Black Tambourine had 'em for sure. At times, there's that ramshackle quality of good old American DIY indie pop, but for the most part, the songs are effortlessly catchy and melodic with a swagger pushed forth by Pam Berry's reverb drenched and melancholy vocals. Still sounds great after all these years!
Back in 2007, Mike Sniper started recording again, after digging out the 4-track he had back in high school that he hadn't used in about a decade. Since then, Sniper has been on a tear with his one-man darkened fuzz-pop machine Blank Dogs, earning him a whole slew of invitations for records, singles, cassettes, and whatnot. Admittedly, we didn't catch wind of Blank Dogs until his amazing album The Fields arrived on our doorstep just in time for Christmas 2008. So we've dug up the On Two Sides LP, a vinyl only edition which Blank Dogs released on Troubleman earlier in 2008; and damn, if it isn't a fantastic album as well.
On Two Sides may be more of a paisley punk pop record for Blank Dogs; but fear not, there's plenty of bouncy goth references to take us back to The Cure and Joy Division. Just think Head On The Door and Love Will Tear Us Apart as the pinnacles of conveying mopiness within a bouncy dark pop song. Sniper's spiky guitars are often coupled with springy basslines that really seem to hybridize Simon Gallup of The Cure and Peter Hook of Joy Division, as the bass often dictates the melody while the guitar lends to the atmosphere. In doing so, these songs enjoy a manic-depressive teen angst meets teen freedom vibe, but made all woozy as if buzzed from that first ever nicotine rush. Given all of the cheap electronics, tinny drum machines, trebly distortion, and overblown fuzz that are especially applied to the indecipherably garbled vocals, Blank Dogs also share plenty of that fucked-up demented pop genius that Ariel Pink and John Maus seem to have monopolized in recent years.
Really fantastic stuff!
Everyone at aQ is super open minded when it comes to music, we all love all kinds of sounds, but each of us definitely has our favorite, our specialties, whether it be black metal, or indie rock or drone or post rock or power pop or whatever. So when a record shows up that has *everybody* freaking out, that's usually a sign that said record is something special, and in those cases we definitely try to mark the occasion by making that record our Record Of The Week.
Such is the case with The Fields by Blank Dogs, or should we say Blank Dog singular as this is a one man operation, some cat named Mike Sniper who for the last few years has been practically gushing limited cd-r's and tapes and short run releases, most so limited that for most of us, The Fields is our first real exposure to Sniper's gorgeous woozy lo-fi new wave, and new wave is really what this is, whereas a lot of the other Blank Dogs releases were super noisy and abrasive, The Fields is hooky and catchy and jangly, total perfect gloom pop, albeit drenched in plenty of tape hiss and amp buzz. Equal parts The Cure and Joy Division, huge fuzzed out downer basslines, simple drum rhythms or programmed beats, all wreathed in thick swirls of murky effects, fuzzy clouds of bloop and bleep, synthesizers spewing squiggly melodies, or unfurling thick undulating ribbons of warm buzz, and then the vocals, deep and drowsy, weary and worn, a mournful croon, super emotional and darkly evocative, all of those parts stitched together into haphazard perfect pop gems.
It's a super short record, seven songs in twenty minutes, but it's darn near perfect, the opening bass line and drum part are total Cure worship, all gothy and gloomy, with an irresistible hook buried in the mix, the deep main croon balanced by a weird processed almost falsetto, fucked up effects careening all over the place in the background, smoothly segueing into "Now Signals" the indie mixtape hit of the year if there ever was one, a sort of Interpol meets Magnetic Fields by way of Sebadoh, a simple guitar jangle over woozy synths, and a sweet sad boy vocal, until it shifts gear into a killer super rocking, heavy guitar bridge, that slips into a warm, almost heavy chorus, before returning to that lo-fi jangle and shimmer of the verse.
"Passing The Light" has a wicked blown out buzzy bass line, that would shame Interpol, the Joy Division melody strung between a constellation of glistening effects, the vocals dripping with delay and reverb and distortion, and again, all wrapped around a wicked hook. The last few tracks get almost frenetic, and mix in some classic pop era Eno into the moody new wave gloom, finishing things off with the weirdly ebullient "Spinning", that manages to glow and pulse with energy while retaining plenty of the rest of the record's glorious downer doompop vibe.
Of course this is on Woodsist, which has been on a roll lately releasing one amazing gem after another: Crystal Stilts, Wavves, Pocahaunted, Meneguar, and now Blank Dogs!! Even though we're only a few weeks into 2009, there's no doubt this disc will find its way onto lots of folks year end lists!
Cold winds hardly ever blow in the sunny climes of San Diego, California; but that city is the home to the goth-cult, dirge-punk duo Blessure Grave whose grim, icy moods certainly match any of their contemporaries like Zola Jesus, Former Ghosts, Blank Dogs, or any of the more grim tones pushed forward by Wierd Records. It's true that many of the current crop of post-punk and minimal wave revivalists are triangulating their sounds through very specific references. Zola Jesus' operatics harken to Diamanda Galas but with a very DIY grit about her arrangements; and Blank Dogs really enjoy a good Joy Division bassline, and who could find fault with that? But it took a while to place the exact references that Blessure Grave evoke. Alien 8 offers Killing Joke, Death In June, and The Cure, all of which are close, but not quite familar enough with Blessure Grave's dungeon claustrophobia and dour expressionism. To us, Blessure Grave suggests a Frankensteinian construct of the grim and twisted. On one side, there's the glum goth-punk band Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, and on the other there's Michael Allen from the early '80s when he founded the quixotic post-punk bands Rema Rema, Mass, and The Wolfgang Press.
