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Alex Keller and Sean O'Neill may have been collaborators since 2015, but Kruos is actually their debut release. That relative youth does not translate to lack of experience on the album, however, as the duo’s work is a complex, nuanced work of sound art, conjured up from some rather rudimentary sources, largely just field recordings and a telephone test synthesizer. It is a bit of a difficult, unsettling experience at times, but a strong one nonetheless.
The two halves of Kruos complement each other well, with each side representing some drastically different approaches to sound.The first half begins rather simply with a big, looming bassy analog tone that slowly oscillates in pitch.Sputtering at times, it functions well as an underlying foundation for the processed field recordings to be constructed upon.The duo introduces these rather coarsely via recordings of violent, heavy reverberated knocking.There is a rhythmic quality to it, but is anything but conventional.Instead, it functions as a jarring, menacing addition to initially restrained sounds.
Keller and O'Neill are not just working with pure field recordings, of course, so after some of those loud outbursts, a bit of delay scatters the sound nicely, giving an additional sense of depth.Beyond that, some weird creaking textures and shifting of pitches balance out the open space well, bringing a nicely foreboding quality to the composition.The tones get even more varied and pushed to the forefront, building up to a dramatic, yet abrupt ending.
The second half of the record is the more subtle side to Kruos.The low frequency synthesizer hum reappears, but here blended with an ambience somewhere between white noise generator and air conditioning system.From here slow, sparse pulsations appear, representing another misuse of that telephone test equipment the duo utilizes.Sputtering, rumbling electronics appear, giving a bit more tension to the otherwise peaceful surroundings, but still staying more restrained and less confrontational than the first half.
Eventually these indistinct and mostly unidentifiable field recordings and found sounds are presented in a less treated way, consisting of far off birds and insects that again capture the vastness of nature very well.Towards the conclusion, however, the duo decides to get weird again.There is a reappearance of some of the knocking/clattering type sounds that were heard throughout the first part, building to a more disorienting, chaotic arc before coming to another abrupt conclusion.
Alex Keller and Sean O'Neill may not have used a significant amount of instrumentation to construct Kruos, but they achieve a great deal with what they have.It is difficult and challenging at times, and there is not much to grab on to as far as conventional rhythm or melody, but it excels in abstraction.In many cases the result is far removed from the source material, but the environment the two create on here is just as fascinating as any natural one that could be captured.
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While I suspect Thomas Meluch will always be best known for his more traditional albums, he has quietly become one of North America’s most consistently compelling ambient/drone artists over the last few years.  On this, his first full-length for Portland’s Beacon Sound, Meluch returns to roughly the same territory that he explored on 2015’s gorgeous Sonnet and his self-released Stanza series: lush, slow-moving, and gently undulating drones drifting through a haze of tape hiss.  There are some intriguing small-scale transformations to be found, however, as Meluch's focus has subtly shifted away from structure and melody into an increasing deep fascination with the textural possibilities of weathered and distressed tapes.
The seven songs of Lignin Poise are all very much of piece, essentially unfolding as a series of subtly different variations on single strong vision.  The opening "Hawk Moth Mirage" is probably the strongest articulation of that vision though, feeling like a massive cloud expanding and billowing outward in slow-motion, yet diffuse enough to allow some dazzling and ephemeral flickers of sun to shine though.  I have probably used similar language to describe similarly hazy yet dynamic drone albums, but few artists can make it feel as effortless and organic as Benoit Pioulard.  "Hawk Moth Mirage" feels like a vaporous living entity that Meluch simply conjured into being.  That, more than anything, is the genius of Lignin Poise: a master illusionist has artfully blurred and obfuscated his compositions so skillfully that they feel more like a natural, elemental phenomenon than a painstakingly layered and produced collage of synth tones.  It essentially feels like Meluch astrally traveled into a radiant, rapturous, and light-filled alternate dimension, made a bunch of stunning field recordings, then accidentally left all the tapes in his yard for a few days: glimpses of absolutely sublime beauty abound, but it feels like the struggling tape deck is having quite a hard time getting the speed the just right and the signal to noise ratio errs heavily towards the latter.
