25 June 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

This latest LP from Big Blood is their first for Ba Da Bing and a spiritual successor of sorts to Do You Want to Have a Skeleton Dream?, as the band are back in "full family trio retro-pop extravaganza" mode. For the most part, Quinnissa (who was apparently only 13 when this album was recorded) handles the lead vocals for a series of hooky, bass-driven garage rock nuggets, though there are also a couple of headier Colleen-sung gems for fans of the band's darker, more psychedelic side. Notably, Caleb's frayed yelp is entirely absent from the proceedings, but it probably would have felt out of place among the unabashed throwback pop fare. Moreover, First Aid Kit feels like a full-on Quinnissa showcase, which makes for a rather unique entry in the Big Blood canon, as she is one hell of a belter and also spontaneously improvised all her lyrics during recordings. As Caleb notes in the album description, being in a band with your teenage daughter is admittedly something of a messy and volatile situation ("lots of practices end with her being tossed from the band"), but I can see why they are sticking with this format, as Quinnissa increasingly feels like a pop supernova in its formative stages.

Ba Da Bing/Feeding Tube

This album's overall feel is something akin to a raucous wedding reception in which members of The Cramps and B-52's join forces for a spirited and spontaneous set of half-remembered '60s bubblegum pop covers. The opening "In My Head" represents that vein in its purest form, as it is built from little more than a meaty bass line, a simple thumping beat, and a subtly surf-damaged guitar tone. The most perfect iteration of that aesthetic comes much later on the album, as "1000 Times" feels like a raw and raucous cover of an imagined classic by someone like The Ronettes. Elsewhere, the dark paranoia of "Never Ending Nightmare" is yet another notable Quinnissa showcase, though its unsettling subject matter is nicely invigorated by a bouncy bassline, quirky percussion, and a killer chorus hook. Quinnissa also handles lead vocals on "Infinite Space," but that piece feels like a comparative anomaly more akin to Big Blood's non-Quinnissa fare. It still feels a bit unusually anthemic and driving for a Big Blood song, but reaching infinitely to space is a more traditional lyrical theme for the band and there are some very cool howling psych touches in the periphery. Admittedly, a lot of Quinnissa's lyrics sound like they were composed by a 13-year-old, but as the album's description insightfully observes, "teenage impulses fit right in with the band's intent, which is making music that's honest, inclusive and flawed." To their everlasting credit, Big Blood seem to be endlessly resourceful in their balancing of flawed spontaneity and thoughtful art, as Mulkerin harvests "the ghostly presence of past takes" as a subtly trippy background layer throughout the album.

To my ears, the strongest pieces on the album are "Ring Telephone Ring" and "Makes Me Wonder." The former is a Barbara Lynn cover transformed into a smoldering, psych-damaged slab of country heartache and beautifully continues Big Blood's near-unbroken run of perfectly chosen and brilliantly executed homages to their favorite songs. It is also a prime example of this album's unusually nuanced approach to psychedelia, as Colleen's sensuous vocals leave a ghostly haze of harmonies in their wake. Similarly weighty is "Makes Me Wonder," which is dedicated to Ma'kihia Bryant, an Ohio 16-year-old murdered by a cop. Given its dark inspiration, it is unsurprisingly a fiery piece, but it is also a wonderfully driving and lushly psychedelic one, as Mulkerin allows himself to go a bit wild on the production side, resulting in a swirling feast of harmonized Siren-esque vocals, field recordings, sound collage elements, and dreamy synths (courtesy of guest Chris Livengood). It almost feels like it could be a stomping, muscular Kate Bush cover that plunges into a gently lysergic rabbit hole, as the gorgeous chorus hypnotically repeats as the piece descends deeper into hazy trippiness. The closing comedown "Weird Road Pt. 1" offers yet another throwback to more traditional Big Blood fare, as it is a Colleen-sung reverie that seems like it is built from little more than harmonium drones and a lazily swooping synth melody (though the buried ghostly vocal layers add a wonderfully hallucinatory touch).

As far as album-length Big Blood statements are concerned, I would personally categorize First Aid Kit as a fun (if uneven) detour rather than a fresh classic, but the album's reception thus far indicates that I am in the minority on that. I suppose it all depends on which side of Big Blood one prefers: the fun, spontaneous and punchy side or out-of-body transcendence of songs like "Destin Rain." For those of us in the latter camp, First Aid Kit will probably never be in heavy rotation as much as some other Big Blood albums, but "Ring Telephone Ring" and "Makes Me Wonder" would certainly earn a place on the imaginary self-curated greatest hits retrospective in my head.

