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Colombian musician Lucrecia kicks things off with four tracks of simply stated but effective pop music. I'll admit that the rudimentary drum machine and rigid piano chords that opened the first song had me thinking that I would hate the intentionally stiff aesthetic, but by the time the song got rolling, I was with it. "De Vez En Cuando" is particularly effective as it builds with guitar and vibes over a looping handclap and snap rhythm. All of The Sound of Lucrecia's work is lo-fi, but that home-made sound adds to its intimate appeal.
The compilation skips to Greece with Manekinekod, whose clicks and dub bursts wouldn't sound out of place in the ~scape catalog. Manekinekod uses fragments of melody to suggest a mood, and it works well when she mixes the scattered rhythms with voices and samples. While I feel like I've heard a lot of music like this before from Bip-Hop and ~scape, a few of these tracks stood out enough that I'd be interested to catch Manekinekod's act live, or to pick up a full length.
American Julia Holter takes a detour into the disc's most challenging quadrant. Her work is playful and seems to incorporate toy instruments and fresh melodic turns, though I found it a little too dissonant to be as fun as she probably intended. Again, as on Lucrecia's first song, Holter works with a forced stiffness and an outsider-music type of production style that rubs me the wrong way. I think she can make some of this sound better, but the point is for it to sound rough and untrained and I'm just not buying it.
The disc ends in Brazil for four tracks from Liz Christine who combines an alarming number of animal sounds with bitcrushed rhythms, field recordings, and spoken word. While this is probably the least approachable set of songs on the album for a pop music purist, I found the looped and layerd nature of the work to be consistently interesting. I can't say that I know what she's doing with all of the cats and frogs and other animal sounds, but my dogs certainly got a kick out of hearing those samples coming from the speakers. I don't know that I'll revisit these compositions all that often, but I did really enjoy "Dreaming" with its incongruous mix of dog barks, duck honks, and nearly danceable beats.
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If McCann's sound is defined by his tools, then his vision is shaped by his approach. Improvisatory as it may be—and surely it has all of the energy and excitement for which spontaneous music allows—McCann's real strength is in his ability to balance this chaotic and kaleidoscopic musical landscape without ever losing a sense of compositional control. The opening piece (all are untitled) opens with an explosion of processed strings and thick synthesized drones that leave no time for mental adjustment; yet McCann's sound is so well honed that the result is exhilarating rather than overwhelming. As everything careens around in celebratory fits, hollow rhythmic pulses echo beneath, giving amorphous shape to the loose fitting flow of the work.
Elsewhere, McCann explores near post-rock territory, bringing in slow and steady bass and drum work beneath drifting vocals and aimless string moves that bend and sway their way toward some beautiful nowhere. That the following side closing track fits right in despite eliminating any overt use of electronics is yet another display of the close attention paid to these works; the lilting bowed string melodies continue developing the same mood without rehashing the tactics that have already proved to work at achieving it.
The second side of the tape opens with the most overtly Aylerian work on the date, though nothing instrumentally would draw that comparison here. Plucked strings mingle between huge swathes of bubbling, choral drone that recall the same cathartic emotional release of Ayler without even a hint of saxophone to be found. That it comes to a stuttering and dark end is perhaps poetically in line with Ayler's own tragic death, but more importantly it infuses the work with a dark shadow that is otherwise largely missing from the rest of the tape. Parts even approach a level of Skaters-like murk, babbling about in confusion that seems the anarchic antithesis to the work's cleansing beginnings.
The next piece's clattered, gamelan-like strings draw on even more comparisons but again, McCann's distinct sound is fully on display. That he is able to garner this much excitement out of sounds too often used for tired ends is impressive in itself, but it's the bigger picture that is this music's greatest asset. No mere collection of "experimental" or "drone" works, the release sees an up-and-coming artist continuing to pursue an already mature musical stance. And that's not something that happens often enough at all.
