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This Colorado duo have always inhabited a rather improbable and lonely niche with their "bootgazer" aesthetic, but their third EP makes it sound like the most natural thing in the world. Due to superficial vocal similarities, I suspect that Joe Sampson and Jeffrey Wentworth Stephens are probably doomed to a lifetime of Wilco comparisons, yet the two groups are pursuing very divergent aesthetic ends: Wentworth Kersey have staked out their own spare, intimate, sublime, and sun-baked territory and betray no aspirations towards changing that any time soon. What has changed, however, is that they keep getting better and better at doing it. Their last EP was certainly pleasant, but it didn't have nearly the wealth of great, instantly memorable songs as they’ve managed to assemble here.
Wentworth Kersey have a rather unusual dynamic at their core.One half–Joe Sampson–is a talented singer/songwriter of the folk/alt-country variety.Jeffrey Wentworth Stevens, however, comes from an experimental/electronic music background.Rather than attempting to reach a doomed compromise between their respective sounds, it appears that Joe Sampson writes exactly what he wants, and then Stevens adds layers and textures until the songs reach a state of Kranky-fied pseudo-ambient beauty.Whatever their system, it seems to be working quite well.
The duo originally described their collaborations as "sci-fi folk experiments," but they seem to have evolved to the point where that is no longer quite accurate.At the very least, there is almost nothing overtly "sci-fi" here, and the experimentation (while there) is pretty inconspicuous.Normally, that lack of weirdness and unpredictability would frustrate me, but this is an exceptional case: Stevens knows exactly what he is doing.Sampson's songs are completely solid on their own and most distractions would be both unwelcome and self-defeating.As such, the electronics mainly lurk in the periphery and provide color and atmosphere.
That said, Stevens' presence is not at all wasted: he merely serves to elevate good songs into great ones.Every piece seems like it has a warm, shimmering halo of synth bliss around it, which provides a very effective soft-focus counterbalance to Sampson's gritty heartbreak.Occasionally the synthesizers manage to steal the spotlight a bit, but it is usually due to their awesomeness rather than their volume, such as in the elegantly mournful "Since You Arrived."Jeffrey certainly manages to sneak in some sly spaciness from time to time too, like warped, backwards vocal snippets or Acid Mothers Temple-style whooshes and burbles, but he is refreshingly tactful about it.On rare occasions, he even manages to dazzle on both fronts simultaneously, as he does with the reversed Tejano samples in the chorus of "Walking."
Despite the obvious shoegazer influences and general tendency toward melancholy subject manner, Sampson is anything but mopey.In fact, he's a very charismatic, powerful, and articulate vocalist.He's a damn good songwriter too, as each of the eight pieces here is simple, direct, and memorably hooky.And short.There are, of course, a couple of songs that didn't make a big impression on me and I did not particularly like the opening "Broken Down Knees" (sung mostly in French, unexpectedly), but there are at least two or three songs here that I absolutely love.That is an uncommon occurrence, even among bands that I actively follow.Sampson's songs are very honest and human and when he goes for emotional resonance, he nails it (though not without a little musical help).
I like this a lot.People with less outré taste will probably like it even more than I do.It seems highly improbable that this band will be able to remain a secret if this EP gets heard.
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Sub Pop
I’ve stopped buying Wolf Eyes’s CD-R releases as they are far too patchy in terms of quality in both sound and performance. Plus there’s too many to keep up with. At least with their Sub Pop albums I know that a certain level of quality will be enforced as so much more money is being pumped into an album like this versus a rough jamming session released as a limited edition of 18 spray-painted CD-Rs. Wolf Eyes simply work better when the recording is good and the full range of sounds can ooze from the speakers. Human Animal confirms this for me. This CD is worth any number of their self-released albums. The title track alone is the sound of every Wolf Eyes performance distilled into one song. The jerky rhythms, vomited up vocals and high pitched squeals make for the nicest uneasy listening I’ve heard in a while.