Listen here.

04 June 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

This latest LP from Wolf Eyes is something of a major release for the duo, as they are currently celebrating their 25th year with "their first widely-distributed non-compilation album in six years." Fittingly, Dreams In Splattered Lines is one of the project's most compelling and sophisticated albums to date, which is likely the result of some recent developments that would have seemed absolutely unimaginable when the project first began (collaborating with a Pulitzer Prize winner, a viral video for a fashion company, sharing stages with jazz titans, a residency at The New York Public Library, etc.). The library residency in particular played an especially large role in shaping this album, as the duo built a number of new instruments while they were there and also spent a lot of time absorbing the Surrealism Beyond Borders exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Of course, the truly interesting bit is how inventively Nate Young and John Olson assimilated all their new ideas, as well as the fact that their more high art/avant-garde influences amusingly collide with a newfound fascination with how "hit songs" work. While Wolf Eyes have sporadically dazzled me over the years as a cool noise band, Dreams In Splattered Lines feels like the album where they have arguably become the spiritual heirs to Throbbing Gristle in channeling the best ideas of the 20th century avant-garde into a zeitgeist-capturing mirror of the times (a post-hope world of crumbling institutions and widespread alienation).

Disciples

The album is billed as "a surreal dreamscape of disorienting sound collages, where hit songs are transformed into terrariums of sonic flora and decimated fauna," which is a considerably more elegant description than my own "a masterfully choreographed ballet of shit." The album itself is not shit, of course, but the sounds themselves are quite a cavalcade of rotten, shambling, broken, strangled, and ugly sounds conjured from inventively misused gear. The opening "Car Wash Two" is an especially illustrative example of the latter, as it "includes a Short Hands track playing on the car radio while waves of white noise and contact microphones are plunging into water buckets." That trick was then coupled with an added "meta" twist: the recording was then "played in a car while going through an actual car wash" before it was ultimately layered and mixed in the studio. Notably, that piece is singled out as an example of the duo's new "hit single" mindset, but that trait is only evident in an oblique way that involves terrariums. More immediately graspable, however, is the fact that almost every song on the album is distilled to a punchy two- or three-minute running time. On the lesser pieces, it can sometimes feel like a song is over before it gets a chance to make a deep impression, but the stronger pieces tend to regularly attain "all killer, no filler" nirvana.

While terms like "horror jazz" and "psycho jazz" have been used to describe Wolf Eyes many times before (presumably because of John Olson's arsenal of self-built wind instruments), this is the first album that I have heard where the duo genuinely seem to evince the virtuosity of a visionary jazz unit. That virtuosity is admittedly not of the rhythmic, melodic, or harmonic variety, but I cannot think of many other artists that can pull off more impressive feats with texture (or who could even figure out how to use the duo's eclectic arsenal of gear). The analogy that springs immediately to mind is that of practical special effects versus sophisticated CGI effects in horror films, as DIY gore can sometimes feel a lot more viscerally disturbing than digitized perfection. The same is true here, as plenty of artists get amazing sounds from expensive gear and powerful software, but Young and Olson regularly churn out wonderfully squelching, gnarled, and sickly sounds that no one else can get with their array of self-built instruments and convoluted chains of electronics. More importantly, they have a deep intuitive understanding of how to wield all those weird sounds, embracing a seething strain of minimalism that leaves plenty of space for each screech, gurgle, and splatter to be felt.

Unsurprisingly, the strongest pieces are those that most feel like songs, which tend to be those where Young delivers some kind of morbid deadpan monologue over a drum machine pattern strafed with sputtering, buzzing electronics and squalls of noise (such as "Exploding Time" and "My Whole Life"). That said, once the album starts to catch fire around the midpoint, just about every single song is noteworthy in some way. My favorite piece is a bit of an aberration, however, as "In Society" sounds like a bunch of Muppets were unknowingly dosed with LSD before covering Aaron Dilloway's "Karaoke With Cal" and chaos ensued. I'm also quite fond of "Days Decay" though, as the thumping drum machine is a bit more muscular than usual and a Middle Eastern-sounding woodwind motif elusively surfaces in the seething undercurrent of machine noise like some kind of post-industrial Debussy homage. Obviously, it is not hard to become numb to Wolf Eyes' vision, given their insanely voluminous discography and passion for messy spontaneity and experimentation, but the fact that their evolution is a bit overdocumented does not make that evolution any less impressive, as there are plenty of genuine flashes of outsider brilliance to be found on Dreams In Splattered Lines.