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Consistent with the standard working mode of the band, this release tip-toes around the darker precipices of its various genre dabblings without ever submerging into total blackness. Spread across the six lengthy tracks are thick and tactile dronescapes, disturbed vocal babblings, and creepy guitar dirges atop squawking synthesizer cries. This dark and mysterious atmosphere, consistent with the group's enigmatic existence, is hardly a dip in the relatively safe waters of the overdone doom and gloom rock pursued by so many though; Hoor-paar-Kraat merely use this as a starting point from which to uncover deeper pockets of mystery. That they never tell their listener exactly how to feel is one of the great--and ultimately frightening--strengths they display.
Each track here more or less represents a single approach, and the patience exhibited in working within those specific and relatively limited fields makes each piece its own whole without becoming so cluttered as to take away from the album's sense of focus. The first side, for example, opens with "Lacking a Cast Shadow," a slow and smooth drone buildup that shimmers with gray stillness as swathes of air bellow beneath scratching claws and tiny bells. Nearly unmoving, the piece serves as a palette cleanser, easing the listener into the decidedly more elusive and eerie version of bleak pursued on "Habit and the Smooth Sailing of the Psyche." That this too finds its groove, opting for odd tape clatterings and distant, crawling gamelan moves that keep the descending trajectory of the album as restrained and patient as possible.
If the first side of the tape is the journey downward—especially with the closing "departure of the Icicle Man" and its dark and knotty drone loops—then the second side is the arrival and subsequent blind exploration of that realm. "Relics of the Inheritance" features odd guitar string tuggings and hollowed out verbal ramblings that leave little to grasp on to. That the group is willing to do so is wholly unsettling, and remarkably effective as a logical progression from the hints of this amorphous approach presented on the first side.
Perhaps the most oblique and overtly gloomy material on the tape is found on "The Broken windows of a Fertile World," whose bird calls and playground chatter hover menacingly under austere guitar explorations. This is a sparse and dismal landscape indeed, but Hoor-paar-Kraat handles it as delicately as it does everything here; the piece never erupts with anything near a climax, instead floating with delicate hostility whose unending patience grinds any safety net to a pulp, leaving you fully unsuspecting of the harsh blasts of static din that erupt on the closing "The Self is an Onion-Self."
The keen sense of timing and clear division between approaches on each side marks the basement academicism of the release. While many artists working in this vein achieve liftoff with nearly every track, it is refreshing to hear a unit at work that understands the power of sonic confinement and the dire connotations of time. While the title may suggest a technological move forward, it also means that the clock is always present, counting down the hours one by one to be monitored at your convenience. And this is just the sort of dark momentum forged from track to track as this fully realized outing unfolds.
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Consisting of a selection of full length tracks and short instrumental segue pieces, Eras is an interesting combination of vaguely 1960s surf guitar, heavily processed percussion, tons of effects, and lots of dramatic flourishes. The opening "Cyd" layers noise drenched bass and guitar over a simple processed drum loop. For the most part, it is one of the most simple pieces on here.
"Up in the Eaves" leans heavily on the "electronica" end of the spectrum, rhythmically. It takes an old school drum and bass skittering rhythm and requisite synth work with untreated guitar elements, along with buried and heavily effected vocals. "Shining Black" has a similar electronic underpinning, a clanky loop of digital percussion that goes along with some very 1960s pop bass guitar work.
Both "Ark" and "The Letter" propel along a little more rapidly, mixing slightly Asian inspired complex rhythms, the former with chiming guitar and vocals, the latter with an overdriven bassline. "Wishlist" maintains the ethnic percussion sound, but adds in a bit of funk bass, the occasional metallic guitar riff, and some more open and untreated vocals.
When the vocals are not as buried as they are mostly on the A side, it begins to get a bit problematic. They follow the formula of overly falsetto and faux dramatic enunciating that really hinder the tracks they’re prominent on as a whole. It simply feels like a good musical background that’s ruined by shrieking vocals that really pull the focus away from where it should be.
At least side B isn’t entirely fraught with such problems. Opener "Deathless" is a slow, creepy piece of organ drone, electronic atmospheres, and low pulsing bass throbs. The closing "Salt of the Earth" takes a noise background with clangy guitar, and a dense choral vocal that calls to mind early Angels of Light albums with its dark, creepy Appalachian folk inspired sound.