Judged By Twelve, Carried By Six is the debut album for Blessure Grave, following an acclaimed 12" for Captured Tracks, a split 7" with Cold Cave & Crocodiles, and a couple of tiny edition cassettes, creating quite an underground buzz around this band. All of Blessure Grave's songs are skeletal in nature, built around rumbling basslines, moody synths, minor key guitar melodies, booming vocals, and tons of chorus & reverb. The vocals from T.Grave on "Stop Breathing" bellow and chant in an untrained, art-punk manner, that pretty much follows the mannerisms of Mick Allen in his early days. And those drum machinations of the band do recall the Lorries, guiding the darkened, claustrophobic tunes along a militant lockstep. "Open Or Shut" is a bit more expansive through the slower plod that the band takes and the expressive guitars that alternate between an anxiety provoking drone and languid moping."A Thousand Drums" is downright frantic in all of those drum machine pulses sputtering behind the barked vocals and excessive reverb. "Hope For The Worse" is probably the closest that Blessure Grave come to anything off of Unknown Pleasures with the spiked guitar lines and galloping rhythms, although Martin Hannett would have made such a track sound completely different... and not the lo-fi, naked expressionism and sometimes atonally brutish constructs found here. This homecrafted grimness is certainly one of Blessure Grave's many strengths; and we're already eager to hear more!
Loren Chasse, proud owner of a brand new cd-burner, began the Jewelled Antler label as an outlet to release small cd-r pressings of a variety of warbled psychedelic projects that have spun-off from his bands Thuja and Knit Separates. The Blithe Sons is the first such release, featuring Chasse and Glenn Donaldson (from Mirza as well as Thuja / Knit Separates). Despite hailing from San Francisco, Chasse and Donaldson have tapped into a vein of melancholic UK psychedelia which runs from the Wicker Man soundtrack through to the early instrumentals of Eyeless In Gaza and the pensive sounds of Richard Youngs. While Donaldson's expressive guitar lines are central to the Blithe Sons arrangements, the album's uniqueness is found in the production work which often positions the quiet instrumentation in the pronounced foreground making the songs so intimate, as to seem played right inside your ears... or brings in some quite textural noises (very common to Chasse's solo sound investigations and manipulated field recordings) as a 'duet' with the melodic lines of the guitar. Very nice work! Based on this, the next Blithe Sons release deserves be a "real" cd release on a proper label (although the musical quality, beautiful packaging and reasonable price of this release shows that cd-r labels are sometimes quite worthwhile).
The Japanese/Italian trio's last album Fake Can Be Just As Good should have been the album Sonic Youth made right after Daydream Nation. Fortunately, their latest album proves that they are no longer a Sonic Youth rip-off band. And for that matter, what they've grown into is quite something to behold. On In An Expression Of The Inexpressible, the band's fourth full length, lead female vocalist Kazu Makino has honed her pipes into a distinctly expressive wonder... taming its former shrillness into something very childlike and otherworldly. Noisy melodies of angular guitars, modest keyboards, and a tight rhythm section come across as desperate yet beautiful epics. Very highly recommended.
The Japanese/Italian trio's last album Fake Can Be Just As Good should have been the album Sonic Youth made right after Daydream Nation. Fortunately, their latest album proves that they are no longer a Sonic Youth rip-off band. And for that matter, what they've grown into is quite something to behold. On In An Expression Of The Inexpressible, the band's fourth full length, lead female vocalist Kazu Makino has honed her pipes into a distinctly expressive wonder... taming its former shrillness into something very childlike and otherworldly. Noisy melodies of angular guitars, modest keyboards, and a tight rhythm section come across as desperate yet beautiful epics. Very highly recommended.
The Body Lovers was the first project that Michael Gira established after dissolving his stalwart abject rock ensemble Swans. For this project (which presumably will be a trilogy of albums, if the title is an indication), Gira has chosen to concentrate on the production techniques which culminated so magnificantly on Swans "Great Annihilator" album - dominated by epic song structures built out of increasingly dense tape splices of archetypal Swans' rock grooves. Here, Gira has all but done away with the song (leaving that for his folk etherialism on Angels of Light) in favor of a beautifully ornate if nervously bleak drone album. Multiple layers of sustained organ chords resonate violently against each other as distant choruses of Branca like single note guitars and anguished non-linguistic chants build in intensity, sounding very much like a claustrophobic and highly controlled version of Hermann Nitsch's monumental Aktion pieces.
