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Tim Macuga and Dan Barrett's musical project is as much an ambitious and frustrating piece of conceptual art as it is a crushing and soaring rock record. Composed over a five year period, Deathconsciousness was produced with only the most basic equipment, is accompanied by a 70 page booklet describing a dead religion, and features cover art ripped right from Jacques-Louis David's overtly political masterpiece, La Mort de Marat. The music is excellent, but making sense of the rest of this monstrosity isn't easy.
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Organized as two distinct albums, Deathconsciousness is a sprawling record filled with suggestive lyrics about desperation, nihilism, failure, suffering, and the inescapable progress of time. The lyrics are not poetic nor are they sophisticated, but they aren't angst-ridden contrivances, either and they suit the macabre nature of the music very well. The music itself is filled with sizzling guitars, massive and repetitive rhythms, echoing synthesizer effects, and dramatic melodies, both vigilant and resigned, that give the album an epic scope. Yet, despite all these severe devices, the band's name is Have a Nice Life and they title their songs like they're jokes: "Waiting for Black Metal Records to Come in the Mail" and "Holy Fucking Shit: 40,000" are perfect examples. In addition to these odd contrasts, the band has gone through the trouble of producing a 70 page accompanying book supposedly written by a professor of religious anthropology and history at the University of Massachusetts, Amherst. Whether or not the book has anything to do with the album is questionable; while direct lines can be drawn between the text in the book and the lyrics to some of the songs, it isn't clear which of the two came first. I am suspicious that the book could be a ruse meant to cover up the fact that all of these songs are intensely personal, but the lengths to which this duo went to cover that fact up is fairly astonishing. A lot of work clearly went into putting this whole thing together, but figuring out how all the pieces fit is more difficult than it should be.
Despite the mixed messages the liner notes inspire, the music is varied, smart, and wonderfully dark. Have a Nice Life combine the brute force of thundering drums with hazy, fuzzed out guitar lines, lead melodies played out on the bass, and emotive, almost yearning vocals. They protract the basic rock template and add a healthy dose of atmospheric sound effects and synthesizer leads not unlike those you'd expect to hear from an anthemic 80s opus. Bits of staccato guitar meet with noise solos, buried vocal mumblings, persistent percussion, and lo-fi stereo confusion to produce everything from meditative non-songs ("Hunter") to feverish rock 'n' roll ("Waiting for Black Metal Records...") and acoustic balladry with cheap drum loops ("Holy Fucking Shit: 40,000"). The group will often focus on texture more than melody, but never at the expense of a strong melodic center. Their voices are often anxious and thirsty, maybe even overly emotive, but the intensity of their deliveries matches the music's fevered pitch perfectly. The production can be mildly aggravating, however, and sometimes it detracts from the strong melodies and lyrics more than it should. But on the whole the under-produced aesthetic works perfectly for the music.
There are several details that keep the album from being a complete success, however. Whoever wrote that 70 page document needs to be slapped for being too dull, too often. The book focuses on the history of a fictional religious sect centered around the person of Antiochus. This sect apparently left behind a number of oral and written fragments that tell the story of a horrifying prophet who praised nihilism and preached a philosophy of suicide and murder. At first the book is ponderous and seems completely unnecessary, but reading it while listening to the album proved to be exciting at times. Some of the stories in the book are genuinely frightening and left an impression on me, but the pseudo-academic posturing that makes up the majority of the book is absolutely unnecessary. Long foot-notes, poor poetry, and efforts to sound professional all end up making the book a trial more than a joy. Also, the aforementioned song titles may seem like a small thing to complain about, but if a group is going to go through the effort to create an illusion of mysticism and mystery, then they might as well follow through on even the smallest details. As it stands, I get the impression the band were unwilling to follow their idea all the way through to its conclusion. Nevertheless, the music keeps me coming back and the entirety of the project succeeds often enough to warrant attention and praise. I am ultimately picking apart something to which I am very drawn. I just want the band to keep falling down that rabbit hole instead of holding back.
Deathconsciousness is available online through Enemies List as an MP3 download only. All the physical copies have been sold, but the label charges a very low price for the download and have scanned the entire booklet into a nice PDF file, which is included with the purchase.