While that general description could almost be cut-and-pasted to apply to any song on Lignin Poise, there are a handful of stronger pieces that Meluch allows a bit more time to unfold.  "Same Time Next Year," for example, is essentially a reprise of "Hawk Moth Mirage" in almost every respect, but with the see-sawing pointillist synth motif replaced by a glacially unfolding melody that swells out of the underlying chords only to quickly dissolve.  It is quite lovely and understated, unfolding like a warm and bittersweet dream.  As usual, Meluch’s genius for texture and detail does a lot of the heavy lifting, as the shivering, decaying notes appealingly fall somewhere between "spectral" and "sizzling."  The atypically brief "Vesperal" is another gem, largely eschewing instrumentation in favor of layered, blurry voices.  It sounds like a warped VHS tape of an angelic choir, yet gradually becomes something a bit darker and more mysterious, as the voices sound increasingly dissociated from one another and the surrounding grit takes on an almost grinding texture.  Similarly brief, "On Form" is another divergent experiment, gradually building up to a muted crescendo that sounds like churning, overlapping loops of string ensembles emerging from a thick fog.  Elsewhere, Meluch returns once more to his "hissing dream cloud" comfort zone with the album’s closing pieces. "Rook" diverges a bit from the formula with the addition of a wobbly repeating melodic line, however.  In fact, it sounds weirdly like an abstract, hallucinatory, and monomaniacally obsessive cover of Julee Cruise's "Falling" (better known as the original Twin Peaks’ theme) that just endlessly fixates on the ascending melody that leads into the chorus.  The 10-minute title piece heads in the opposite direction though, blurring its underlying structure and its buried melodies so effectively that it just feels like a warmly enveloping multi-colored fog rolling across a field or floating upward from a twilit harbor.
While a few of the other pieces sometimes feel a bit like Meluch is treading water, it is extremely hard to find fault with Lignin Poise at all.  Within the realm of ambient music, Benoit Pioulard shares a lot in common with Andrew Chalk: both artists make extremely lovely, instantly recognizable music and rarely release a weak album.  It would certainly be cool if each new release marked an unambiguous leap forward, but art does not work like that.  Instead, Lignin Poise is kind of a lateral evolution, noticeably tweaking some elements, but not so much that a casual listener would find it conspicuously different from, say, Stanza.  As such, Lignin Poise is significant mostly for just being another great Benoit Pioulard album that deepens an already wonderful body of work.  Admittedly, this is probably the most uniformly strong of Meluch’s ambient releases to date, but Sonnet and Stanza both pack enough moments of transcendent, gently hallucinatory heaven to make choosing a favorite an impossible and unnecessary endeavor.
 
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The second full-length album from this bass-driven Australian "freak unit" is an intriguing evolution from the bleary, haunted atmospheres of 2015's Hide Before Dinner. For one, the mood is considerably less unnerving, but the trio has also incorporated a significant dub influence (a move that always makes my ears perk up). Naturally, F Ingers is still as unrepentantly bizarre, prickly, and indulgent as ever, but they seem to found a way to make their fractured nightmares feel a lot more playful, spontaneous, and kinetic. At its worst, Awkwardly Blissing Out sounds like a batch of willfully wrong-headed, dub-damaged, and sketchlike experiments that blossomed from the corpses of murdered songs. At its best, however, it transcendently resembles a newly discovered cache of extended and deeply hallucinatory dub remixes of imaginary early UK post-punk classics.
I have been regularly enjoying Carla dal Forno's gorgeously skeletal deadpan pop for a few years now, but I am embarrassed to say that I only recently began to fully appreciate the unholy alchemy that occurs when she teams up with bassist Tarquin Manek.On pieces like Tarcar's "Visions of the Night," the duo conjure up some of the most menacing and darkly lysergic music in recent memory.Their F Ingers project, where they are joined by Manek's Bum Creek bandmate Samuel Karmel, explores a similarly dark and fragmented vision, but does so in far more primitive and stark fashion.It is a fascinating clash of styles, particularly on the opening "My Body Next to Yours."The bedrock of the piece is Manek's fairly straightforward bass line, which feels like it has been disembodied from an actual catchy song with a real groove.Instead of being joined by a cool beat, however, it finds itself unfolding beneath Karmel’s quavering, seasick-sounding synth motifs and intrusive squalls of spacey electronics.For her part, dal Forno sounds similarly adrift and decontextualized, as her vocals feel distracted and drifting, often overlapping or being chopped into mere word fragments.It essentially feels like Manek showed up eagerly expecting to make a great post-punk album in the Young Marble Giants vein, but his bandmates turned up in either a somnambulant trance (dal Forno) or in the midst of a complete psychotic break from reality (Karmel).On paper, that aesthetic train wreck probably should not work, yet it somehow does.