The Body Lovers was the first project that Michael Gira established after dissolving his stalwart abject rock ensemble Swans. For the Body Lovers, Gira had chosen to concentrate on the production techniques which culminated so magnificantly on Swans' Great Annihilator album -- dominated by epic song structures built out of increasingly dense tape splices of archetypal Swans' rock grooves. Here, Gira all but did away with the song (leaving that for his folk etherialism on Angels of Light) in favor of a beautifully ornate if nervously bleak drone album. Multiple layers of sustained organ chords resonate violently against each other as distant choruses of Branca like single note guitars and anguished non-linguistic chants build in intensity, sounding very much like a claustrophobic and highly controlled version of Hermann Nitsch's monumental Aktion pieces. When this record originally came out in 1998, Gira announced that the Body Lovers would produce a triology of recordings. Unfortunately, this never came to be. Instead, Gira produced a single second disc of malcontent noise as the Body Haters which was the result of 12 hour studio session fuelled by alcohol and amphetamines. Here they are together, as they should be.
You might not expect a band featuring former members of Whitehouse and Sutcliffe Jugend to sound a bit like some twisted noiserock hybrid of old Today is The Day, the crushing bombast of the Swans, and the ominous brooding doom and gloom of Joy Division, but that's precisely what Bodychoke conjure up on this, their long out of print final album, circa 1998, now reissued by Relapse.
We always assumed we didn't like Bodychoke all that much, the other records we heard we really not that good, and their version of "Painted Black" was even left off the tUMULt comp featuring multiple version of that iconic song, but holy shit has this record knocked our fucking blocks off. There's plenty of noise for sure, jagged and processed and crumbling and crunchy and blown out, but noise is just one element here, the band in full on noise rock / post rock. Unfurling low slung bass lines, jagged riffing, some cool complex drumming, the arrangements super dynamic, the vocals slipping from ominous deep Michael Gira like croon, to strangled punkish wail.
Opener "Control" pretty much has it all, beginning with a weird cacophony of fractured fragmented noise, the band soon slip into a minimal bass groove, before the guitars kick in and lock in with the snares, the song transformed into a brooding almost Angels Of Light sounding jam, until the chorus, which EXPLODES, and the noise from the beginning returns, wrapping the churning loping crush in a swirling field of feedback and crumbling grit and grime. It's just so intense and heavy and weirdly catchy, and so much better than we ever remember Bodychoke being.
And so it goes, the rest of the record continues to display a sound that's almost more slow building post rock than noise, but most of the tracks are laced with heaping doses of caustic crunch. There's also a cello player in the band, who offers up some gorgeously moaning ambience, and subtle strings here and there. Many of the tracks spread way out, sprawling lugubriously, expansive minimal post punk soundcapes, skitter and whisper, burning slowly until the song is engulfed in tangled riffage and wild tribal pounding, and even the noise, it's so deftly crafted and well placed, it's hard to imagine anyone into heavy music being put off at all, it's just like another layer of heaviness, another level of dynamicism, it's weird, we all had the exact same response when this record came on. "Oh I don't like Bodychoke", but gradually, it seemed everyone was listening to this, ALL the time, even now, as this is being written, not only is it playing on the stereo in the back room, but also in the store, this record just slays. So dark and heavy and brutal and melodic and epic and AMAZING. Based on nothing but how often this gets played in the store and how often we've listened to this since it came in, we're beginning to think maybe we should have made this Record Of The Week, so consider this an EXTREME highlight, and thus overwhelmingly recommended!
Boards of Canada fans take note! Outside of solipsistic IDM circles, Bola has, for the most part, been forgotten due to the overwhelming popularity of Boards Of Canada -- an electronica duo just as good as a Bola who got the fortunate break of landing on
Also, a word about the cover art -- it's so beautiful that several of the AQ-staff bought it on vinyl just cos it's so gorgeous. Since the designer is not credited, we'll just assume it's the Bola folks who put together these incredibly detailed, full color illustrations of fantastical insect-like creatures that have been created by careful collaging of imagery seemingly lifted from under the sea or inside the body. Just great looking!
We will soon have two versions of this album on vinyl -- both are nice gatefolds holding two lps. The cheaper one is black vinyl, the $24 one features two gorgeous pictures discs. You may reserve copies.
A film version of Strange Lines And Distances has made the rounds at some of the established film festivals around the globe for the past few years; and now Experimedia offers the video documentation of the piece along with an edit of the soundtrack specifically rendered for vinyl. Bonnetta's work is conceptually driven (and is exceptionally well executed), based upon the first wireless transmission that Marconi broadcast from one side of the English Channel to the other. Out of this single transmission, we not only have a lineage that begets radio then television then cellphones then iPhones then 'the cloud' and onto whatever the next means of immediate communication may be on the horizon; but we also have all of the miscommunications, hidden messages, lost transmissions, EVPs, numbers stations, alien voices, and any other tech-gnostic renderings of the machine as a telepathic device communing with the divine. Bonnetta's piece is a suitably eerie score of shortwave radio drones and oceanic field recordings, compositionally reflecting Marconi's notion that the radio transmission does not actually disappear but just becomes incrementally fainter. As such, Bonnetta's audio sensibilities owes a considerable amount to the long-shot works of Alan Lamb, Jim Haynes, Thomas Koner, and BJ Nilsen. The video work operates on a simple, yet effective conceit with two channels of video representing both sides of the Channel. The video was all shot on 16mm film and maintains a muted color palette of wintery grays and cold blues as Bonnetta tracks through both landscapes which hold numerous environmental similarities, tied through Marconi's idea that his first wireless transmission is still bouncing back and forth between these two sites albeit infinitesimally faint. It's a really beautiful piece of work; and not surprisingly won a handful of awards. The lp contains extended compositions of the soundtrack, a very lengthy piece of critical analysis of the work, a dvd with the film itself, and digital downloads of both the video and the audio. Whew!
