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While their debut album was equal parts all-out guitar assault and plaintive resignation, Explosions in the Sky plumbs the depths of their oeuvre by digging within on their second record, even in its first moments. The quietly played notes that begin the first track eventually join with a heartbeat of percussion that builds into a carefully blended swell where all instruments feel like they're being played with someone's life on the line. When it all finally combusts, it's not at all like before: it's better.
The relentless touring; the stigma associated with album covers and titles; the strife that comes with any band meeting this much popularity this soon all have served to teach this band what it is exactly they possess, what hold they have. They've pulled out the stops on their growth, and become one time and time again over this at once triumphant and sad record. The quiet-loud-quiet dynamics that were there before are less extreme in variation, but where some might miss these moments it has actually strengthened their ethos considerably. There's no fear in this music. The members of the band have surrendered themselves completely to this art, and the end result is radiant. The first half is the triumph, where "First Breath After Coma" and "The Only Moment We Were Alone" display a renewed hope and vitality. These are the songs that say "We've been through hell, but we're all going to be okay. We're not out of the woods yet, but we're still here." For the ones who didn't make it, like the poor sailors on the Kursk who inspired the songs' creation, there's "Six Days at the Bottom of the Ocean" and "Memorial," two sad but gorgeous numbers that represent the mourning and pain that can devastate. Then, in the midst of it all, comes "Your Hand in Mine," the closest thing to an honest to god love song Explosions may ever give up. "Your Hand" brings everything full circle, and, like the rest of the album, shows the real beauty in what this band can accomplish. Their US tour has already begun, and if you've never seen them now is the time. 
samples:
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Tom and Christina Carter's work as Charalambides improves with everyrelease, and now with the addition of Heather Leigh Murray —Christina's bandmate in Scorces — on pedal steel and vocals, they are aforce to be reckoned with. Kranky is generously reissuing severalCharalambides releases that were never widely available. Unknown Spinwas originally released on the band's own label in a CD-R pressing of300. With this particular reissue, Kranky is righting a colossal wrong:that this music was relatively unavailable for so long. These songs area real step forward for the band, as they work more into each other'spatterns, with the expansive nature of the music benefitting from anodd start/stop quality that intensifies the whole album's aura. Theopening track, also the title track, is thirty whole minutes ofminimalist joy, haunting in its need to take so long to build. Littlepieces of music are repeated, but spaced out in an almost mind-alteringpace. Eventually all parts join together, build, soar, and chill to thebone. With not a track under eight minutes, and given their history,this track sets the tone for the whole release. The songs approach purebeauty here and there, but is is the final track, "Skin of Rivers,"that pulls it all together. With Heather and Christina's dueling vocalsand little else until about five minutes in, there is a pure fear andisolation in place that just decimates. It's probably the bestCharalambides track ever, and the album as a whole is quite anaccomplishment. With more to come from Kranky, perhaps this fineensemble will finally get the respect they deserve.Read More
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Somewhere there exists a Metal Valhalla, an otherworldly paradise where all of the head-banging Vikings, beer-swilling Satanists, fist-pumping Klingons and face-painted Odinists are slam-dancing under the dark crimson moonlight to the pure amplified glory of the heaviest sounds in the Universe. For all we know, this Guitar Nirvana might be completely out of reach of mere mortals, at least in this lifetime, but that doesn't stop people from trying time and again to invoke it right here on Earth.
For the past two decades, as American and British metal bands have crept uncomfortably towards soulless rap-metal, middle-of-the-road alt-rock and hair-metal parody, Norway's legion of Black, Neo-Black and Blacker-Than-Thou Metal bands have gradually asserted themselves as the most extreme, experimental and creative force still untainted by irony and trendspotting. The scene made headlines in 1993 when Count Grishnackh of Burzum burned down a few churches then murdered his former Mayhem bandmate Euronymous, in a bid to prove that his virulently radical and amoral views were more than just a stylistic pose. Since the recent decline of Mayhem and Emporer, the Scandinavian scene's acknowledged godfathers, Dimmu Borgir have taken the gilded Viking helmet by the horns, releasing several masterful albums of megalithic death-rock that stand up to the best heavy classics of the past.