None of the remaining five songs resembles the opener all that much, but there is definitely an overarching theme throughout of taking the elements of a hooky, well-crafted song and impishly deconstructing them or somehow derailing them into endearing outsider wrongness.For example, "All Rolled Up" brings a drum machine into the mix for a pleasingly burbling groove, but the individual pieces of the song gradually become isolated from one another as the song unfolds.While everything still fits together and sounds melodic, both dal Forno's vocals and Manek's bass sound like they are occurring separately in empty, reverberant rooms.The following title piece also features a simmering groove, but the pulse is mostly built from echoing clicks and it is regularly disrupted with jarring howls of dissonant synths.At some point, a lush synth drone starts to slowly rise in the mix and dal Forno breathily croons a few cryptic lines, yet the components never cohere into anything more concrete than a woozy reverie of skipping delay and hazy drone."Time Passes," on the other hand, sounds like band came up with an actual vocal melody and lyrics, then set about gleefully mangling them with effects, pulling everything apart and stretching the song into a fragmented fantasia of dreamy, hiss-ravaged melody and crazily panning drum machine deconstructions.The album's closer is even more diffuse, as dal Forno’s reverb-swathed vocals hazily float above a pile-up of disjointed strumming and sci-fi-sounding analog synth noodling.
If F Ingers spent the entire time just cheerfully breaking things and crashing their songs into the wall, Awkwardly Blissing Out would still be a fairly compelling and unusual album, but occasionally all their mismatched parts and misused equipment improbably combine to form something beautiful.The aforementioned "My Body Next To Yours" is one such moment.The other comes near the end of the album in the form of "You're Confused," which uses a quietly propulsive groove of handclaps and bass as foundation for a swirling fog of echoing melodies, spectral chords, and chopped-up snatches of dal Forno's vocals.When it hits the mark like that, Awkwardly Blissing Out shares a lot of common ground with Peaking Lights' masterpiece 936, though F Ingers are unquestionably far more aberrant-minded and happy to push their experimentation to a place of more dubious listenability.That is the only real caveat here: playing with structure and texture is the primary focus here and sometimes good songs emerge from that.F Ingers are not terribly concerned if they do not, as long as the results are interesting.As such, this is probably not the place to go to hear any of the participants' finest work, but there are certainly some flashes of brilliance and more outré-minded listeners will find a lot to enjoy in this trio’s mischievous free-form surprises.In fact, Awkwardly Blissing Out feels perversely like an avant-garde/postmodern party album where karaoke is replaced by increasingly adventurous manglings of dour post-punk classics.It admittedly is not as catchy as the original songs might be, but seeing how far out F Ingers are willing to go offers a different and far rarer strain of fun.
 
 
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This latest Folklore Tapes collection is a perfect illustration of why they are possibly the most unique and fascinating label around, assembling 31 different artists to create free-form sound art based upon their research into a specific plant. I certainly like the concept and appreciate the depth and breadth of their commitment to it (there is accompanying literature, a film, and a pack of seeds), yet none of that would matter all that much if the music was underwhelming. As it happens, the music is absolutely wonderful, as the many brief and varied vignettes form a wonderfully surreal and kaleidoscopic whole. A few of the participants were familiar to me beforehand (Dean McPhee, Bridgett Hayden), but most were not and nearly every single one brings something delightfully bizarre, hallucinatory, or enigmatically esoteric to the table.