Borg is a suitably anonymous project based out of Brooklyn, which has released two albums to date on Phaserprone. This is the first album, which was originally released back in 2007 and was thought to be out of print until Phaserprone uncovered a small (and we mean small!) stash of these for Aquarius. Dark, very dark techno that sounds like Chain Reaction heroin house as played through the Wolf Eyes suitcases of analog electronics and industrial stomp rhythm machines. Spooky atmospheres and really creepy samples from horror movies seem to emerge behind every bassbin crushing beat and every stalking bassline. This one is even better than Borg's 2009 I:A album, due to the shroud of darkness that envelops Borg's electronics. Just buy it. You won't regret it.
Here, Dark Entries reissues the terminally obscure second album from the Slovenian minimal-wave quartet Borghesia. The band formed in 1982 during the death throes of the fractious Yugoslavian republic, operating in a liminal space between the art world and the underground punk scene, through their own club Disco FV. During these early years, the quartet produced video installations and performances alike, with the sound design being an instrumental, hard-edged variant on new wave sensibilities. By the mid '80s, the project stripped down to a duo and took up a sweaty DAF-inspired muscularity of industrial funk. But here on Clones (originally self-released as a cassette in 1984), we find Borghesia doing their best work. All instrumental trax of hypnotic, pulsing electronics with some very forward thinking 808 drum programming that foreshadowed the reductionist strategies of Detroit electro and techno, albeit within a context that favored the darker sounds of The Human League and Soft Cell. The A side features spry and punchy tracks with plenty of elliptical arpeggiations and ramped up BPMs, whereas the B side is more pastoral and slower, sporting an eerie, melodic homage to Cindy Sherman. Clones, indeed!
It has been far too long since we've heard anything from Jonathan Coleclough. So long in fact that we probably need to refresh some of our readership on this stalwart British drone artist, whose name alone became a shorthand for mesmerism that deftly balanced dissonance with sympathetic tones and a subtle use of melody drifting ever so slightly within a narrow band of frequencies. Yup, that's what Coleclough delivers; and for many years now, we've cited his work as the gold-standard of dronemuzik, with perhaps Tim Hecker as the only other experimental musician to get cross-referenced in more instances. Those lovely tones and eerie metallic shimmers that enamored us to Coleclough are firmly entrenched on this album, which also features some other pretty heavy hitters. Colin Potter is another British experimental chap whom everyone should know, not only because he's responsible for working on some of the best Nurse With Wound albums (e.g. Salt Marie Celeste, Thunder Perfect Mind, etc.) but also because he's crafted some intoxicating electronic albums over the years of kosmiche brainbending and full-thrum minimalism that would give Manuel Gottsching and Coil a run for their money. Hitoshi Kojo is the Japanese drone-minstrel who has alternately worked under the solo moniker Spiracle and in the duo Juppala Kappio, slipping between the glassy acoustic mantras of Organum and the freak-folk ragas of most any album on Fonal. Paul Bradley may be the least well known contributor, here; but this British drone musician has done exceptional work over the years with both Potter and Coleclough in various guises.
This album was recorded back in 2006 in Colin Potter's former studio, which literally was a water tower with all four parties conjuring their various shadow-clad drones, shivering phase patterns, spectral frequencies, and lonely textures. Water Mountain feels very much like a thoughtful Conny Plank production in which an organic dreaminess flows through all of these sounds, which seem to be transmitted by each individual through whatever means, and effortlessly molded into a eerily blissed out drone album. Watery gurgles, bowed metal trills, and crumbled soil stain the sparkling hums and stretched occlusions throughout both discs, gliding in and out of hallowed, church organ minimalism, tectonic rumblings, and one blustery crescendo of atomically cracked distortion that fires up near the end of disc one. Altogether, this is a magnificent set of recordings and one that will pull Coleclough back into the public spotlight by hook or by crook. Super limited pressing of just 250 copies.
Good grief, we've never listed this??? Every once in a while we realize when such an oversight has occurred. Thankfully, we've got this new vinyl reissue to review. This album, originally released in 1971 (that's right!), the debut from Swiss krautrockers (I think you can call 'em that) Brainticket, is simpy one of the freakiest, LSD-trip inspired slabs of groovy mu-sick ever. Up there with Funkadelic's Free Your Mind And Your Ass Will Follow, even.
The first two tracks on side one, "Black Sand" and "Places Of Light", ease you into it, being laidback groovers laced with stabs of distortion... then the true "trip" begins, the utterly over the top, three-part "Brainticket", that starts on side one and spreads over all of side two, dense and propulsive and repetitive, with orgasmic female vocals and all kinds of intense psychedelic throb. It's the perfect soundtrack to goin' completely mad. In addition to wah-wah guitar, organ, flute, tabla, and sci-fi electronics, there's layers of musique concrete "samples", tapes of rainfall, clanging bells, clattering trains, cheering crowds, all sorts of chaotic noise panic...