While beautifully packaged and mostly a compelling listen, I can’t help but be sucked out of the album by the tracks that lean heavily on the vocals. Perhaps its personal preference, but at times it sounds like a great band is rehearsing, but some kid comes running into practice from his drama class and tries to become the center of attention. It’s good, but not great.
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Distinguishing them between "live" and "studio" is probably a fruitless endeavor, since the studio work was a four track cassette recording that almost certainly wasn’t the product of pro-tools tweaks and multitracking. However, the two do differ in sense of structure and style, and thus are not redundant in any sense of the word.
Studio disc opener "The Ghosts Won't Starve but We Will Perish" has some traditional jazz drumming with odd chaotic percussive elements, and subtle, restrained horns. Rapid hurdy gurdy and pained horns add to the slow build of chaos. The interplay of instrumentation gets more and more chaotic, dropping out to allow for more electronic instrumentation towards the end.
The shorter "Elegy for Native Tongues" eschews subtle tension for saxophone freak outs and guitar noodling, with shorter rattling drums and stunted guitar playing, ending with blasts of pure electronic noise. "Queen of the Ships" amps up the drums to be more forceful and violent, overshadowing buried guitar chords and standing toe to toe with thick walls of dissonant horn, the sludgy guitar eventually pulling ahead in volume to go with the spastic jazz drumming.
The live disc opens with the more traditional sounds of "Oresteia in One Part," at least in the case of the horns, though the mechanical noises and ominous swells are anything but conventional, and the piece slowly transitions into a more rock framework. "Solve et Coagula" turns up the noise knob a bit, adding more electronics to the stuttering hurdy gurdy that explodes into harsh free jazz akin to the likes of Peter Brotzmann.
Interestingly, both discs close with pieces that are more restrained, at least relatively speaking. "Santa Sangre" places funereal horns over electronic drones that feels more mournful, though still adding in a tiny bit of chaos. The last live track, "Los Heraldos Negros," varies the tempo throughout and still speeds up at the end, but even with the abrasive guitar it remains more relaxed than the previous two.
This set manages to capture the best elements of the esoteric world of "free music" without succumbing to the subgenre's tendency to become simply a catalog of random sounds without much focus. Instead it keeps the free jazz propulsion and a bit of good ol' rock & roll to keep it on track.
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The two pieces on Heated: Live in Japan are named after their respective performers. The opening piece is a short spoken word piece by Japanese improv musician Tetsuro Yasunaga. Not speaking Japanese, this could be either poetry or simply the artist telling someone that they have parked in the wrong place and were blocking the delivery entrance to the venue. The main piece, “Jana Winderen” sees Winderen create a stunning composition from field recordings made in Greenland, Iceland and Norway. Unlike a lot of similar artists (recording in the same general geographic areas), the sounds Winderen has captured are busy and exciting: stones being rubbed together, unusual water noises and many unidentifiable but deeply textured sounds. She puts them all together in a way that is a delight to the ears and as a result Heated ends up being a fantastic disc. The only problem with it is that the total run time is only just over 25 minutes, I would be happy for it to last much, much longer.
Surface Runoff is a less powerful but equally interesting experience. The two pieces are very similar to the work of the aforementioned Chris Watson (as in it sounds like nature, not that she is aping Watson). “Drift” is the sound of many rivers combined into a gushing torrent (that sounds strangely like the sea). On the other side is “Mae Taeng” is a extraordinary recording of aquatic wildlife in Thailand. The shrimp in particular are worth the price of this 7” alone, the crackling sound of their claws fills the room in the way that only the likes of Merzbow can usually achieve (accordingly, swarms of shrimp make the loudest sound in the ocean, managing 246dB!).
From these two releases it is clear that Winderen is not only skilled at creating good music out of natural sources but that her ability to capture these amazing sounds is stellar. Field recordings are an area I adore and I will eat up even the roughest recording of an interesting phenomenon; when I get to hear such vivid recordings I must say I am mightily impressed. With any luck, she will not be long bringing out some more substantial releases.