The titles are as tongue in cheek as ever. “Rationed Rot” is an eight-minute sludgefest; drones curl over each other as a slow, broken beat coughs like a dying machine. The saxophone that appears towards the end sounds great; much more subdued playing than usual which gives a suitably queasy sound. The album showcases one of the things I like most about Wolf Eyes that even when the music is as dull as dishwater (which thankfully is not the case for any of the pieces on this album), they still manage to create a horrific mood. “Rusted Mange” is a disorientating and nauseous piece that feels far longer than the two minutes it actually takes up. The same can be said of the album as a whole; it’s only half an hour long but feels like forever.
The sentiment that closes the album on the song, “Noise Not Music,” couldn’t be further from the truth. Yes, Wolf Eyes make me feel a little sick sometimes but even at their most raucous they are not noise but noise that can be rocked out to. This song (a cover of a band called No Fucker, apparently) in particular makes me want to bounce around the room. To me, Wolf Eyes are what punk should sound like. When I used to look at pictures of fucked up punks as a kid I used to imagine music that was loud and visceral, which many of the bands didn’t deliver but Wolf Eyes mostly do.
Human Animal is one of the better things they’ve done. It is a well rounded album that pushes all the right buttons. While this album has sparked a new interest for me in the band, I’m still not going to bother with any of their more obscure releases as it seems to me that they only really hit the mark in two situations: live and when a record label nudges them in the right direction.
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I find it easy to get complacent with Oldham’s work. He’s released so many fine albums that I sometimes fall into the trap of thinking a song is worse than it is because it isn’t “I See a Darkness.” Luckily I normally see the error of my ways. With this album there are a number of gems which would be the high points of many lesser artists’ careers but here it took me a while to appreciate them for the wonders that they are. Early on in the album are the songs “Strange Form of Life” and “Cursed Sleep,” both are exceptional. McCarthy’s vocals (they’re too good and too prominent to be referred to as mere backing vocals) are the perfect counterpoint for Oldham’s old man of the mountains croak, especially on “Strange Form of Life.”
By far the most stunning song of the album is “No Bad News,” where all the musicians come together as one. White’s drumming is, as always, lyrical and deeply expressive. McCarthy continues to impress me with her most beautiful voice; she stuns me non-stop during this song. Of course, the lyrics provided by Oldham are top notch and provide such a wonderful airstrip for McCarthy to take off from. The final minute of the song where there is a complete change in style comes as a pleasant surprise each time I listen.
The album is mostly laid back, many of the songs sound like sitting out in the middle of nowhere enjoying nature. The group do let their hair down (well those that have hair) on “The Seedling” which is as close as any song gets to the rocked up Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy heard recently on his live album. This break from the pastoral mood was needed as I imagine without it the album might feel a little too relaxed. Although there is always that subtle humour running through Oldham’s words that never let a song become boring.
The Letting Go is a welcome return to form for Oldham following the travesty that was his collaboration with Tortoise. It shows that he’s far from running out of steam as a songwriter. This is one of the best and most consistent collections of songs he’s produced in his career.
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Load
Listening to "Five Eyes," now, I can't imagine what it would sound like if Vampire Belt's Chris Corsano weren't present. He's butted heads with Jandek and John Olson before, but the percussion he lays down is chaotic and dominant, as important and central as the overdriven guitars of Bill Nace and the wiggling, churning noise of spent carburetors and psychedelic insects that Rylan spits out of her homemade machines. First impressions matter most in some cases, though, and that's why I feel like Rylan clearly dominates this collaboration. Her noise isn't just intriguing, it's outright spooky at times, sounding more organic than machines should be allowed to. I imagine worlds of tiny living things being squashed and laughed at or spat upon when her work takes center stage. It's so domineering that at times, before I gave the record more chances, the stuff Vampire Belt was laying down felt more like annoying intrusions than natural or necessary additions to the pieces.
"Glass Lion" is partially responsible for this initial impression. It sounds like an all-Can't piece and is by far the best piece on the record. It gurgles and churns like a demonic pot of coffee threatening to explode the next time any corporate suit walks by it. It seems less sporadic than anything else on the record, but it certainly isn't super-structured or careful. The fine line that it treads between pure, untouched sound and crafted noise is responsible for all the gushing I could possibly throw on it. When Vampire Belt re-enter the fray, their work sounds a little too typical comparatively.