Quite a overdose of LSD-enthusiasm, that even today still seems more likely to scare folks off from trying drugs than encourage 'em to do so. But then, who needs to actually drop acid when you can just listen to this? Fans of the likes of A.R. & Machines, Amon Duul II, Siloah, Tangerine Dream's Electronic Meditation, and other cosmic trips (as well as hippie kitsch) this is another one you need to get turned on to if you haven't already. Oh, and as a footnote, the drummer went on to play in proto-metallers Toad.
An old fave, maybe a bit more expensive than it needs to be, though to be fair this package does come with a cd version of the album as well, which is a nice touch. 180 gram vinyl, gatefold sleeve, which is nice too.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
This compiles two hard to find vinyl only records from the Norwegian experimentalist Kjetil D. Brandsdal. With a freefloating agenda of subconsciously exploring sound (not far from Nurse With Wound's earliest sonic freakouts but with the sound of NZ freenoise artists), Brandsdal giddily wallows in the muck of cable buzz, overblown 4-track recordings for organ & guitar, and feedback from malfucntioning amplifiers. All the while managing to elicit simple melodic passages. Difficult but enjoyable listening.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Thurston Moore's Ecstatic Peace presents the fourth album from the mysterious experimentalist Kjetil D. Brandstal who hails from Norway. Brandsdal's gritty lo-fi dinscapes for cracked guitar feedback drone and turntable damage (don't expect any Skratch Piklz wizardry, rather it sounds as though he's applying thick balls of dust to the needle to force skips and loops) appear devoid of structure, beginning, or end. Freefloating stuff along the same lines as Gate, Total/Skullflower, and No Neck Blues Band.
Tape splice surrealism of the Californian variety, care of the madmen and women of the Butte County Free Music Society, which began as something of a homage and something of a challenge to the more well known Los Angeles Free Music Society. Pseudonyms abound here, starting with the fictional Bren't Lewiis, though we can track some of these characters back to the olden days of Bananafish, that now defunct yet still delicious literary journal of crackpot / cracked-out critique. Those familiar with the unhinged, aestheticized helter-skelter of LAMFS's tape trawling, or the exasperated comedic collages of Nurse With Wound and irr. app. (ext.), or the Don Joyce era Negativland will STILL be baffled by the out-there, freeform, musique concrete sleights of hand of the Bren't Lewiis Ensemble, whose effluvia of found-sound, thoroughly fucked songsmithery (yes, there is a Van Morrison cover of one of his infamous contractual obligation tracks), radio drama gone wrong, culture jammed radiophonia, YouTube sensations, and straight-up bullshit about jellyfish make for one hell of a listen.
The first new recordings from Brighter Death Now in how many years? The monsterous collection Very Little Fun tracked material up until 2005, but wasn't released until 2011; so it was probably 2007 when BDN published the blacknoise assault 1890. Brighter Death Now, of course, is the solo black-ambient / death-industrial project for Roger Karmanik, the founder of the seminal imprint Cold Meat Industries. Karmanik closed down CMI in late 2013 / early 2014 as he was suffering mentally and physically from the drain of running the label. The terminus of the label, however, brought focus back on his own work which had been dormant for so long. By the end of 2014, Karmanik had fully immersed himself within the shroud of Brighter Death Now, completing this album and announcing the birth of his new label Familjegraven whose sole purpose is to release his own projects, including rarities, reissues, and new recordings. With Promises Of Death begins with a burst of power electronics might and fury of Swedish / English sloganeering blurting above a vertiginous torrent of thrummed black noise and deafening reverberation. It's somewhat atypical for BDN to encroach into the territories of Con-Dom or Grey Wolves, as is the locomotive noise-futurism of "Hate Is For Beginners." The raw-nerve intensity of poorly grounded electronics cycling a diabolical hum collapses amidst the signature BDN collages of true crime / confessional dialogue buried deeply in the mix; and by the end of the album, Karmanik has slowly shifted to those engulfing shadows and fear-mongering orchestrations of coal-black monotone. It's all so deliciously morose, this Brighter Death Now.
We recently made Thomas Brinkman's Klick Revolution an AQ Record of the Week, and have been listening to it pretty much non stop. So much so that we almost forgot that we had previously reviewed his first "Klick" record from 2000, which while maybe not some strange tribute to pinball, still manages to be a glorious collection of clicks and pop and whir and hiss. Anyone who has been digging Klick Revolution will definitely want to pick its precursor up as well. Here's what we had to say about it when we first listed a while back:
On Klick, Thomas Brinkmann borrows Christian Marclay's technique of literally slicing the grooves of his records with a razorblade to add some new elements to his sterile techno minimalism. While this may be Brinkmann's most sonically unsettling record, it manages to retain his trademark techno structuralism, albeit sounding as if the needle is struggling through a thick layer of grime. The erratic glitches of surface noise and the lulling stutter of run out grooves stand much more in the forefront of Brinkmann's Klick than on previous works. His sterile dub techniques dissolve fragments of surface noise into ghostly decay and generate a delicate flutter much like distant helicopter blades or the choral chatter of locusts. All in all, this is a successful departure for Brinkmann, one that takes him outside of the cold rigidity of most techno minimalism and into the sloppiness of the natural world. Fans of Philip Jeck will definitely appreciate.