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Ronnie McNeir may not be a household name even among R&B fans, yet those same soul lovers might discover his name repeatedly in the liner notes of some of their favorite albums. Since his youthful beginnings, he has built an impressive career, arranging and recording with Smokey Robinson, Teena Marie, former Temptations Eddie Kendricks and the inimitable David Ruffin, as well as The Four Tops, in which McNeir has been a full-time member for much of the past decade. Despite his age, McNeir already had notable credits under his belt having served as musical director for singer Kim Weston, whose husband William "Mickey" Stevenson served an executive producer on this album.
The overarching and presumably somewhat autobiographical theme grapples with the death and subsequent rebirth of a romantic relationship, replete with segues of staged conversations had by the reunited couple ("In Summertime" opens with one such example and unexpectedly carries it deeper into the song). Recorded when he was only 22, McNeir's bold attempt to create a conceptual soul opera with his first full-length album seems too ambitious given his youth. Truth be told, more mature soulsmiths have fared better in this terrain, not the least of which being the great Marvin Gaye with 1978's unparalleled benchmark Here, My Dear. Nonetheless, the superb performances on Ronnie McNeir from talented session players of the day along with those of the album's prodigious namesake negate the dubiousness of its lofty objectives.
The album starts strong with "Extra Extra," a snappy number tapping into one of the standard soul lyric templates, with McNeir bitterly bemoaning the theft of his woman's affections by another man—a friend and confidant at that. Loosely framing this tragic state of affairs as newsworthy, the titular gimmick surprisingly works, though the peppy groove deserves at least some credit. However, things begin to get even more interesting by the second track, "Daddy's Coming Home," which shifts attention from lamenting the loss a lover to trying to explain the situation to the product of their union: his son. McNeir acknowledges his roots in subtle ways without diversifying the overall vibe here too dramatically. The upbeat and funky "Trouble's A Loser" hints at a bluesy heritage while "I'm So Thankful" veers dangerously almost blasphemously close to gospel territory with its trio of female vocalists carrying the handclap-laden chorus.
Originally released via RCA Victor, this long unavailable record should not be confused with his hard-to-find 1975 self-titled effort for Motown's Prodigal sublabel. Since first hearing the former, I've started examing my record collection for McNeir contributions based on the strength of this one, already finding no small delight in discovering that he (along with "quiet storm" pioneer Leon Ware) provided backing vocals to much of David Ruffin's underrated Gentleman Ruffin. Though not packed with instantly memorable singles, Ronnie McNeir is a soulful grower of an album, a celebration of mutual love rediscovered, ideal for the other 364 days of the year that aren't Valentine's Day.
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Jerry Dimmer is a former cartoonist, dance music producer, painter, illustrator, and all-around eccentric iconoclast who has been releasing albums since the early nineties. His music is pretty damn unique, although Tipsy seems to be a similarly weird and decadent kindred spirit. However, Dimmer largely eschews lounge-y kitsch and conventional musicality for more demented, ADD-addled deconstructionism.
"Sheena," the first actual song on the album, immediately makes it clear that we're in for a curious and capricious experience. The song has a looping, cartoonish rhythm and is bursting with cut-up gurgles, opera snippets, spacey synths, and other disparate stolen sounds. As with all songs on the album, there is no real melodic repetition or attempt at a conventional “song,” but it is irrelevant because the music is so propulsively bouyant and surreal. The only notable exception is the album's closer “Stippy,” which almost ends with a surprisingly melodic chorus of children’s voices and conventional guitar, but ultimately degenerates into kooky wordless warbling.
The title track has a wonderfully off-kilter pseudo-breakbeat rhythm and incorporates a staggeringly varied arsenal of burgled audio: Oval-esque glitches, random vocal exclamations, cartoon noises, some sitar, laughing children, mangled foreign speech, record-scratching, and possibly a steel band. I am fascinated by the brevity of most of the samples; rather than milk a handful of lengthy snippets, Dimmer opts instead to unleash a torrent of unrelated, unrecognizably splintered, and extremely brief sounds. It must have taken an inordinate amount of time to make this album: this track alone must have at least 18 different sound sources involved and they are all expertly sync-ed with the underlying music.