"No Strings" exists, thankfully, to draw the two bands together. Corsano's drumming fits the weird sounds Can't lets loose and suddenly the whole record comes into a shaky focus. It's the 11+ minute finale to the album, but perhaps it should've been the first or second song as it draws together the band's two sounds so well. Going back and listening to "The Rat" and "False Teeth" is more enjoyable afterwards. The harmonic hum of guitar feedback and the rolling nonsense of snare drums feel better after "No Strings." When "War Lips" comes on after hearing "No Strings" its unrelenting power and shrieking intensity sound deadly and absolutely fantastic in their rabid convulsions.
It'd be great to see these two Massachusetts entities together on a stage. There are times when they sound more ferocious than Wolf Eyes and they don't need a growling vocalist to accomplish that. This is a great record with some truly rocking moments, but I highly suggest listening to the album backwards or in some invented order of some kind, just so long as "No Strings" happens early, preferably it should be the opening track. "The Rat" would serve just fine as a closer or as an interlude somewhere in the middle and the middle portion of the record, with its short songs and non-stop aggression, would seem all the more unhinged.
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For those Hototogisu fans that are sometimes unlucky enough to miss out on limited editions, this Important Records release is a godsend. Some Blood will Stick takes tracks from both 2004's Swoon Scream and 2005's Awful Symmetry (both editions of 100) and it's unlikely you'll stumble across one of those for less than thirty pounds these days. The addition of an unreleased track makes this a compulsory purchase for any fans of Matthew Bower (Skullflower/Sunroof!) and Marcia Bassett (Double Leopards/Zaimph).
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For those Hototogisu fans that are sometimes unlucky enough to miss out on limited editions, this Important Records release is a godsend. Some Blood will Stick takes tracks from both 2004’s Swoon Scream and 2005’s Awful Symmetry (both editions of 100) and it’s unlikely you’ll stumble across one of those for less than thirty pounds these days. The addition of an unreleased track makes this a compulsory purchase for any fans of Matthew Bower (Skullflower/Sunroof!) and Marcia Bassett (Double Leopards/Zaimph).
There are few bands that lean as heavily towards the pure sound of ritual as Hototogisu. Skilled in both the simplicity and heaviosity of drone, this album reeks of brimstone and the sweet smell of burning oxygen. Their ability to sound thematic without actually giving in to following these threads leaves their music open to interpretation, or better still open to engagement.
The black metallics of their feedback-styled orchestral layers insinuate a cracked cathedral dome sound. Swirling screams of ritual slaughter and the panning between the tinkling and the clanging of meathooks. His work as Hototogisu is utterly distinct from his other main projects, Skullflower and Sunroof!, the music having become an inverted hurricane, spinning out Indian drones like expanding brain stems.
Bower’s fag ash demonic throat shredding climbs over lift shaft hydraulic rushes, a single thunderclap pulse failing to keep time in the storm. At times its possible to distinguish the great swathes of guitar as melody, grand strums of six string over etched whitened and tensed tones. This six-track compilation is yet another definitive example of why Hototogisu is Bower and Bassett’s most revered project.
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Corwood Industries
In 2003 Jandek debuted his use of the bass on The Gone Wait. It was described as a nice contrast to all the squalls and screams that he'd been pulling from his guitar at the time. Two years later, Jandek seems to be approaching the bass again, but in a confusing way as it seems like both a bass and an acoustic guitar on being used on Raining Down Diamonds.There's no mention of a second musician and, furthermore, the twoinstruments mimic each other rhythmically throughout the album, neverfaltering or falling out of sync with one another.
Jandek might havehis guitar tuned down to create a muddy, bass sound or he mightactually be playing a bass. Songs like "Your Visitor" make it verydifficult to distinguish exactly what's being played and, at somepoint, the two instruments seem to bleed together and dispel any ideathat Jandek might be employing more than one musician on this record.