Listen here.

04 June 2023

Duncan Edwards

Albums and Singles

Back in 2017 Jan Jelinek created a 43 minute radio play called Zwischen featuring Alice Schwarzer, John Cage, Hubert Fichte, Marshall McLuhan, Susan Sontag, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Joseph Beuys, Friedericke Mayröcker, Joschka Fischer, Jonathan Meese, Jean Baudrillard, Lady Gaga, Slavoj Zizek, Richard Buckminster Fuller, Marcel Duchamp, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Miranda July, Yoko Ono, Ernst Jandl, Arno Schmidt, Herbert Wehner and Max Ernst.

Faitiche

He took speech from these 22 people and edited together their pauses into sound collages of silence. Each collage was also wired or programmed to control the amplitude and frequency of a modular synthesizer. The resulting electronic sounds were then mixed with the unarticulated words and silence to form twenty-two pieces. A shorter version trimmed to twelve sound constructs was released as an album in 2018.

If that sounds like a bizarre carry on then Jelinek's latest arguably tops it. For Seascape he has rigged up a way to have the speech patterns from Gregory Peck's performance as Captain Ahab in John Huston's 1956 film version of Moby Dick generate music. Ray Bradbury helped with the screenplay, but the movie—which also starred Orson Welles and Richard Baseheart—is chiefly remembered for Peck's portrait of angry deranged obsession.

Seascape is a hilariously cool concept (developed as an audiovisual software with Clive Holden) and the album is way more listenable as music than might be expected. My only gripe is that the first track is one of the least impressive so an impatient listener might ditch the recording right there. My attention was only fully grabbed as soon as the second piece "Ropes Sing in The Air" began, and I stayed with it and thoroughly enjoyed the rest. To be honest, though, I haven't seen Moby Dick recently, so if you told me that Jelínek had generated music using Peck's speeches from To Kill A Mockingbird I would accept that without a murmur. I can see Atticus Finch calmly wiping the racist spittle from his glasses even now.

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04 June 2023

Duncan Edwards

Albums and Singles

Dorothy Moskovitz was the singer in The United States of America, a short-lived group which made one legendary self-titled album. That was in December 1967 and she later became a member of Country Joe McDonald's band, sang live jazz, composed for children, commercials, theater, and became an elementary school music teacher. Her return on Under an Endless Sky, recorded with Italian electronic composer Francesco Paolo Paladino and writer Luca Ferrari is astonishing, and never more so at the moment around two and a half minutes into the opening title track when we hear Dorothy Moskovitz sing for the first time in a very long time*. If her voice once sounded cooler and more urbane than Catherine Ribeiro's, more innocent and intelligent than Grace Slick's, in 2023 it has a crumbling beauty and defiant timbre usually associated with Robert Wyatt or Nico (who apparently once tried to join TUSoA). Comparisons are entertaining but also odious; Moskovitz is a strange, distinctive treasure, perhaps unique.

Tompkins Square

The United States of America is indeed a legendary recording, and I realize that term is overused nearly to the point of being meaningless, but the record holds up more than fifty years later. The group had some fairly obvious 1960s politics at their core, but also a serious avant garde intent in their sound. They dispensed with electric guitars in favor of strings, keyboards, and primitive improvised electronics. Electrical engineer Tom Oberheim was commissioned to make a ring modulator and aerospace engineer Richard Durrett built electronic oscillators into a monophonic synthesizer. An octave divider was applied to electric violin, drums wired with contact microphones, and slinkies hung from cymbals for a musique concrète effect. Group leader Donald Byrd—previously a member of the Fluxus movement which included John Cage and La Monte Young—also threw in references to older American music such as ragtime, country blues, and—perhaps in a nod to Charles Ives—marching bands.

Moskovitz studied at Barnard College where she was taught by Otto Luening, the composer of such works as Gargoyles for Violin & Synthesized Sound and Sounds of New Music to demonstrate the potential of synthesizers and the electronic music editing techniques. She had also sung in a group with Art Garfunkel. At that time, ditching the guitar for electric harpsichord, organ, calliope, piano, electric bass, percussion, and the aforementioned primitive synthesizers, was close to sacrilege. Amidst all that—and the unfunny rejection of bourgeois hippie idealism—the beauty and integrity of Moskovitz's singing stood out and still does. She even makes "Love Song for the Dead Ché" sound absolutely great. It is a cracking album. If distorted electronic pseudo-classical discordant psychedelic elegance, albeit legendary, is not your thing, well it should be.