Aside from his adventurousness and ambition with assembling material, Dimmer conveys an astonishing degree of exactitude and self-awareness. There are very few bad tracks on this album and nearly every song is extremely tight and funky. Obviously, music of this sort has the capacity to be hugely annoying, but Dimmer wisely keeps all the tracks short enough that they don’t over-extend their welcome. This is an inspired and batshit crazy album.
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The best aspects of Blank Fade were the noises and arrangements that formed the backdrop for a plodding, clip-clop beat. It is unfortunate these are relegated to the background; it gives the music what little character is has, and it would be nice to hear them as the focal points of the compositions. Instead all things possibly inventive are held in check by the unyielding drum machines. The sounds are kept orderly, down-tempo, synced together in a totalitarian stranglehold.
As the disc progressed, the clicks, hums, and buzzes that made it tolerable faded, only to be replaced by a cheesy Casio filtered through a bit of reverb and delay. The obligatory distorted vocal samples (that appear to be a necessity in all music of this ilk) were added, as if these gave it more depth or meaning. Occasionally melodies appeared. I felt hopeful about them: if pursued they might capture and extend moment of bliss, but are dissolved before having a chance to be elaborated on or lengthened.
The effects added to the beats almost made them interesting, but they never rose above the style dictated by this musical fashion. What remained at the end was merely a technocratic uniform with a few decorations.
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The electric textures opening the album are filled with a promise that as a whole it does not live up to. The panning swells, synth riffs, and cybernetic effects were the only elements that kept it listenable. Good music has the ability to get me caught up in its immediacy and emotion, but making it to the end of this one was quite a chore.
By the fourth song I’m convinced the sequencers have become stuck in the same patch. The knobs and buttons do not budge. A constant bass ridden throb provides enough rhythm to keep my feet moving on a dance room floor. Without variation, and concocted according to the precepts of a predictable formula, I might quickly choke if I had a pacifier clenched between my teeth. In the meantime I started to wave my glow stick, to watch the tracers for a bit of excitement; they faded, along with any hopes that the music would improve.
There were moments, starting early in the record, when the monotonous beats did relent for brief tone sustained seconds. My attention was caught, briefly. When repeated at what seemed like random intervals on almost every song, this tactic came across as a cheap gimmick. To what end I do not know.
There are only so many occasions when I can listen to a hi-hat tap out the same 4/4 pattern heard on countless other techno albums. Its use here makes this one indistinguishable from the rest. If that was the goal of Extrawelt, I can say with certainty that it has been achieved it. As for me, this is yet another piece of plastic destined for the musical scrap heap.
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March 31, 2009
US CD Killer Pimp PIMPK007
- The 11th Hour - [MP3]
- Heptadecagon
- Final Frontier
- Gyres
- Bestowal
Music by David Reed
Artwork by Robert Trautman
CD has enhanced content with artwork by David Reed and MP3s of:
- Apparition
- Glacial Drift
One of the most interesting realities of US dark ambient/death industrial scene, combining low-rumbling drones with extemporaneous noise bursts to create a pretty personal and recognizable sound.
Columbus, Ohio-based David Reed has been recording music under various monikers since the year 2000. He currently records under his own name and has two other active solo projects, Luasa Raelon and Envenomist. Envenomist is sourced solely using synthesiers to produce dark ambience heavily influenced by Maurizio Bianchi while bringing a lot of Tangerine Dream and Klaus Schulze into the mix. He is also a member of Starlight Fleecing with Larry Marotta and Ryan Jewell. Other activities include playing in the Larry Marotta Group, the Avant Collective, and as part of the Rocco DiPietro Ensemble.
The Helix was recorded over the fall and winter of 2007. Using analogue synthesizers as the sound source, the intent was to create a series of transmissions from space. Not in the narrative sense, rather as a series of abstracted visions or moods from a lone traveler attempting to come to grips with the sublime.
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