It is quite hard to conclusively pin down "the Folklore Tapes aesthetic," as it can shift significantly from release to release, depending on both the theme and the participants involved.However, there are definitely several fertile strains of subterranean music that tend to frequently find a home on the label.Obviously, any label devoted to folklore is undoubtedly going to have some folk/traditional music, but even that is rarely presented in its expected form, instead embracing the magical unreality of a folktale.The sole exception to that rule here is Jennifer Reid’s a capella performance of "Let No Man Steal Your Thyme."More typically, Folklore artists opt for a more illusory vision of "traditional music" that feels ancient and ritualistic, such as the haunting drones and rattling strings of James Green's "False Shamrock."The other threads, of course, are considerably more outré.Naturally, no UK folklore-themed collection would be complete without a bevy of half-kooky/half-creepy retro "library music" artists, best represented here by Belbury Poly's gleefully blooping "Hawthorn" (the unexpected jaw harp is an especially nice touch).The dominant aesthetic on this particular release, however, is collage.That form lends itself quite nicely to the unpredictable and hallucinatory atmosphere of the album, also lending itself quite nicely to the occasional spoken word performances.That said, there is also another harder-to-define category, which is can best be described as "batshit crazy."In that regard, Hugh Metcalf steals the show, muttering and jabbering about jasmine over some clattering that sounds like a bucket and some random kitchenware.Also, his piece definitely sounds like it was "composed" on the spot and recorded on a boombox.While definitely a piss-take, it is quite an endearing one and does not feel out of place amongst the other efforts.Part of the beauty of the collection is that everyone is essentially on the same footing: an accomplished musician, a lunatic in his kitchen, and an herbalist all have roughly a minute to make an impact however they can, which brings out a lot of creativity and ingenuity.The scholar and fool each have an important part to play in this strange tableau, as do children and animals.
While there are many individual pieces that stand out as particularly inspired, the real magic lies in how the pieces flow together as an absorbing and deliciously phantasmagoric whole.An album filled completely with people reciting recipes or describing the properties of nettles probably would not be very good, but in the context of The Folklore of Plants' deeply lysergic flow, those moments appear as beautifully disorienting oases, like flicking snatches of actual memories creeping into a singularly bizarre and shifting dream.Of course, much credit must go to the handful of artists that devoted themselves wholeheartedly to making this collection such a mind-warping plunge into a half-sinister/half-blissful funhouse of unreality in the first place.My favorite is probably the duo of Carl Turney and Brian Campbell, who celebrate the virtues of robert geranium with a deranged fantasia of pounding drums, odd beeps, chopped and distorted speech, and a child listing the herb’s various other pseudonyms ("death comes quickly" being one of them).Elsewhere, Folklore Tapes mainstay Ian Humberstone salutes red bog moss with something that sounds like a crackling field recording of a séance with a supernatural cat.Magpahi’' ode to mugwort is similarly haunted, as Alison Cooper quietly sings a melancholy melody over a sickly and brooding bed of thick analog synth tones.Less unnerving, but similarly striking, is Mary Stark's "Lavender," in which a pretty Siren-esque voice floats through a shifting collage of nature sounds, city noises, and random radio transmissions.David Chatton Barker’s "Elder" is yet another sublime plunge into the unearthly, weaving together uncomfortably harmonizing drones, strangled feedback, and a host of grinding and crackling textures.
My sole critique is simply that extreme brevity suits some artists better than others, so an artist like Dean McPhee (who specializes in slowly shifting extended pieces) is not able to play to his strengths.Necessity is the mother of invention, of course, but there are certainly some pieces that feel like mere glimpses of something more substantial rather than a self-contained and discrete soundworld.Lamenting how an individual piece in a perfect mosaic could have stood out more effectively completely misses the point though: Folklore Tapes have crafted quite a singular labor of love here and it is an absolutely beautiful thing to behold.As a compilation, The Folklore of Plants is certainly a deeply inspired collection of divergent and compelling artists, but it also offers something far more transcendent than that, stripping away all the noise and empty distraction of the modern world to reveal a window into something considerably more timeless, haunting, and ineffable.