Moskovitz, Paladino, and Ferrari bring serious intent to Under an Endless Sky. Paladino's incredible album Doublings & Silences Vol.I and his work with Pier Luigi Andreoni is definitely worth checking out. Ferrari's choice of subjects for the biographies he has written (Third Ear Band, Tim Buckley, Syd Barrett, Captain Beefheart, Nick Drake) gives strong clues to his lyric writing for Moskovitz. There is a marvelous feel to this album, not least as virtual textures are balanced by strings, woodwinds and percussion as if making a similar machine/human balance. Naturally, Moskovitz is central to proceedings but not in an artificial way. The fragility in her voice is matched by lyrics acknowledging the complexity of human existence. The paradox is that she allows resignation and inescapable fate to sound perfectly natural, calmly singing of being "afraid, insecure, under an endless sky". Even the bleak content of "My Doomsday Serenade" sounds bearable as she tells it "no recriminations then, only measuring the weight of my soul" because "denial and contrition don't amount to much at all."

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*In 2021, Moskowitz sang on Todd Tamanend Clark's Whirlwind of the Whispering Worlds as well as The Secret Life of Love Songs with Tim Lucas, but I haven't heard these, nor her collaboration with Peter Olof Fransson.

04 June 2023

Creaig Dunton

Albums and Singles

Releasing two full length albums mere months from each other, Colin Andrew Sheffield has been especially active in 2023. Considering his previous Repair Me Now dates back to 2018, it is a veritable flurry of activity. However, this is not a case where Don't Ever Let Me Know and Images seem like a double album split into two separate works, but both are thematically and structurally different from one another, even if both clearly showcase his approach of mangling samples and recordings into entirely different creations.

Aufabwegen / Elevator Bath

Simply looking at the song lists, the difference between these two records is clear: Don't Ever Let Me Know is two side-long pieces, while Images is a suite of eight more conventionally timed songs. The underlying models are different, also, with the former specifically drawing from recordings from or about his (and his father's) hometown of El Paso, Texas, and the latter exclusively sourced from jazz records. As expected, none of these recordings are at all apparent, but there seems to be a sense of nostalgia imbued into the album conveyed abstractly.

"Don't Ever Let Me Know (Charms)" takes up the first half of the LP, consisting of loops of dissolving music, open resonate spaces, and bizarrely treated frequencies. Density builds and there is a sense of speed throughout, as he swaps out musical loops for harsher, digital sounds. There is definitely pre-recorded music used as some of the source material, but Sheffield sculpts it into something entirely different.

On the other side, "Don't Ever Let Me Know (Bliss)" is more polarized in sound, blending lush, melodic layers and buzz saw-like noise passages. It can be oddly pleasant at times, especially considering sections sound like a dungeon-y creak or wet, noisy crunching. There is a distinct combination of quieter, reflective sections and harsher swells, with his careful manipulation of delays and feedback bringing things just to the point of chaos but never crossing that threshold.

Listen here.

Images, besides having a more traditional "album" structure, also is unique in that it is drawn entirely from jazz samples. This carries over to the cover art, which could be an homage to vintage ECM or Windham Hill designs, but I may be reading entirely too much into that. Another unique facet here is that in this case, some of the actual sounds he utilizes are recognizable, at least as far as the instruments sampled, but maybe not the actual recordings per se.

"Crescent," for example, is a metallic resonance that eventually comes into focus as the clattering of cymbals, and processed horns eventually rise into the mix later on. "Song No. 2" could almost be a continuation, as a swarm of cymbals set the stage for a wobbling tone to take the focus. There is obviously music in here somewhere, but it is anything but obvious where it was sourced from, and the whole things ends in this beautiful interstellar drift at the end. That drift and use of melody is also notable throughout "Daylight," but in this case blended with sputtering, elongated delays and what sounds like a plucked sitar.

Other pieces are less apparent in their pre-recorded music pedigree. Metallic reverb drenched noises open "Images," leading to a shimmering, aquatic sense. Subtle melodies are weaved within, but they are more subtle here. "Embers" leads off with Sheffield morphing what sounds like a snare drum roll into a swarm of locusts, and the abstract tones that appear feature a bit more bass than what precedes it. "Silhouette" is a fitting name for a piece that leads off with a shadowy dark hum and turns almost symphonic with Sheffield reshaping the recordings into something heavily cinematic overall. It is only towards the end that a decipherable sound, in this case heavily processed horns, actually comes into focus.