Death Cult Armageddon is their strongest effort to date, a Dionysian explosion that comes on like a nuclear assault and relentlessly pummels forward on its own twisted momentum. Dimmu Borgir are inspired by three demonic familiars known as Speed, Power and Majesty. Speed comes in the form of the primal, high-speed drumming of Nicholas Barker and the savage technical mastery of guitarists Silenoz and Galder. Power manifests in the growls, groans and operatic screams of vocalists Shagrath and Vortex. Majesty is provided by the symphonic keyboards of Mustis, who wields the entire Prague Philharmonic Orchestra to provide the final Wagnerian piece of the puzzle. The production on Death Cult Armageddon is precise and deadly, achieving an impressive balance between the symphonic backdrops and the vicious bombast of the band.
The album is filled with moments of dark orchestral intrigue, punching up the action. Mustis has clearly been influenced by the gothic symphonic film scores of Danny Elfman, as well as John Williams' space fanfares for Star Wars. "Progenies of the Great Apocalypse" builds a twisted tower of epic Hollywood intensity, quickly exploding into a monolith of speed-damaged brutality. Shagrath's growling vocals are phased and mutated, joined on two tracks by the powerful gut-wrenching of Abbath Doom Occulta of Immortal. Yes, it's overwrought, and unquestionably goofy, but it's also an amazingly entertaining listen. I've never heard another band that puts quite so much visceral energy into scaring the hell out of their audience while simultaneously blowing out their eardrums.
There's not a dud among the 11 tracks on Death Cult Armageddon, but the album certainly builds up to the dual orgiastic climaxes of the two lengthy final tracks — "Unorthodox Manifesto" and "Heavenly Perverse" — where soaring symphonic swells are unashamedly wielded to devastating effect. The songs willfully change tempo and direction, dipping into industrial rhythms, gothic drama and Slayer-style debauchery, pausing every now and then to reinforce their own violent virtuosity. This is the Close to the Edge of the Black Metal genre; revelatory progressive metal for a post-apocalyptic millennium.
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The world of drones is necessarily deceptive. The successful drone isalways an illusion—you wind up being drawn into a special perceptualstate that I call the zone,believing that you're listening to a complex world of fractionaldetail, motion, drama and beauty while it's perfectly obvious to thecasual observer outside the zone that it's just a bunch of tones, quitepossibly rather unpleasant ones. The conjuror illusionist's skills canbe explained, understood and taught but the inner workings of theconvincing drone illusion are, to me at least, very mysterious. Thesame mystery is at the heart of minimalism—it's unbelievably easy to bea minimalist but very few have made good minimalist art and I doubtthat anyone can explain the key ingredient. This is my excuse for notbeing sure what it is that doesn't quite work about Texturizer.Everything is lovely in theory, Coti K. provides slow mellow electronictones and noises and Nikos Veliotis plays bowed harmonics and othercello sounds on top of that. But somehow it doesn't quite gel anddoesn't get me into the zone. The electronic part itself is hard tofault; it has nicely unstable resonances that sound like they mightcome from feedback loops fed with ambient sounds, perhaps street noise.The cello part is perhaps the issue. My all time favorite musicalinstrument is the cello and I love what its overtones can do but here Idon't get the sense of a cohesive effect playing. Live improvised droneplaying (I presume is what's happening here) involves a generativeprocess of discovering the perfect sonority and then working it,holding it, keeping it and moving it around. There should be a balancebetween the freedom of the autonomous discovered sound to behave underits own volition and the control of the musician. Too much control andall we hear is the performer, too little and the sound's lack ofintrinsic aesthetics will show through. Veliotis is tending to theformer. It's as though he never quite finds his perfect sonority,passing over several good opportunities and dwelling on inadequate oneson a trajectory of his own that also fails to make sense as a celloimprovisation. As wallpaper Texturizer is entirely functional—areally rather enjoyable and unimposing accompaniment to ones work. Butclose listening reveals the absence of illusion. AntifrostThe world of drones is necessarily deceptive. The successful drone isalways an illusion—you wind up being drawn into a special perceptualstate that I call the zone,believing that you're listening to a complex world of fractionaldetail, motion, drama and beauty while it's perfectly obvious to thecasual observer outside the zone that it's just a bunch of tones, quitepossibly rather unpleasant ones. The conjuror illusionist's skills canbe explained, understood