- James Green, "False Shamrock (Oxalis triangularis)"
- Mary Stark, "Lavender (Lavandula angustifolia)"
- Magpahi, "Mugwort (Artemisia vulgaris)"
 
 
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Few artists continually push their art into strange and unfamiliar new places quite like Jan St. Werner has been doing with his Fiepblatter series.  Some installments have certainly been better than others, yet St. Werner always brings a unique blend of bold conceptual vision, rigorous craftsmanship, and playful experimentation.  With Spectric Acid, he continues that noble trend in supremely vibrant fashion, taking inspiration from ceremonial West African rhythms to weave a dense tapestry of dynamic shifting pulses, dense synth buzz, and squalls of electronic chaos.  At its best, it sounds like a particularly visceral blend of exquisite sound art and an out-of-control train.
St. Werner opens Spectric Acid with quite a powerful statement of intent, as "Acideous Welsh" is a sputtering eruption of squelching electronic chaos over a broken, yet pummeling groove…of sorts.  The "groove" never quite feels like anything other than a percussive attack though, despite the occasional appearance of a densely buzzing bass throb that ultimately proves to be just a tease.  More than anything, "Acideous Welsh" sounds like a ferocious, futuristic laser battle experienced from a trench near some of the heaviest artillery.  Oddly, it does not evolve much from its explosive beginning, as St. Werner seems more than happy to just unleash a strafing sci-fi cacophony.  The intensity remains roughly the same with the following "Victorian Trajectory," which marries slowly flanging, massive slabs of synth drones with a wild percussion foundation that sounds like excerpts from a free-jazz drum solo that are constantly shifting in tempo and fading in and out of focus.  It is probably the most perfect distillation of what St. Werner is doing on this album, as the spacey drone thrum provides an immersive and relatively consistent headspace to get sucked into, giving me enough of a "song" to grasp onto as he unleashes skittering and clattering percussive mayhem all around me.  That is, more or less, the essential difference between Spectric Acid's best pieces and the rest of the album: a virtuosic show of force (albeit an inventively polyrhythic one) only makes a big impact once–there needs to be something deeper happening for it to hold up with repeat listens.
Fortunately, St.  Werner manages to hit the mark quite convincingly a few more times over the course of Spectric Acid.  My favorite piece is "Insuline" which sounds like the smoking wreckage of a great dub techno cut that somehow overheated and went haywire.  There are ghosts of chords and melodies floating above the ruins, but the foreground is all stuttering, overloaded bass throbs; squiggling and gnarled electronics; erratic kick drum stomps; and a viscerally unpleasant escalating whine.  It feels a lot like having a complete psychotic breakdown at a rave while pointedly ignoring a shrieking teapot, which is not a vibe that a hell of a lot of other artists would shoot for.  St. Werner perversely reprises that "teapot" aesthetic again with the shorter "Solo Winslet," which feels like an even more sickly and jabbering version of the same material (perhaps the unexpected final death throes of its predecessor).  Elsewhere, "Gourd Skin Particles" takes a comparatively understated approach, taking the howling and stuttering electronic maelstrom down to a gently simmer, but compensating with an inventive textural leap into something that sounds like digitized and burbling viscous liquids.  For his final piece, "Bata Punch Bird," St. Werner creates something that sounds like the unholy coupling of a woodpecker and a sentient, yet mentally unstable modular synth.  That is certainly an unnerving and perplexing final act for an unnerving and perplexing album, but St. Werner cannot resist throwing in one last contrarian and wrong-footing surprise in the final seconds, completely abandoning all electronics for a cathartic flurry of trashcan lid percussion.
Discussing my perceived faults with Spectric Acid is something of a futile endeavor, as Jan St. Werner seems like an prodigiously talented iconoclast who does exactly what he wants to do and does it convincingly: there are certainly elements that I like and do not like, but I never feel like St. Werner made a misstep or fell short of hitting the mark he targeted.  Basically, I just need to accept that St. Werner is a deeply idiosyncratic artist who gleefully plunges into whatever rabbit hole fascinates him the most at a given time with no concern about whether there will be an audience for it.  Also, this is art, not entertainment.  As a fan of challenging music, I am delighted that he keeps finding new vistas to explore.  I would definitely like Spectric Acid more if St. Werner had used his explosively blurting electronics and unpredictably rhythmic experiments as a jumping-off point for deeper compositions with a bit more of a melodic or harmonic component, but that probably seemed like unnecessary window dressing to him: the experiments themselves are the point, not whether or not he can make them pretty.  As such, Spectric Acid is a fundamentally difficult and abstract album, but it compensates quite a bit through its bold vision, raw power, and sheer unpredictability.  More importantly, St. Werner is boldly and single-mindedly straining to redefine what is possible and push electronic music into uncharted new territory.  Other people can popularize these ideas when they catch up–for now, St. Werner is the one doing all the heavy lifting.  While it is a bit too prickly and obsessive to be one of my personal favorite albums of the year, it is very easy to imagine Spectric Acid being a significant influence upon some of my future favorites.