It is clear that Sheffield uses some similar techniques on both Don't Ever Let Me Know and Images, but the two records are entirely different, and not just because of their structures. I personally felt a bit more nostalgia and emotion pervading throughout Don't Ever Let Me Know, and Images seemingly more the product of exploration and a focus on pure sound. However, given the intentionally abstract nature of his approach, I could be reading them entirely wrong. This is irrelevant, of course, because both records stand strong as purely sonic endeavors that of course raise questions and curiosity of their pedigree, but remain captivating solely on their own qualities divorced of any concepts.

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04 June 2023

Creaig Dunton

Albums and Singles

The latest cassette from the enigmatic duo Zizia (astrologer Amber Wolfe and natural scientist Jarrod Fowler) is intentionally ambiguous just from its presentation. No information presented within the tape itself, its neon green case covers a blurry photo of the Zizia flower and an intricately printed abstract image on the cassette shell, without a single bit of text included on either. A quick search online finds a website that offers details, listings of insects, plants, and artists that serve only to confound more than clarify. The self-identified concept of anti-musicology is apparent, however, and results in a complex and diverse suite of two lengthy noise works.

self-released

Split into two 18-minute segments, each covering half of the tape, the first immediately explodes with an intense blast of noise that quickly recedes to allow sustained tones and metallic rattling to fade in. Wolfe and Fowler utilize consistent sonic building blocks throughout, but layer them in what seems to be superficially sounds like chaotic and erratic structures, but extremely complex. Digital stuttering and metallic pinging noises appear throughout, the use of cymbals being the only easily identifiable element from the list provided via the release's website. Noise surges and drops, with insect and field recordings cast atop murky textures.

The second side does not differ too significantly from the first from the onset. Opening with a similar violent noise burst, but one that lingers a bit longer and takes on some monstrous qualities as opposed to the tonality that appeared rather quickly in the first half. Overall, there is more of a noise crunch to the piece, and one that is a bit more grounded compared to the first half. With more consistency, but by no means static, the noise and complicated layering once again builds to the end.

Nuanced compositional structures and thematic approaches aside, Genera is a fascinating tape of noise that obviously has depth to it, but functions well purely on its own sound. The details Wolfe and Fowler share via the online "guide" add in appreciating the complexity of the sounds provided on Genera, but even taking it in as purely text-free cassette tape is extremely engaging. It is a microcosm of sounds guided by an abstract, but structured approach to composition makes perfect sense coming from a scientist and an astrologer, and it works beautifully.

Listen here.

04 June 2023

Creaig Dunton

Albums and Singles

These two albums from Seah, also known as multimedia artist and philosopher Chelsea Heikes, seemingly draw from different elemental categories, which ends up setting the foundation for the sounds contained within. The first, Conduits of the Hydrosphere, clearly draws from water while Clouds and Spectres is appropriately expansive, vapor-like, and ghostly at times. Released separately, they feel like complementary works that act as variations on sonic exploration.

Somnimage

All five pieces that make up Conduits feature either direct or indirect references to water, which is unsurprising given the title. Seah makes this immediately apparent from the opening "Asteroidal Origin of Water," with multiple layers of water recordings, filtered differently and stacked atop one another to create a wall of liquid sound. She utilizes space well, as echoing, warped noises and rattling shrieks all vie for the focus. Aquatic field recordings also obscure a subtle tone beneath on "Songs Stones Sing to the Sea," which remains understated amidst scraping noises and a deep, lo-fi digital rumble.

Water is more insinuated in the sound of "Ova1" via heavily processed deep sea-like pulsations, which almost coalesce into some semblance of rhythm via the frequent use of loops. The mix is open, but there is a greater sense of lurking creepiness throughout. She collects slithering noises and cinematic-esque sound bursts on the lengthy closer (and amazingly titled) "Dinosaur Piss Runs Through Our Veins." Here, she patiently builds an excellent tension, which becomes almost overwhelming as the piece builds, but gently drifts away at the end.

Listen here.

For Clouds and Spectres, the overall vibe is less aquatic and more ghostly, characterized by lighter drifting passages and sounds. "Unfurling" feels just like the title, as Heikes patiently expands the structure an ethereal series of melodic tones. On "Accumulation," she more densely packs the sound, incorporates what sounds like buzzy phased analong synths in the foreground. While still using a great deal of space, it feels as if the clouds have gotten darker, as she emphasizes lower frequencies and darker synth buzz on "Skillter." Individual sounds are more distinct among a more prominent white noise hiss throughout. Even though it is noisier than the two preceding pieces, it overall remains restrained and quiet.