Jim O'Rourke has never been shy in announcing who is the primary muse for each of his multi-faceted musical adventures. There was Bad Timing, which pretty much appropriated wholesale John Fahey's idiosyncratic bluegrass style; his Eureka record tapped into the '70s AM radio sounds of Steely Dan and Bread; and then there was the often overlooked Brise-Glace, now reissued. Around the time that he formed the tape-spliced avant-rock project Brise-Glace, O'Rourke released a collaborative album with KK Null entitled A New Kind Of Water, which also happens to be the name of a mighty fine This Heat song. Couple that reference with the name Brise-Glace also being the title of a composition of musique concrete by Luc Ferrari, and you might have a pretty good idea of where O'Rourke's mindset was during the recording of When In Vanitas. Then living in Chicago, O'Rourke gathered together Darin Gray of Dazzling Killmen and Dylan Posa & Thymme Jones of Cheer-Accident in crafting a muscular buzz-saw field of sound that O'Rourke radically cut up (with a razor blade!) into the math-rock structures found on When In Vanitas. So yeah, Brise-Glace does sound a lot like This Heat especially in the tense, angular riffs, balanced with plenty of languid strumming pointing back to Slint; but more often than not, Brise-Glace eeriely predates the jagged art-rock epics of Laddio Bollocko. Originally released back in 1994, When In Vanitas remains the only record from Brise-Glace, although O'Rourke did also produce a similar project with similar people (including members of Zeni Geva) called Yona Kit, again released on Skin Graft and currently out of print as far as we know. But thankfully, Skin Graft have been wise enough to at last reissue this, one of the very best records in their back catalogue.
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Record of the year, 2007. As far as some of us are concerned, there's no question. Burial's first album was an eponymous release on Kode 9's Hyperdub imprint and really came out of nowhere. Here was this amalgamation of British dance tropes (e.g. dubstep, 2-step garage, darkcore drum & bass, etc.) into a magnificent exercise in mood engineering. Even though an urban malaise echoes through the whollop bass-bin rattle of most dubstep, that first Burial record mined a melancholy whose dramatic power has never been heard in dubstep, and rarely matched even by such downbeat experts as Massive Attack, Boards of Canada, Slowdive, or even Joy Division.
So with his second album Untrue, the aesthetic framework for Burial remains intact; yet the anonymous figure behind Burial has admitted that he was seeking a "downcast euphoria." You know what, he fucking nailed it. All of the sounds retain the first album's urban dourness reverberating through each electron and washed drone. The hovering basslines which once stalked the darkest of jungle's rhythms are ghostly presences flickering around Burial's atypical drum programming, which by his own admission is done by hand without the aid of a sequencer. The clipped, 2-step breakbeats always appear as the cocking of a gun; but it doesn't seem like Burial is taking aim at his audience. Rather, it's metaphor for the cold, inhumane existence in the grimy parts of London, where violence is just another thing to shrug at and move beyond. All of these sounds are clearly present in Burial's debut album, but the "euphoric" part of Untrue's intention is found in Burial's use of voice. Taking a cappella tunes sung by his friends (sometimes, left as a voice mail on his cellphone), Burial has crafted an eerie cast of disembodied vocals, twisted into cybernetic R&B croons, all clipped and compressed in the same manner as his pistol-whipped snare cracks. It's as if the human voice alone can transcend the dire circumstances of our earthly confines, even when the songs reflected broken dreams and a dwindling hope. Burial seeks out the fleeting moments of beauty and raw emotion, codifying it through his impeccable craft on this very impressive and soon to be iconic recording. If you're not hearing it from us, you'll hear from somebody else: Burial's Untrue is the best record of 2007.
It's a little strange that there are only two collaborative albums from Dan Burke and Thomas Dimuzio, despite their long-standing working relationship which dates back well over a decade. On his numerous travels to California touring as Illusion Of Safety, Dan Burke has often found himself in the Bay Area to perform outside the Illusion Of Safety guise. Instead, Burke's dystopian electro-acoustic techniques have joined forces with the engineering prowess of Thomas Dimuzio (who is responsible for mastering many an IOS record); and during those performances, they've proven to be quite an amazing duo, avoiding many of the follies of on-again / off-again projects or open-up-the-laptop-and-go live collaborations. Dimuzio has an excellent ear and he manages to keep Burke from diving off into the cybernetic rhythms which can make some of the lesser Illusion Of Safety records so dodgy. At the same time, Burke's perpetual audio nihilism provides a solid framework for Dimuzio to add his talents.
Upcoming Events was in fact edited and reconstituted from three of their Bay Area performances from 2004. These recordings consist of electronically mangled drones, mechanoid field recordings agitated through digital means, pure tone manipulation, and unsettled noise culled from tactile crunches, all of which build to discordant crescendos that have the psychological intensity of David Lynch's sound design, certainly rivalling the best work that either Illusion of Safety or Thomas have done on their own.