The musical haziness is consonant with the lyrical topics. Jandekbegins with a statement so strong that it cannot be confused foranything but the subject of the entire album: "I don't know wherethings are / It's so dark I have to feel my way around." His voicedrones low, imitating the hum and ramble of the music, but it standsout among the throbs of sound, punctuating the music and providing theheft of the album more so than the instrumentation. The album containsa strange take on suicide or death ("It's Forever"), a dedication tothe food gods ("You Ancient"), and the strangest love song in all ofmusic. The album ends with a kind of triptych; three eight-plus minutesongs, one of them being a new version of "Take My Will" and the othertwo being the kind of Jandek that might freak some friends out if youplayed it for them at night, under a full moon, in the middle of thewoods.
"Your Visitor," however, sounds like Jandek trying to explainwhy he loves someone. He's drinking wine and recalling his life andsimultaneously paving a new one ahead where he is waiting for his love.His delivery is confusing because it's impossible to be sure of anypunctuation or structure; his voice simply buzzes along, full ofresonance and sadness. The last lines say everything about the Jandekmystery and, at the same time, cast the nature of this love into doubt:"You've got all kinds of every love / And your visitor lasts so long /So listen and find me if you can / I'll be all around your loneliness."
I was so sure he was talking to me the first time I heard the recordthat I had to restart it, I was afraid I'd missed something, like I hada better chance of finding him because he'd performed at a concert,revealed that he was the man on the covers, and even let us know thathe couldn't possibly have been a hermit his entire life. I was wrong:Jandek is still hiding. He's receding and expanding and, in allhonesty, there's no knowing who he is or why he writes hisdistinct music. Listening to Jandek, however, is fun precisely becausehe's been such a damned enigma throughout his 42 albums continues to beone without any apologies or signs of slowing down.
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Dilloway presents four untitled tracks, each of them densely-layered works which focus on one or two central themes and runs with them. Undeniably analogue and mostly generic in their delivery, there's nothing special about any of the tracks. Sometimes rhythm of a very shadowed sort propels the songs along and, at other times, there's just a lot of machine noise screaming out of the speakers, sounding like the all too typical malfunction. Unsurprisingly it's loud and there's a good deal of fun sounds to be found, but after a while it's hard not to think that this is just more of the same.
What saves Bad Dreams from the fate of sounding repetitive is that the relatively short tracks that surround the massive 25 minute piece in the middle have enough variation in them to warrant some repeated listens. The hazardous waste, wind-swept desert feel of the album lives up to its title and makes for some fairly imaginative trips down ambivalent lane, but it fails to sound like anything that I haven't heard from someone else. Most appallingly, Bad Dreams is a record I can ignore at will.
The second, untitled track starts off nicely but then dissolves into a series of ambient noise sections that relies mostly on metallic buzz and rather dreary noise pulses that do nothing more than draw out its already epic length. There are some psychotic episodes placed throughout the disc and, on the whole, the album isn't terrible because the source material isn't bad, Dilloway simply fails to use the source materials in any way that makes me want to hear the album more than a few times.
I suppose I could put this on if I wanted some sounds to listen to in the background while performing day to day tasks. I might even be able to go to sleep to it, but I'm not compelled to give it too much of my attention.
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Guitar has long been a male dominated instrument. For as long as Les Paul strapped electronics to the supposed heartbeat of rock and roll, it has been considered an extension of the male psyche; a supercilious sex organ meant to lure women. Yet, as time unfolds and sexual and musical roles are consistently redefined, the guitar has become something of a throwaway. It's a one-trick pony that has been rendered impotent by a swatch of talented femme fetales who have transformed the male extension into a tool of progress. The sinewy manipulations of Sarah Lipstate (AKA Noveller) continue to re-imagine the guitar. Desert Fires, Lipstate's proper sophomore release, not only goes so far as to erase gender boundaries, it casts guitar in a light so few have been able to achieve throughout the instrument's storied history.