Listening to these two records sequentially the liquid/vapor/gas elemental qualities of each is clearly apparent. However, both are distinct experiences. As Seah, Chelsea Heikes has created fascinating diverse studies of sound and processing while retaining obvious themes.

Listen here.

28 May 2023

Duncan Edwards

Albums and Singles

Back in 2019 Benoit Pioulard (Thomas Meluch) issued Sylva—an album full of abstract hyper-saturated lo-fi drone-pop sonic textures, which came with an 84 page collection of nature photographs in a linen book. Two pieces with vocals stood out: the brilliantly Bibioesque "Keep" and the less jangly but equally catchy "Meristem." These songs could not have been more appealing to me if Meluch had somehow used a machine to extract my personal dream essence as I slept. Naturally, I promptly forgot to write anything about Sylva, but Eidetic is a leap forward, with more vocals, so I'm glad I kept my powder dry.

Morr

Distraction is embedded into modern life and that, rather than forgetfulness, is the real reason why I did not write about Sylva. I know this because the record left an impression and I've listened to it several times since 2019. It was stored in at least my short term, if not long term, memory. Eidetic memory, controlled primarily by the posterior parietal cortex of the parietal lobe of the brain, is a temporary form of short-term memory. Everyone has eidetic memory to a degree; it is the ability to see something soon after you look away. For most people, the image lasts from a fraction of a second to maybe a couple of seconds. Visual images in eidetic memory are either discarded or passed to short-term memory where they may be recalled for days, weeks, or months, then discarded or relayed to long-term memory. Of course since both Sylva and Eidetic are audio information this may not be literally pertinent but it is a way to begin to approach Eidetic and to paraphrase Basil Fawlty with his German guests "you (Thomas Meluch) started it."

No wonder then that the title track consists of a sweetly abrasive droning texture amid which voices mutter in the middle distant background for a brief minute and a half minute. Very nice sound, and it also qualifies as an indie joke, almost. As always with Benoit Pioulard recordings there is a good feeling throughout, it is gentle, cascading, twinkling music, quite affecting in a subtle way, with a good deal of blur and a far bit of strum. This is a given and I do like it, and also the fact that he is saying more using words. At times I wish the vocals were higher in the mix so I could catch what is being said, because these are good songs with clever meaning dotted in them. "Nameless" is an odd one, inspired by workers involved in the production of mercury mirrors who suffered neurological effects: driven mad while they looked at themselves. Other tunes I suspect are either deeply personal songs, deliberately obscured, and also that maybe the sound of the voice is as important as any lyric. There's a strong Songs of Green Pheasant vibe here, too, which is more than fine by me. On second, or is it third, thoughts, a lyric sheet would not go amiss.

"Where To" ends the album and it is an addition to anyone's funeral music file: ethereal, haunting, and all that jazz. The Japanese release of Eidetic has a bonus track titled in honor of Peggy Jo Tallas. The piece is also released as a stand alone single. Now that is a tale worth telling but maybe preferably by Dylan. Peggy Jo was a quiet suburban woman who disguised herself as a man in order to go on a bank robbing spree in the Dallas area. She evaded capture with ease because the cops were not looking for a woman, then kept her head down and cared for her invalid mother. Before getting caught she was dubbed Cowboy Bob by detectives. Peggy Jo never carried a gun and she died in a hail of bullets like Butch and Sundance in her favorite film. If that sounds much more interesting than Eidetic, well, to be fair it is more interesting than many records. Naturally, in Pioulard's hands it's an instrumental.