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Lucas Schleicher reviewed one of the other Merzbow releases this month, the collaboration with Richard Pinhas, Keio Line. Also having that album, I listened to it and agreed with Lucas’ summation: the balance of the two artists helped pull Akita out of his usual scraping noise and into something else entirely. Anicca, on the other hand, is not so different or unique. It’s sort of like a relative that you have fond childhood memories of, but once you visit them again, you realize they're sort of an asshole.
I, like many people of my ilk, first got into Merzbow when Relapse was hyping Venerology as THE most extreme recording EVER. It was the gateway drug for me into the noise scene, but even then, it lost some of its luster once I heard some of the other artists doing similar work. Because of that, my connection to Akita's work became casual at best: I'd pick up the odd album here or there, and I drooled over the Merzbox, but that was about it. So I wasn't privy to his dabbling with percussion, samples and laptop experiments.
Oddly enough, Anicca is a step back to his tabletops full of pedals and home-made metal instrument, which is pictured in the liner notes. So the overall sound through these three tracks is pretty much classic mid 1990s Merzbow, for better or worse. Clashing waves of noise and static, modulated feedback, overdriven blasts, etc. There does seem to be a greater attention to mixing and layering, which is pleasant to hear: it's not just about blowing out audio equipment when being played at low volumes.
One of the faults with this album is a whole is that it is front loaded with its most interesting track. The chirping bird sounds bathed in reverb cutting into a flanged noise squeal is nothing out of the ordinary, but for the entire track, Akita drums over the noise, always staying prominent in the mix. Obviously a free style jam, the rapid fire patterns lie somewhere between Lightning Bolt and Free Jazz era Ornette Coleman. Full of rapid fire snare rolls and aggravated assaults of tom drums, it's like every prog rock drum solo from the 1970s spliced into one track over the usual electronic din.
The remaining two tracks, unfortunately, forego the drums in favor of a pure noise attack. The second track allows more high frequency psychedelic swirls of noise, akin to Akita’s contemporaries C.C.C.C. over extended passages of feedback, quick cuts, and some sort of buried rhythmic elements, before ending more stripped down, with harsh Morse code tones and passages of pink noise. Track three has an overall hollow, reverbed sound to it, ending with heavy low end pulse that one could headbang to slowly if so inclined, and what sounds like some buried musical samples and noise rhythms resembling a grindcore tape played at quarter speed after being left in the sun for a few months.
The biggest problem with this is, it’s just regular Merzbow. After Keio Line's more innovative sounds and textures, this feels like a step backwards. While it has some good element for nostalgia, the older sounding tracks aren't motivating me to grab more Merz albums I might have missed, and after the more interesting introductory track, it feels kind of flat afterwards.
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Although not overly prolific in his output, Andrew Moon has added another installment to Utech Records' URSK series which fits in to the ethos that the project has established: a disc of dark, ominous drone with a slight edge of noise. Considering there have been contributions from such scene titans as Skullflower and Final, RST holds their own, and is idiosyncratic enough to stand out among the throngs of guitar drone projects.
The opening of "Radiant" is all buzzing amplifier sustain, deep guitar tones, and a healthy mix of noise that—even though it is heavily in drone territory—feels more ambient than metallic. The longer "Constellation Drive," on the other hand, is steeped more in darkness and mystery, the harsher elements being more of a punctuation rather than a focus, with hints of chiming guitar that is consistent with modern day drone metal, but also has the influence of 1990s dark ambient and isolationist works that were the "next big thing" that never happened.
The other near-ten minute track, "When Fire Itself Came To Be Understood As A Process," feels similar with its bleakness built on digital distortion, menacing scrapes and cuts, and dive-bomb like guitar tones. It is lengthy, yet dynamic enough so it never becomes stale. The black metal influenced "Eternal City Ruins" and "Burnt Armour" are two of the more aggressive pieces, the latter EQ'd in such a way to max out the low and high frequencies, leaving little in the middle, and a lot of pain in the ears.
One of the high points of this disc for me is, though it definitely sounds murky and obscure, it's not a cliched "dark" album, but one that allows ambient and lighter sounds to shine through. The ending trilogy of tracks acts as the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel: the short "Planetfall" of simple guitar feedback has a warmth to it that the remaining tracks don't have, and to some extent feels like it could be a grimy piece of My Bloody Valentine style Jazzmaster abuse.