and taught but the inner workings of theconvincing drone illusion are, to me at least, very mysterious. Thesame mystery is at the heart of minimalism—it's unbelievably easy to bea minimalist but very few have made good minimalist art and I doubtthat anyone can explain the key ingredient. This is my excuse for notbeing sure what it is that doesn't quite work about Texturizer.Everything is lovely in theory, Coti K. provides slow mellow electronictones and noises and Nikos Veliotis plays bowed harmonics and othercello sounds on top of that. But somehow it doesn't quite gel anddoesn't get me into the zone. The electronic part itself is hard tofault; it has nicely unstable resonances that sound like they mightcome from feedback loops fed with ambient sounds, perhaps street noise.The cello part is perhaps the issue. My all time favorite musicalinstrument is the cello and I love what its overtones can do but here Idon't get the sense of a cohesive effect playing. Live improvised droneplaying (I presume is what's happening here) involves a generativeprocess of discovering the perfect sonority and then working it,holding it, keeping it and moving it around. There should be a balancebetween the freedom of the autonomous discovered sound to behave underits own volition and the control of the musician. Too much control andall we hear is the performer, too little and the sound's lack ofintrinsic aesthetics will show through. Veliotis is tending to theformer. It's as though he never quite finds his perfect sonority,passing over several good opportunities and dwelling on inadequate oneson a trajectory of his own that also fails to make sense as a celloimprovisation. As wallpaper Texturizer is entirely functional—areally rather enjoyable and unimposing accompaniment to ones work. Butclose listening reveals the absence of illusion.Read More
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Like the 23Five label's recent success, Variable Resistance: Ten Hours of Sound from Australia, this new two-disc compilation from Preservation seeks to document a burgeoning sound art/experimental electronic scene among Australian musicians. "Scene," however, may be inappropriate given the variety available here. Motion: Movement in Australian Sound does distinguish itself by veering (slightly) away from headier sound art pieces into a more repeated-listener-friendly zone.Preservation
This is understandable given the label's undistinguished focus, with previous releases including Sun's dazzling, though unabashedly pop debut. The same understated beauty Oren Ambarchi and Chris Townend achieved on that record is present throughout Motion, suggesting there is truly something in Australian water that is sorely missed across the sea. The tensest, busiest tracks here exude a calm that uniquely connects them, digital majority included, to the pastoral. Not the nostalgic, fairytale pastoral championed frequently by European musicians?his sounds of the rural, the sprawling, the Australian pastoral. Inventive and satisfying combinations of organic/primitive sounds with austere glitch landscaping help to create the unique and emotive music so prevalent here. Guitars dominate several tracks, predictably unrecognizable in Oren Ambarchi's weightless contribution, while chiming a struggling joy across Chris Smith's fragile "Plates Shift." A nice surprise on the first disc is Ray Diode's cleverly-titled "Even Diodes Get the Blues," a subtle composition of humming drones, layered hiss, and muffled piano, faded in on a bed of field recordings and clicking static as if wafting in on a phantom frequency. Motion'ssecond disc is the real prize, beginning with Alan Lamb's comatose "Fragment of the Outback," which leads into a beautiful new track from Mush recording artist Clue to Kalo. His "Clock Taps its Face" is simple, skeletal pop, half-spoken vocals over looped piano that succeeds in the kind of haphazard, back porch brilliance that so often falls flat. Laptop/turntable noisemakers GCTTCATT also contribute what sounds like moment of chance-melodicism, a nicely digestible piece composed primarily of one swooning piece of feedback. Scott Horscroft's "Eleven Guitars" is one of the treasures of this second disc, also one of the only tracks to deal, in more explicit fashion, with the comp's vague theme, that each track must explore ideas of motion through sound. "Eleven Guitars" follows minimal, rapid-fire guitar loops as they evolve glacially over the song's six minutes. The tension between the swift, skating motion of the loops themselves, and the miniature progression of the whole, is as peaceful as it is stimulating. The disc's final triumph is an extended closer from Sigma Editions/Tonschacht artist Minit, a patchwork of synth-laced drones and machine hum, understated through a minimalism of means, but immense in its effected catharsis. New listeners should find many agreeable discoveries in Motion, most importantly that of Australian sound itself, a movement that is only getting stronger.