 
 
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Coleclough's performance at Brainwaves 2008 sticks out in my mind more than almost any other show from that year. In fact, his use of the now infamous "torch pen" is one of the most ingenious and entertaining things I've ever seen from any performer, avant-garde or otherwise. The apparatus was simple: a couple of contact mics were affixed to a plate of glass, which was suspended from a coat hanger. With Liles controlling sound and generating waves of drone, Coleclough proceeded to take a small blow-torch pen to the glass, creating cracks that were then picked up by the mics and transformed into crystalline shards of noise. It was a transfixing and beautiful thing to see and hear, and it made musique concrète more immediate and fun for me than it had ever been before. Whether or not someone was there to witness that show might affect how much they enjoy certain parts of Burn, but this album stands on its own for many other reasons. Jonathan's clever use of fire, glass, and microphones only shows up on one song ("Blackburn") and it sounds excellent even without the opportunity to watch it happen live. And Liles' input shouldn't go ignored. His signature is pretty obvious through the record, whether he's editing or inserting some ghostly audio into the mix. If it weren't for his subtle hand, Burn would be a flatter and far less engaging disc.
The album gets off to a slow start, though, with "Sunburn" dragging a little bit before "Blackburn" kicks the record into high gear. Like Bad Light, Burn features a good deal of unprocessed audio. But, it is done to much better effect this time around, in part because Liles provides an anchor for Coleclough's wandering. Bells, chimes, pianos, strings, guitar, prepared piano, and other sundry instruments all show up on various songs, but this time they're integrated into the flow of sound more completely. In fact, "Heartburn" features a brief, but powerful guitar interlude that melts perfectly into the surrounding boil of clunking metal and detuned violins. This success probably has a lot to do with Liles' penchant for combining and arranging odd sounds: he finds absolutely no difficulty in blending toys, electronic gizmos, seriously demented noise, and a good bit of humor into his music. Coleclough's expanded musical palette obviously benefits from this ability. It keeps the record from being too haphazard and it lends a lot of diversity to a kind of music that can become stale and uninteresting pretty easily. The length of each track on Burn contributes to its enjoy-ability, too: only two songs exceed the 12-minute mark, and only one ventures off into 20-minute territory. By keeping things brief in some places, Coleclough and Liles make Burn sharper and harder-hitting, which means a lot for a record that features three and four-minute fade-ins, lots of slowly developing themes, and other sonic minutiae.
Fans looking for a document of the Coleclough and Liles Braiwaves performance will be happy to have Burn, but the album offers up a lot more than memories of their live collaboration. Every song is like an extention of that performance, each of which borrows from and expands upon the original conceit. With the added benefit of some studio trickery and a little refinement, their combined effort sounds even better.
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As some of you may know, Jack Rose suffered a fatal heart attack on Saturday, December 5th 2009, and passed away at the very young age of 38. He was an incredible guitar player, a contemporary legend, a warm spirit, and dear friend. So it is with great sadness that I offer to you his last record, "Luck In The Valley", for consideration in the coming months... We are still without words...
"Luck In The Valley" is set for release on February 23rd.
A native of Virginia and resident of Philadelphia since 1998, Jack Rose first rose to prominence with the drone/noise/folk unit, Pelt. Pelt can be counted among the early influential new music underground bands such as UN, No Neck Blues Band, Charalambides, Tower Recordings and Six Organs of Admittance. Rose recorded and toured with the band up until 2006. Rose released his first solo LP in 2002, "Red Horse, White Mule", of post-Takoma, American primitive guitar. Along with the influences of John Fahey and Robbie Basho, Rose also incorporated North Indian classical, early American blues, bluegrass and minimalism into his singular style. 2005 saw the release of his fourth LP, "Kensington Blues", which incorporated all of the aforementioned influences and his playing/composing fully flowered. That LP is now considered a classic of contemporary guitar music.