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28 May 2023

Duncan Edwards

Albums and Singles

Every so often a beautifully flawed pseudo-concept album gets released which it is almost a sin to try to describe. So it is with this absolutely mesmerizing record, a taste-smashing, fabulously old-fashioned, wobbly blitzkrieg of slippery, retro-futuristic, prog rock precision. As a rule I try to avoid describing music by talking about other music the reader may or may not have heard, but the gloves are coming off for this one. Imagine if modern psych groups weren't so one-paced, if Barclay James Harvest had a wah wah pedal and enjoyed fiddling with tape speeds, if Yes were fronted by Serge Gainsbourg or had a sense of humor, if The Opium Warlords and Bo Hansen joined The Mike Sammes Singers; and it all sounded perfectly natural. Juxtaposition and incongruity are at the heart of The Valley of The Dandies: a wonderfully unpredictable recording which manages to sound deliberately dated, and also touches on mythical themes ("explored" would be an exaggeration) but not in a po-faced or over-referential manner. The music is sometimes grandiose but CV Vision does not portray by resorting to a dull slow burn plodding pace. These tunes are amusing, bright, clever, and dynamic, the lyrics intriguingly clumsy but yet light and unobtrusive. There is an unknowable quality to this album, though; and a certain confidence in its completeness. It can not be reduced to a few neat genres, has a rich complexity but never sounds cluttered or gets bogged down. This is a real gem: clean, clear and valuable. It may become a cult classic or merely prove to be a refreshing oddity. Either way I played this thing through five times without a break!

Bureau-B

As such, it is weird to speak of individual tracks but here we go. The opener "Welcome" sounds like a cryogenic time reversal accident has resulted in Wendy Carlos waking up in medieval times and getting right to work with mysterious bleeps and ominous thuds. There then follows a bout of funky bass driven prog rock jousting called "The Pious Wanderer." Drums seem to shatter and splat, and the German lyrics waft on a flute like breeze as the track races onward and then clicks into "The Messenger Faster Than The Wind" which includes a child talking of swords pulled from stones followed by the waking from death of a rightful King, returning to save the land at time of great need—presumably during a hideous outbreak of repressive good taste. It brings to mind a futurist motorik-lite version of an ancient prediction woven into tapestry. In one of several brilliantly incongruous moves, CV Vision sings the word "messenger" with a decidedly un-folky edge, more as if he were trying to impress a crowd of bikini clad beauties on Copacabana beach. "Ride My Seesaw" was never this odd.

"King Friedrich II" is a veritable mini masterpiece, somewhere between French psych-pop and a jaunty late-1960s television theme tune. It begins with a low-fi grungy guitar which Dwane Warr might have discarded because it was too surreal and weedy. Then it flips quickly into what could easily be a lost TV theme from a spy or detective show; perhaps a Jason King/Department S style series with a ludicrously debonair womanizing hero who, off screen, naturally prefers birds of his own feather. "Before And After The Storm" initially sounds as sublime as a graceful swan gliding across a pond, and then as groovy, thunderous, and manic as if it were titled Blade Road Runner Throb. All these pieces maintain the flow of the album while adding variety and contrast which burst out unexpectedly.

Take "Wizard and The Hex" where a spell-like incantation gives way to a surf-fuzz bass groove, meandering morse code dub effects, and a languid synth sway. Equally, a sort of reverse time traveling whirl makes "The Journey Inward" an absolutely beautiful track; disintegrating superbly from sub-Floydian grandeur (via what sounds strangely like early Little Feat if they'd emigrated to Berlin) to a dynamic series of headless fast action pursuits. "Light Moon" approximates a hyper-cooing version of Stereolab wading through interstellar quicksand. So it goes on, as dogs bark, anvils thump, cows moo, and at times we may wonder if Edgar Broughton has used the flute from Hawkwind's "Silver Machine" to make a dub track. "The Merry Juggler" and "Children of The Miller Who Lives On The Edge Of The Forest'' indeed took my musical taste buds to the edge of somewhere, just pulling back before the desire to perform my own dentistry became overwhelming. Naturally, "Over Love Affairs" brings everything together and rolls it safely back home like the essence of sun sparks zooming into a hundred video game endings (with strings).

I have translated the German track titles so any errors here are mine.

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28 May 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

The latest ambitious durational epic from the Opalio brothers is thankfully not nearly as daunting as its 15-disc physical form suggests, as RINASCIMENTO ("Renaissance") is composed of 15 movements of varying lengths ranging from 5 to 40 minutes. The reasoning behind the unusual format is arguably twofold, as the Opalios' belief that "each sound claims its own space" is extended to dedicate a full disc to each movement and listeners are invited to "subvert the order" to make use of "random/chance operation à la Cage." There is an additional piece to the puzzle as well, however, as the handcrafted box and CD-R format were deliberately chosen as a return to MCIAA's "radical DIY" origins and as a pointed commentary on underground music's current maddening dependence on vinyl pressing plants and predatory corporations. Unsurprisingly, the primary appeal of RINASCIMENTO is the same as that of every other multi-hour MCIAA tour de force: it is a sustained and mind-altering plunge into otherworldly psychedelia that abandons nearly all earthbound notions of harmony, melody, structure, and instrumentation (and that is not an exaggeration). While the brothers' sonic palette will be a familiar one for longtime MCIAA fans (being a two-person real-time "spontaneous composition" project has some limitations), RINASCIMENTO is nevertheless one hell of a statement, as it collects the duo's most revelatory flashes of inspiration from an entire year of recordings (several of which capture the duo in peak longform form).