samples:
- Qua - Stranger Comforts Have Slipped By
- GCTTCATT - Jim Denley vs. GCTTCATT
- Minit - Ijmuiden
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This is a mysterious piece of music. At times rising above nothing morethan a series of simplistic drum patterns and a possessed guitar, theeffect is radiates is eerie and strange. It's as if the wholearchitecture that the sound rested upon was made up of a liquid masssubject to change at anytime. Symphonic washes of melody that soundadrift on the sea are meshed with the sound of metal or wood beingground into a pulp and then recycled into a series of hypnotic rhythmsthat move each track along in a soft but drunken manner. On a tracklike "Random Hiver" the spectacular residue of this combination isnothing short of enchanting, but the hollow and vaccuous halls of soundsometimes become too plain and uninvolving. This is especially true forthe middle third of the album. Vocals samples are used early on in goodtaste to provide a sense of voyeurism within the music, but in themiddle portion of RI.Tit just serves to stretch out tracks that weren't meant to be stretchedout. "Aritec" and "We Watch Over You" are both far too alike to beenjoyable back to back. If it weren't for "Random Hiver," I might havebecome sick with the album too soon and missed the promisingconclusion. A series of sucking sounds (think snot) lead "We Watch OverYou" into "Cheyenne," a tune that creates an empty and strange embracebetween keyboards and drums. The drums never quite sync up witheachother nor with the self-destructing melodies fading and buzzing outof the sound spectrum. The end of the song is a mess of alien sound andinstellar noise that dissipates into thin air before the escapist"Enron State" topples into being and blows itself out on its own gustof wind. Yes, the song has a bit of a political tint to it, butnevermind such a distraction: the music is lovely. The end leaves mefeeling lonely and somehow depressed: the entire album just feels likea byzantine cathedral that echoes to the point discomfort. It'sgorgeous, without a doubt, but there's something about that void thatis unsettling; it's a space that's hard to look into without beingabsorbed by it.samples:
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Vienna's Vegetable Orchestra is one of only two vegetable musicprojects worldwide. They make music using only instruments crafted outof vegetables and various kitchen appliances. No sampling or looping isinvolved, and all songs are composed for live performance, the soundsgathered by what must be some of the best contact microphones in theworld. The group protests that this is no "just-for-fun project," andsuch a claim is easy to believe after listening to this, their secondfull-length release. Trying to decide just how this record, soundinglike a nice enough mix of spacious glitch-tronica and the windblown,percussive sound of early Kraftwerk, was rended from curiously alteredradishes, carrots, and eggplant, is at least a unique experience. Theorchestra's stated goal is "the interpretation and reconstruction ofelectronic music with organic means," the first part of which is anastounding achievement. With the aid of microphones alone, anincredible range of drone, crackle, and even straight noise travels theshort distance from vegetable to ear. They do house; they do dub; hell,they even cover Kraftwerk's "Radioactivity" with an amazing amount ofclarity. The large number of sounds and reference points within Automatekeep the novelty cooking for far longer than one would expect. Thealbum falters, however, in accomplishing the "reconstruction" proposedin its concept. True, the element of surprise enters first as therealization sets in that these are all vegetable sounds, then againwhen it's clear that none of the sounds have been run through computersor looped. But the music, taken alone, is nothing shocking. Somestrange, noticeably unique sounds emerge every now and then throughout Automate,but no archly organic vibe is launched. In a time when computers canreconstruct and often augment any sound under the sun, vegetables thatmerely replicate computer noise, and do so somewhat derivatively, failto make a lasting impression. That said, the Vegetable Orchestra'sfirst album may not be directed at a reinterpretation of electronicmusic, and therefore may not find the same shortcomings as itssuccessor. Also, the orchestra's bimonthly performances are surelyspectacles to be reckoned with; at the end of the show, the group's ownchef cooks the instruments into a soup that is shared with theaudience!samples:
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If brevity is the soul of wit, then the 99 remixes of Cock ESP on Hurts So Goodmust be the wittiest music ever produced. Close to none of these songsexceed the two-minute mark, most of them averaging about 30-45 seconds.It's an album tailor made for noise lovers with ADD. Cock ESP isanother one of those aggro-noise outfits with a wicked sense of humorand a predilection for transgressive fun. V/VM Test records iscertainly an appropriate label for this stuff, as much of their humorderives from brutal parodies of pop music and pun-filled song titles,poking fun at pop culture clichés and other easy targets. Thisadolescent satire has the potential to wear out its welcome quickly,but when it comes in such tiny little disposable half-minute packages,it's hard to resist. Just reading down the list of the 88 band namesand 99 song titles that make up the album is a fucking riot. A samplingof some of the more ridiculous band names: The Edible Scab Package, DJEnormous Genitals, U Can Unlearn Guitar, Obscuration/Albee Featuringthe Mellow Oaks First Grade Choir, Uncle Fatso, Kid666 and DJSmallcock. The song titles: "Don't Stop Bleedin'," "The Pursuit ofCrappiness," "Enjoy the Violence," and "Hologram of Balls." The musicruns the gamut — mutated voices, perversions of pop music, sampledmedia cut-ups, harsh blasts of industrial noise, aggressive drill n'bass techno, clarinet solos, a children's choir, field recordings anddrugged-up fucking about — some of it hilarious, all of it annoying,but certainly that was the intention. As an unexpected side effect,listening to this disc on random repeat mode all afternoon has given methe strange ability to read the minds of people's genitals. In fact,your dick just told me that it wants this CD. - - Madame Chao - Hologram of Balls (Horrorglam of Bars Mix)
- DJ Enormous Genitals - Don't Stop Bleedin' (Enormous Cock Mix)
- Arctic Universe - Too Good To Be Experimental (Ten Below Mix)
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Don't be fooled: this isn't some silly pot-worshipping reggae groupcome to praise the benefits of marijuana use to the masses. This is abody-swaying group of musicians fusing "acoustic" reggae with the bestelements of dub. The sexiest horn combo this side of the universe blowsthrough "Kneel At the Feet" and slithers through a sax solo hell-benton turning these cold days into humid, fire-lit nights in a steamy bar.There's the moon shining over the mountains just outside the openwindow of the bar and the smell of salt-water splashes up through mysenses with every drum POP! and guitar stroke. The music isn't justsexy, though: 10 Ft. Ganja Plant recalls the best of classic reggaewith upbeat and playful rhythms, bass-led melodies, and, especially inthe case of "Let the Music Hit," outstanding lyrics celebrating thepower of great reggae tunes. The best part is that each track soundsdistinctly different: the production is never the same between twotracks and all the instruments have a unique voice that bursts away andstands alone as a shining beacon. If that beacon isn't shining, though,it's pulsing and moving like the waves on the ocean: it's hard not totap a foot or get caught up in the melodies. With each track being asurprise both musically and production-wise, it's an album that movesalong quickly and leaves a hunger for more. The chiming, foreign, andexotic "Midnight Landing" stands out like a lone dancer on the beach:the strange bells used that form the center of the melody couldn't bemore whimsical and yet they stand at a paradox: they're a sharpcontrast from standard reggae instrumentation but they keep in focuswith the soul of the album. I could spend hours talking about theimagery this album throws at me every time I listen to it. I don'tthink I've ever heard a reggae/dub album quite as diverse as this. Infact, even putting a name like "reggae/dub" on Midnight Landing is unfair: this isn't just reggae or dub and this isn't justsome combination of the two. Between the vocal-pieces and theinstrumentals there is an amazing variety of styles employed and it'shard not to stand back and look at it all and wonder: this is one ofthe most creative albums I've heard all year. It's diverse, fun, risky,experimental, creative, and entirely unique. This goes beyond itsstylistic marker and shatters into something entirely new and beautifulwithout forgetting where it came from. Read More