"Tin Sun II" is even brighter, the guitar noise channeled into angelic organ tones, with an overall warm and inviting feeling. The closing "Blue Smoke Sword" brings back some of the metallic elements, but in a softer mix, where it feels more misty than dark…its still somewhat ominous, but not in an evil way. No one will mistake it for Tangerine Dream, but it is a nice counterpoint to an otherwise monochromatic feeling.
Personally, I am very pleased at the fact that this disc is actually split up into individual tracks, rather than the traditional drone approach of 20+ minute pieces. In this context, it allows for much more diversity and variation from piece to piece, and that is one of the strengths of Tomorrow's Void: it manages to be simultaneously dark, but with lighter moments, with a nice balance of menace and inviting tones.
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Up until this CD, SoiSong have been a shadowy presence, marked by rare concerts in Asia, special editions limited to one copy and password-protected Web sites. This confoundingly designed and packaged EP is the first above ground broadcast from the duo and, musically, things are as shadowy as their real life and online presence. Like any good collaboration between established artists, it is this combination of the familiar and unfamiliar that gives SoiSong part of its appeal.
Amid the familiar tones that Pavlov and Christopherson wrench from their machines, other less recognizable elements emerge through the mix. The opening piece, “Kabuki-Chop,” is the one piece where the music’s heritage is most obvious. There is a slow build up where echoes of Musick to Play in the Dark and Pavlov’s more recent releases combine to make a narcotic buzz before the music explodes in a throbbing beat ridden climax. As good as “Kabuki-Chop” is, it is from “Soijin No Hi” onwards that the EP demonstrates what SoiSong are capable of. Many of the tracks have a music box quality about them; delicate piano refrains and bell-like sounds prove to be fragile as they are ripped apart in glitchy explosions. Grit, grain and lurching beats are infrequent but welcome additions to pieces that sometimes veer a shade too close to being airy-fairy new age for comfort.
The title of this EP is only known to those who own the CD (or those who search about online) as the title is a password that gives access to a private section of the SoiSong website. Within the password protected part of the site are different edits of the pieces (shorter than the CD versions), the track titles and artwork for each track. The different artworks for the pieces are not my cup of tea (aside from a painting by Brion Gysin which is nice but not mindblowing) but the physical packaging of the EP and the disc itself are both worth mentioning. The CD is octagonal so will not play on car stereos, Macs or any non-standard tray player (despite Christopherson’s long interest in Apple products). It arrives in a white criss-cross paper sleeve that completely seals in the CD. To open it, the packaging must be damaged, which goes against every rabid collector’s instincts. There is a way of opening it without doing too much damage (use a sharp knife to break the glue seal on one of the tucked in strips) but even doing it this way lead to some unsightly rips on my copy. Needless to say, folding it back up is a challenge.
One thing that was a bit of a kicker with this release was the price tag: £20 for an EP in “disposable packaging” might be putting some people off but considering how the pound sterling is bottoming out and how good the music is, my one recommendation is to raise a middle finger to the recession and indulge in this. On less frivolous terms, this EP is a taster for the forthcoming SoiSong album and considering Christopherson’s comments at Brainwaves (see the speech at the end of this video), the album is going to be something special. In the meantime, this EP certainly has enough depth to keep me going until the album comes out. The four pieces are a solid introduction to this new collaborative project, the spark of a fresh working relationship is bright here and with any luck will only get brighter.
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Richard Dawson's work under this pseudonym is not far from the classic '70s Kosmische drone groups, there are certainly elements of Tangerine Dream in the glittering pulses of Seal-Skin Satellite. However, there is a more modern sheen to the electronics; the precise and sharp sounds that make up the details of this one track album are a world away from Dawson’s influences. The modernity luckily does not mean that the music falls into the trap of being cold and machine-like. Throughout the half an hour or so that this CD lasts, the sounds produced by Dawson are more like an artist's impression of travelling through the solar system.
The background tones hum and pulse, moving so slow as to be almost static (and thus nearly perfect drones). Above the drone foundation is a glassy electronic chittering that is reminiscent of the period in Coil’s career where they returned to playing live, Seal-Skin Satellite would sit proudly next to Time Machines or Queens of the Circulating Library. The drone creates a huge space in the music, forcing the other sounds to the front of the mix where they stand out against the slowly shifting backdrop like stars in the night sky. The end result is very natural sounding electronic music that encapsulates all the best cosmic feelings that good electronic music usually captures.