In 2008 and 2009 Rose released "Dr. Ragtime and Pals" and "Jack Rose and the Black Twig Pickers" respectively. Those recordings featured many additional players like Glenn Jones, Micah Smaldone, Harmonica Dan and the Black Twig Pickers. The songs drew heavily on pre-war influences, either written by Rose or were his arrangements of early American classics. "Luck in the Valley" will be the third album in this set of recordings that Rose jokingly refers to as his "Ditch Trilogy". Rose continues his exploration of pre-war American music with a set brand new material featuring the Twigs, Jones, Harmonica Dan and Hans Chew along with a handful of solo pieces. This recording set out to capture the energy and feel of the classic three-track shack recordings by the Wray Brothers and Mordicai Jones. "Luck In The Valley" was written and recorded over a period of nine months off the road, an unusually long time for Rose to be at home and woodshedding. The album finds Ro
se employing new themes and techniques that haven't appeared on previous releases.
Like all pre-war recordings and all of Rose's releases, this album was recorded live. It was not created using overdubs but rather by recording a few "takes" and selecting the best performance out of those. Rose stated, "I wanted the songs to have an immediacy and spontaneity as they were being recorded. All the musicians chosen for the record know how to play the songs without overworking the material, but at the same time creating memorable accompaniments on the spot." Several of the songs are in fact the first takes like “Blues for Percy Danforth”, “Lick Mountain Ramble” and "Woodpiles on the Side of the Road". Also Included in the set are three covers: “St. Louis Blues”, “Everybody Ought to Pray Sometime” and “West Coast Blues”. All of these pre-war classics are Rose’s unique arrangements.
The album title refers to the old red light section of St. Louis and was a code for procuring the services of a prostitute. Says Rose "I read about it on some liner notes to a reissue of pre-war St. Louis recordings and I liked the ring of it." An avid record collector with an encyclopedic knowledge of pre-war American music, Rose has been acknowledged as a rising star among contemporary guitar players. "Luck in the Valley" finds Rose at his best surrounded by like-minded friends on a recording that is enriched by a sense of history but entirely new, vibrant and warm.
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Telefon Tel Aviv “Immolate Yourself” (BPC207)
The waiting is finally over! After all the ups and downs of the past year, we can happily report that Joshua Eustis now firmly intends to continue Telefon Tel Aviv as a solo project. In order to mark his decision with a bang, the wonderful title track ‘Immolate Yourself’ is being released as the second single from the current LP. The song has been entrusted to highly acclaimed and diverse remix artists who have skilfully stripped down the epic album track to more club-friendly formats.
The A side is delivered by label-mate Thomas Muller, whose finely detailed techno soundscapes can now be enjoyed on five BPC 12" releases. His ‘Immolate Yourself’ remix takes a much more direct approach. He reduces the lush arrangement of the original to a powerful basic framework, leaves out the vocals almost entirely, and creates a surprise when the track crumbles into sonic chaos towards the end.
Miss Fitz aka Maayan Nidam has had singles released on labels including Raum Musik and Freak n' Chic, and these have been remixed by renowned artists such as Ricardo Villalobos. Her version of ‘Immolate Yourself’ also makes a clear break from the album track and serves up her very own brand of abstract, dancefloor-friendly house. Once again, all the opulence of the original is thrown overboard; a dry beat is placed at the centre of the arrangement and enriched with sinuous vocals.
Ben Klock needs no further introduction – he is the epitome of the bleak, hard minimal sound. His album ‘One’ is currently available on Ostgut Ton, and as a remixer he has earned the highest acclaim for his version of Depeche Mode’s ‘Peace’. Ben’s ‘Jack Mix’ is fittingly titled and lives up to all the expectations of the name. The track is stripped back to a resounding, hammer-like beat framework – minimised for maximum effect.