Beginning with the haunting, oddly still "Almost Alright," Lipstate carves out a new path for her Noveller ethos. Always mindful about excessive manipulations, those distorted moments of drone and melody are scaled back even further as Sarah's confidence blossoms in her playing skills. Each repeated strum is more fragile than the next as an e-bowed swoon sweeps across the arid landscape. The stripping down of guitar to its essence remains at the heart of Desert Fires. "Toothnest," dedicated to friend and visual collaborator Chris Habib, is no more complicated than the repetitious notes that bounce above the monochromatic growl stretching across the piece's until Lipstate's piercing guitar bends grab it like ravenous incisors, ripping the flesh from the bone. It's a pattern repeated by follow-up, "Three Windows Facing Three Doors," and yet the differences in delivery and sound continue to startle.
It may be a slow decent into minimalism but Desert Fires proves well worth the patience. Sarah Lipstate's continued evolution as an artist is most pronounced on this, her sophomore release. If there were hints to this brand of mantra cool, they have been well masked. It's not that Desert Fires is so far removed from her previous album, Red Rainbows, or her smaller releases, it's that the leap in quality and confidence is stark. Desert Fires brims with a confidence in delivery as well as style, proving that Lipstate is just as brilliant with her compositional skills as her male compatriots. More startling, this is just the beginning of a career where innovation and experimentation will continue to beguile the future Noveller aesthetic.
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And not boring in the good way, like Philip Glass' funwith monotony or Low's sublime minimilist architectonics or even StephinMerritt's clever zen-inflected loop songs (see his glorious THE HOUSE OFTOMMORROW ep) that prove repetition can be a dircet path to pop nirvana.Rather, Sea and Cake's new disc is all about the non-event: nothing happens,and nothing ever will happen. And as you sit there like a character in someexistential vaudeville skit, listening to its tastefully tedious keyboardsand drums and noodly guitars and breathy, indistinct vocals < for what seemslike an eternity < you'll suffer in paraysms of boredom. And wonder why thehell anyone who likes music actually likes this stuff. If this is thealternative to alternative rock, I think i'd rather listen to the airconditioner. Just say "NON!" to OUI. John McEntire fans will want to checkout the fine new Aluminum Group album, PELO, which shows his skills asperformer and producer to a fine advantage. The Navin boys have abandonedtheir fey, soft-rock ways for electroplated dance tracks, and McEntire is adefinite asset.
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In some senseVicki Bennett's work could be seen as companion volumes to Neil Postman'sincisive mid-eighties critique "Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse inthe Age of Show Business". Her assemblages of found samples and oddballartifacts, punctuated by peculiarly catchy little synthpop interludes, arepopulated with all the random and irrelevant crap with which most of us arebombarded daily, skillfully crafted into preposterously pointless exchanges andeasy-listening jingles which slyly undermine the intention and substance oftheir original forms. Bennett has an uncanny ability to transform the trivial,ephemeral, boring and banal into deliciously naughty indictments of ourmedia-saturated culture. In this her work is not unique; artists likeNegativeland explore similar territory, and it could even be said that mockeryand pastiche, as hallmarks of the post-modern, have become something of a staplegesture. What is truly singular and surprising about her work, given itspenchant for deconstruction, is simply its overwhelming gentleness towards itssubjects. Never smugly clever or bitter, Bennett's real human warmth manifestsin the strangest places, moving what would otherwise be searing sarcasm towardsa genuinely fun and good-natured laugh at ourselves. Ultimately it is herkindness that gives her work both its distinctiveness and its effectiveness:while her commerical Muzak jingles at times lead you to believe you are beinglulled into a bludgeoning, her manipulations and surreal juxtapositions arenever cruel, offering instead an uplifting glimpse into the possibilities ofmeaningful communication within (or despite) a sea of chitchat, of real emotioninside the sentimental, and ultimately of an ennobling critical method which isengaged, insightful and diabolically effective without being condescending oroverly self-confident. "Thermos Explorer", her ninth solo album, is my favoritePLU to date. Each listening finds me singing along and grinning like an idiot.Why is listening to this so much fun? It's like having a sleepover with yourhilarious best friend, where everything they say makes you giggle-behind all themusic is the irresistably sweet Vicki Bennett, and you just can't help but likeher.
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