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The future of indie rock mixed with electrorock funk is definitely indoubt. Black Audio are a Finnish pop outfit with a mission to be thebest club band ever, or so it seems listening to their slickproductions on this release. The sad thing is that their beats arederivative, and every track is ruined by the mispronunciation of aword, or a strange effect that throws everything out of balance. Thereis a lot of creativity in their music, no question there, but it hasvery little substance that can be called originality. This single,composed of one undisturbed track off their debut album and two remixedversions of album tracks, is enough to give a taste of the band andtheir flavor, but there is precious little here that would give me anycause to want to listen to their full-length at all. "Louisiana" iskeyboard funk with scratch guitar and a steady programmed beat, butit's crippled by the flatulent keyboard bassline, and the repeatedphrasing of "Yamaha" as "Ya-MAH-ha." "Rock 'N' Roll Egos" starts offfairly strong, with a labored rhythm and guitar bend, but it's thelyrics that ultimately do this one in, as well: "Yeah I hate therednecks, dislike hipsters even more/Getting along with mean morons forthe sake of business makes me a whore." It just shows that subjectmatter only gets you halfway there; next you have to carry the conceptto the masses on your words and feelings. Maybe something is lost inthe translation here, and that's part of the problem. "Mockba 1980" isa tribute to Finnish Olympic medal winners of the past, but the remixhere just plods at first, then annoys at the end with its blandkeyboard sounds and rapid-fire for no reason beat. It's a good attempt,and maybe there would be more on the full-length for me to enjoy. Withthis as an appetizer, though, I have very little stomach for the maincourse.Read More
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Rune Grammofon is known for releasing consistently excellent recordswhile at the same time convincing listeners that all their music comesfrom Norway. One would think, given the output of this label alone,Norway should have long ago become the new Iceland…or something. Rune'sreputation for continually thwarting audience expectations will not betarnished by Fevergreens,the second release from outsider-composer Jono El Grande. Next to ArneNordheim's abstract electronics, Supersilent's dead-city jazz, andSpunk's inimitable improv, Fevergreens occupies a territory ofits own; problem is, the territory isn't so thrillingly exclusive thistime around. While El Grande's playful blend of easy listening,exotica, and soundtrack styling may stand out in Norway, there is a"tried" quality to this music that makes the disc less than impressive.Fevergreens is enjoyable; the exuberance of these tracks iscertainly palpable, the pathos-ridden moments gripping even. ElGrande's forays into easy listening and a kind of quasi-exotica arewritten well, never drifting into (more-than-appropriate) parody. Thedisc fails, somewhat admirably, in its ambitious nature. The musicoperates under a classically informed, theatrical guise, bookendingprologue/epilogue sections and all, with the soundtrack-influenced vibefueling the listener's vivid journey through the crests and denouementsof an elaborate, though abstract tale. Such a framework clashes with ElGrande's interest in jazz and the progressive rock sound bearing themark of people like the Mothers of Invention and Henry Cow. The avantpresence is subtle, isolated to bursts of rock drumming, spasticsynthesized melodies, and a more pronounced jazz edge, but relevantenough to pull the stoicism out from under what would otherwise be arather refined musical achievement. The short lengths of the songs,each packed with enough mood changes to make one's head spin, likewisedetract from the latent seductive quality of this music. I find myselfwishing the avant-rockist bits were allowed to flail and degeneratefreely, or the moments of a more classical resolve given more room tobreathe. The former would provide Jono El Grande a welcome (and stillunique) spot on Rune Grammafon's intimidating roster, while the latterwould still make him the best Norwegian making such interesting music(which, to be honest, could mean the best worldwide). Read More