Steadily increasing drones become a hellish orchestral hum punctuated by metallic screeches which sound like a belt fan on a motor that's just ready to snap off its fly wheel. Elsewhere, unsettling electronics bleat against the tactile rattling of sand crunched against the head of a mic condenser whilst a subharmonic tone ominously rumbles in the distance. With the cover photograph of the armed barricade outside the 2004 Republican National Convention, the album takes on the aura of the soundtrack of a police state. Burke founded Illusion Of Safety in 1983, inspired by the industrial attitudes and aesthetics of Throbbing Gristle. While TG's prescient insights of culture as the death factory may seem commonplace to the media savvy, Burke and Dimuzio render their take on the conspiratorial and paranoiac with remarkable success. Highly recommended!
I've not heard much from C-Schulz in a long time, recalling his name popping up a bunch about ten years ago along side hyper-prolific sound artists like Asmus Teitchens. At the time, it seemed that C-Schulz released a bunch of records that nobody cared about and then vanished. With the release of this album, I might have missed out on something pretty spectacular. His collaboration with fellow Cologne resident Hajsch is more of a history lesson into what the 'sound of Cologne' was long before the forest-disco of Wolfgang Voigt or the disjointed electronica pop of Mouse of Mars. C-Schulz & Hajsch's interest lies in a mesmerizing analysis of sound, discovering the mysteries that lie dormant in a textural field recording or a melancholic drone from a Harmonium. This is a beautiful album that certainly fits alongside the esoteric dronology of Andrew Chalk, Zoviet France, and even Fennesz. Oh yeah, this was released on Mouse On Mars' label.
Kevin Shields! There's a name that garners a lot of attention; and it's pretty obvious why Eva Aguila uses that moniker for her scalding noise ventures which she has broadcast up and down the West Coast. We're sure that a few must have stumbled into grimy warehouse noise shows expecting The Kevin Shields of My Bloody Valentine to be slumming it, instead to find a woman behind a table of pedals and some weird typewriter looking thing, all of which sizzle and shriek with a blaring electricity. So, if the ruse has ever drawn anybody in, were they pissed? Bemused? Hard to guess, but in addition to her activities as Kevin Shields, Aguila also records and performs in the duo Caldera Lakes with Brittany Gould. Here, they swing between deconstructed dream-time, avant-folk meanderings and full-on noise mode. Everything on this tape is swimming in a suitably lo-fi soup that could be the shittiness of this cassette (ostensibly a 'professional' duplication job) or the antique haze purposefully grafted onto the production. Detached folksongs strummed in monotone on guitar, with spluttered events, eerie tones, and haunted voices that drone-on creating a vibe that's not too far from those of Christina Carter or Grouper; but as these tracks proceed, convulsive noises ramp their activity from minor overloads on a four-track into concussion bomb explosions muffled through the constant gauze of tape hiss. Elsewhere, percussive scrabblings trickle through a multitude of delay pedals, forming stoned / hypnogogic patterns in keeping with some of the early experiments by Zoviet France (e.g. Eostre, Signal Gesture Threat, etc.). Static electricity cracks the ether around these phasing delays gradually building into another swelling cloud of ominous charged particles. Limited to 100 copies!
Flutes. For Andee that seems to be all that really matters for a record to be incredible. But for the rest of us who need a little more than flutes to convince of a piece of music's merits, we're quite pleased that Neil Campbell and Richard Youngs seemed to
Nice!! One of our favorite Can, nay krautrock, nay any-kind-of albums ever (that is if you don't ask Andee, who for some insane reason doesn't like Can at all), given a fancy 40th Anniversary reissue! What's so fancy about it you ask? Well, first the packaging, it's in a nice gatefold miniature lp style sleeve, with the original art of the German lp edition that came out back in 1971 (yay, 1971!). That's nestled inside a cardboard wallet-like folder which bears the cover from Tago Mago's UK release in 1972, a movie still of singer Damo and drummer Jaki on stage, in action, dramatically lit. For some reason they made big deal about this alternate cover being used on this reissue, it's cool to have it but we're happy the original art is also present and accounted for on that gatefold sleeve. Also inside the folder, a thick booklet with vintage photos and plenty o' detailed liner notes, including some by the guy from Primal Scream.
More importantly though, what makes this so special is that it includes a whole extra disc, a previously unreleased, 48 minute live performance from 1972! They do "Mushroom" and "Halleluwah" from Tago Mago, as well as "Spoon" from that year's equally amazing Ege Bamyasi, that song here stretched out to almost a half hour in length! Any true Can fan will want this just for the live disc, even though you probably already have one or more remastered versions of Tago Mago proper. But yeah, with the live set and the nice packaging, this is definitely worth getting, it's an upgrade all right.
For those of you who aren't big Can fans already, this would be a fine place to begin your love affair with this amazing band (c'mon, Andee!). Here's what we wrote about Tago Mago when it was last reissued:
1971's Tago Mago double album was Can's third full-length release, and their first with expatriate Japanese singer Damo Suzuki (whom they discovered busking on the street outside a club). It's truly a sprawling masterpiece of krautrock. Witness the weird noise/drone stuff on the 17 minute "Aumgn", or the totally hypnotic rhythmic psych groove of the equally side-long "Halleluwah". Again, we probably don't have to say much more, you already have this, right? But if Can's new to you, we'd recommend this (as well as Monster Movie and Ege Bamyasi and Soundtracks) as among their best efforts. PS: If you like Circle and you don't have this record, get it!!