Elliptical Noise

The first movement of this 5 ½ hour epic is a deceptively brief and harsh one, as a miasma of tape hiss, whines, and jangling metal sounds call to mind someone slowly dragging a mass of metal cans ("just married!") around a burst pipe in a queasy swirl of alien harmonies and gibbering electronics. In theory, the fifteenth and final movement (smoldering feedback slowly streaking over thumping ritualistic percussion amidst a fog of cooing voices) is not radically different from that opening piece, but it certainly FEELS very different when it eventually comes because it is impossible to listen to 5+ hours of MCIAA without feeling like one's mind has been fundamentally transformed in some way by the sustained plunge into the Opalio's smeared, unnerving, and otherworldly vision. That said, some of the longer movements can achieve a similar effect in drastically reduced time on their own.

Given the fact that the Opalios are playing everything in real time spontaneously, the strongest movements feel akin to witnessing a solar eclipse: it takes a while for all of the moving parts to lock into the right places, but the spectacle can be quite transcendent once the threshold is finally reached. To my ears, RINASCIMENTO starts to truly catch fire around the fourth movement ("Revenge Of Native Aliens") and reaches its zenith somewhere between the eighth and tenth movements, but there are plenty of wild deep space mindfucks on either side of that stretch. For example, the second movement fleetingly calls to mind a flock of honking psychedelic birds disrupting a holodeck beach trip, while the fourth movement evokes the feeling of slowly sinking in a space bog while being serenaded by a lysergic chorus of extradimensional frogs and crickets.

That fourth movement kicks off a sustained and increasingly inspired run of highlights, but the top-tier consciousness-expanding mindbombs are movements six, eight, nine, and ten. In "Fury Of The Alien Gods," for example, it sounds like a free jazz drummer is consumed by a time-bending supernatural haze while jamming with an interplanetary distress signal.

Elsewhere, "Aliencentricism" passes through stages evoking everything from "flock of birds enveloping an extraterrestrial kinetic metal sculpture" to "a field of rusted metal wires vibrates in the wind while an insistent distress signal endlessly reverberates around the ruins of an abandoned space colony." "Matter Becomes Spirit," on the other hand, approximates some kind of slow-motion industrial dub, as a series of erratically timed metal clanks shudders and echoes beneath a smoldering alien melody of smeared beeps that sounds like the death song of a burning space station. "Alienophony" also evokes a looping distress signal in an abandoned place, but as a connoisseur of the genre, I can confidently report that it has an entirely different character this time around ("squirming and squelching short wave radio transmissions in blizzard-ravaged arctic outpost").

The descent back to earth from those peaks is a gradual one, however, as the journey has a few more memorable stops before the final station (for example, "The New Verb" sounds like a doomed astronaut trying to navigate through a supernatural windstorm with unreliably bending and warping sonar pings). While the wealth of highlights here is admittedly quite a treat, it is worth noting that MCIAA is one of the rare projects in which the varying appeal of individual compositions is distantly secondary to the overall vision, as one does not need to get very deep into RINASCIMENTO (or just about any other MCIAA albums) to reach one of two conclusions. One of those conclusions is probably "I need to turn this off because this nerve-jangling, unearthly cacophony is burrowing into my mind and rapidly driving me insane," but the other one is "this unearthly cacophony is burrowing into my mind like absolutely nothing else that I have ever heard and I love it." For those that fall into the latter camp, a fresh durational monster from the Opalios is a legitimate event and the fact that there are several highlight reel-level pieces here is just further delicious icing on an already wonderful and unique cake. The Opalios are not wrong in their claim that RINASCIMENTO is future music happening in the present, as their complete rejection of contemporary music's established framework unquestionably represents at least ONE possible future. Whether or not it represents THE future remains to be seen, yet landmark MCIAA releases like this one are objectively as forward-thinking as many previous innovations that have provocatively challenged the way that people understand, experience, and appreciate organized sound (such as Just Intonation, chromaticism, John Cage's use of the I Ching, or the birth of noise).

Listen here.