BPitch legend Sascha Funke delivers a surprise with another astoundingly reduced remix, at least by his standards. He turns away from the melodic richness of his current album ‘Mango’ in favour of repetitive fragments and an extended arc of tension which will surely make his ‘Immolate Yourself’ remix a massive after-hour hit.
TRACKLISTING:
A) Immolate Yourself (Thomas Muller Burning Man Remix)
B1) Immolate Yourself (Miss Fitz Remix)
B2) Immolate Yourself (Ben Klock's Jack Remix)
Immolate Yourself (Sascha Funke Digital Bonus)
ARTIST: Telefon Tel Aviv
TITLE: Immolate Yourself
RELEASE: 11.01.2010
FORMAT: 12” / Digital
CAT NR.: BPC207
EAN: 880319447716
LC: 11753
distributed by Kompakt / Finetunes
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"Eclipses" is an extension of "Gyromancy". Remaining in view of what came before and altering the vision. Pushing out beyond natural terrestrial landscapes into those slightly more cosmic or alien in scope. It makes an appropriate addendum to the onset of this particular phase.
Flanko Iun (1)
1. Crayon Gym
2. Fantomoj de la Vitro Domo
3. Suno Vidis
Flank Du (2)
4. Tajdaj Ondoj
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This is a terrific reissue of pieces Spiegel created at Bell Laboratories between 1974-77 when computers were as big as fridge-freezers. Included with her landmark 1980 LP are 15 superb additions, including the entire Appalachian Grove series and "Kepler's Harmony of the Worlds," her contribution to the golden record launched aboard the Voyager spacecraft.
The Expanding Universe is a pioneering work in the fields of music composition and computer programing. Just as important, from the musical perspective, it is infused with an obvious appreciation of John Fahey's radical guitar instrumentals, in particular, and J.S. Bach. It was processed with the Generating realtime operations on voltage-controlled equipment (Groove) hybrid system developed by Max Matthews and F.R. Moore at Bell labs. Spiegel was fascinated with analog synthesizers in the late 1960s and already had a degree in music composition when she began trying to combat some creative frustrations inherent in the limitations of technology. On a basic level these included lack of memory, the rules of logic, and the degree of spontaneous interaction between human and computer. In video interviews Spiegel comes across like an exceptionally charming astronaut: super sharp, humble, expressive, and excited by exploration and expression. Her explanations are clear and intelligent to the point of being seductive.
In this same period Laurie Spiegel also created one of the first paint programs as later she designed "Music Mouse - An Intelligent Instrument" for Apple, Amiga, and Atari computers. Her apparent disillusionment with the focus on product over research and experiment put her off the electronic-computer music "scene" and she supported herself by programming and teaching mainly, although her music has been used in movies and television. She reminds us that computers were envisaged as labor-saving devices and in a musical application this allowed for easy repetition of melody and rhythm and for the composer's intentions to be amplified and increased beyond their imagining.
In terms of how The Expanding Universe was created, Spiegel refers to a "synergistic oscillation" between what the technology suggests to the artist and the original creative need or vision the artist brings to the technology. She insists that this principle is no different than writing for an instrument such as violin or a drum. Back in the lab, the move from analog to early digital systems, with stepwise incremental capability, eventually allowed Spiegel "freedom to define any world you wanted, and work within it." My description of her video interviews applies equally to her music: very clear and intelligent, with a humble yet profound spirit, where nothing is disguised or exaggerated for gimmick. These pieces retain a revolutionary freshness and an honesty of which Fahey would be proud. They also reflect an appreciation for nature and Spiegel's ability to play banjo and lute.
The limited edition LP on transparent vinyl is likely to become a collectors item. "Folk Study" is added to the original tracklist of "Patchwork," "Old Wave," and "Pentachrome," on side A. "The Expanding Universe" is on side B. It comes with download codes for the whole 19 track CD set. Both include a 24 page booklet featuring Laurie Spiegel's notes and period photographs. This is a sensational release.
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This is a terrific reissue of pieces Spiegel created at Bell Laboratories between 1974-77 when computers were as big as fridge-freezers. Included with her landmark 1980 LP are 15 superb additions, including the entire Appalachian Grove series and "Kepler's Harmony of the Worlds," her contribution to the golden record launched aboard the Voyager spacecraft.