Before we blather on like we so often do, it seemed like it might be good to just toss out a first impression of Love Is A Stream, the fantastic new record from Root Strata label Head Honcho Jefre Cantu-Ledesma, his first for the type label. And heck, that first impression might be all you need:
Lovesliescrushing meets Flying Saucer Attack.
There. Hard to argue with that. Warped warbly, blurred shoegazey drift, long stretches of incendiary psychedelic guitar drone, streaks of soft noise, buried melodies, ethereal vocals, lush layered textures, dense and explosive, expansive and dreamily hazy, and in its own way, gorgeously heavy.
A new side of Cantu-Ledesma for sure, whose past records seemed to hover in a much more tranquil serene otherworld, unfurling hushed landscapes of whispery minimalism, of delicate crystalline shimmer, and of barely there soft focus ambient drift. Love Is A Stream is anything but, a fiery, fierce, yet ultimately lush and washed out series of bold shoegaze dreamnoise experiments, not so much pop songs swathed in distortion and effects, as carefully crafted sonic impressions, a series of gorgeous miniature epics, each a brief expanse of prismatic hypnogogic psychedelia, every one a unique a roiling concoction of fuzzpopbliss and murky melodic churn. On the surface, the record plays out like a series of textures, from warm whirling hum, to crumbling blown out white noise blur, to grinding muted pulse and throb, to gauzy bleary haze, to thick billowy low end rumble, to superdistorted effects-drenched synthnoise, and yeah, you're reading right, this is in fact a noisy record, but it's an artfully crafted, carefully sculpted noise. A thick, billowing, warm and gloriously enveloping melodic noise, like sinking into a swirling sea of burnished muted crush, a nearly overwhelming avalanche of whirling swirling crumbling throb and thrum, beneath it all lurk delicate melodies, tendrils of minor key guitar, ghostly voices, whirring synths, they rise to the surface here and there, but for the most part exist as shadowy impressions, infusing the noisy textures with a melodic core, a warm glowing sonic heart, which is what transforms these heaving slabs of shoegazey heaviness into something divine, and divinely dreamy.
There are brief moments, where the surface noise, and the distortion, and the walls of effects peel back, and we get to peek behind the curtain, which reveals the lush minimal underpinnings of the songs, a brief melodic smear here, a hushed little fragment of guitar there, but a glimpse is all we get, and really all we want, because it's how those bits of minimal songcraft interact with the intense sonic effulgence that is truly the magic that Cantu-Ledesma wields in conjuring up the sounds here. And like all magic, the joy is not in how it was done, but it how it makes us feel.
The lp version comes with a bonus cd, a collaboration with Type label mainman Xela, who took source material provided by Cantu-Ledesma, and fashioned his own bit of ambient dronemusic. Nearly 50 minutes of haunting drift, after a short burst of caustic super distorted crunch, Xela settles into a slow burning sprawl of washed out chordal shimmer, deep rumbling thrum and lush streaks of shoegazey buzz, a few moments as dense and psychedelic as the record proper, but for the most part, more of a chill out wind down coda, the perfect addendum to an already practically perfect record. Really quite lovely.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
The Cortical Foundation has been reissuing some amazing documents of avant-garde sound art from the past century, including this composition from Scratch Orchestra ringleader and AMM memeber Cornelius Cardew. This work presents three paragraphs from the much larger musical text of "The Great Learning" and is composed of sustained pipe organ tones in particularly malevolent chords, short stabs of police whistles, sheets of hammering tribal drums with human voices howling against the drums, and complex vocal choirs. All of the text that runs through the compositions are incantations from the Confucian text "The Great Learning" which lays down a basic ethical and political code. However, the recitation of these texts sounds very much like the perversions of Catholic liturgies from the black masses of the Satanic Church with an authoritative delivery, an almost Gnostic indecipherability, and a bleakly somber overtone. Cardew's intentions for using this text are to express the inherent human failings of attempting to live up to the most basic of moral codes. Despite his pairing the metaphor of failure with the distinctly sprirtual overtones in the work, Cardew may not be actually talking about spiritual collapse or the failure of religions. Rather, "The Great Learning" postulates that if there is a higher state than mankind, then it will be our goal to attempt to find a means to that state, even if that is an impossible goal. Altogether, this is an wonderful if at times terrifying work.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
The Caretaker spins really old vinyl for the most part much slower than intended and affects the lugubrious pace with assorted warbly effects. This collage of slo-mo waltzes and antique crackles is punctuated by a spartan use of distorto-breakbeat-crunch. Released on V/VM's label and certainly follows the V/VM - Speedranch - Janski Noise aethetic of neo-dada electronica, yet presented with a very sad overtone. In the end this could easily be some gossamer soundtrack to a deep sea nature show or an alternate score to the ballroom scenes in "The Shining".