Overall, Seal-Skin Satellite is just the right length at 30 minutes. Any longer would have been too much. As is, Dawson’s pacing is perfect with its long build-up and substantial climax. At the speed Seal-Skin Satellite moves, it is easy to forget how empty the start of the piece is once it gets going. Although it must be said that Dawson never lets the music become cluttered, there is always enough going on to make it interesting but not too much as to be overly-complicated (I guess it is a Goldilocks moment: just right).
One problem that I do have with Seal-Skin Satellite is that it is one of those highly limited CD-R type releases and will probably not reach anywhere near the number of people that it should. Perhaps a digital release is in order as this is a fine piece of drone work that deserves a wider audience.
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The fifth solo album in Morgenstern's decade-long career marks a radical and somewhat bewildering departure from her previous releases. While her label claims she is "Berlin's queen of fragile and poetic electro-pop,"—and goes on to list a bunch of electronic acts she has done work with or for—nearly all electronics have been jettisoned from their central position and replaced with anachronistic piano-based rock.
That is certainly an odd strategy, in light of the fact that her previous album (2006’s The Grass is Always Greener) was probably her most popular and beloved and even featured something of a minor hit in "The Operator." However, her new material shows newfound depth and her sound is uniquely hers, so it is unlikely that she has become mentally unmoored or is acting on a contrarian impulse to alienate her fanbase.
BM attempts to thread together a number of seemingly conflicting and disparate influences—purportedly Brecht and Weil, definitely '80s rock, accidentally Tori Amos (presumably), and possibly Gong—and the result is a mixture of surprising successes, unevenness, and occasional forgettability that sounds like it came from an indeterminate previous decade.
Morgenstern has chosen some strong complementary collaborators for this new direction. Most obviously, Robert Wyatt, who wrote a song for the album, "Camouflage," and joins Barbara on a duet. However, it is the lesser-known musicians that provide many of the subtle touches that prevent the album from falling prey to flatness and sameness. Sven Janetzko’s guitar work provides some welcome adrenaline and propulsion to poppier moments like "Driving My Car," "Come to Berlin," and "Reich & Beruhmt," and his slide playing is invariably tasteful and well-placed. Julia Kent's cello work is also quite sympathetic and adds much color and depth to the sparse songs, especially when it is dissonant.
"Come to Berlin" is the album's single, which is appropriate, as it is much more muscular and immediate than anything else on the album. I am hesitant to say that it "rocks like a narcoleptic, Teutonic Pat Benatar," but that is exactly what it does and no other descriptive terms can really convey that very specific (and pleasing) characteristic.
"Meine Aufgabe" is also particularly striking (and probably my favorite track). It is built upon a charmingly lurching and simple organ pattern and is augmented by distant squealing and sliding strings. The chorus even (seamlessly) features a full choir. I would love to see her pursue this direction further. Despite its bold artistic departure, the bulk of the album feels very transitional: this is the only track that seems fully formed and unable to be improved upon. I am deeply curious to see where she goes from here.
My initial impression of the album was not entirely favorable, but subsequent listens have warmed me to it quite a bit. There is a lot to like—inspired and subtle touches loom in the background of nearly every song—however, I still find it to be frustratingly understated-. It seems like she will have a hard time luring new listeners into her wintry, elegant world. But I suspect that she doesn't care.
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Roel Meelkop is best-known as one-third of the long-standing (and arguably seminal) electro-acoustic improvisation ensemble Kapotte Muziek. He is also a member of THU20 and Goem and has worked with Merzbow, Thurston Moore, Asmus Tietchens, and many other experimental luminaries. This, his first release for Norway's zang:records, is a foray into high-concept sound-collages composed largely of field recordings.
The central premise of An Ear For Numbers is the juxtaposition of field recordings of large "outside" spaces (such as the ocean) with small "inside" spaces (like the inside of Roel's mouth). Furthermore, Meelkop has "translated these qualities into music, within a context of numerics, relating to the length of the individual tracks." The role of numbers is not at all immediately apparent, unfortunately, and I suspect that even a gifted cryptographer would be hard-pressed to explain the significance of why the five-second-long "Track Four" seems to consist entirely of one click.
The source material is largely non-musical: most tracks are dominated by whines, clatters, pops, scapes, and flutters. This is not inherently a bad thing, but it is rare for them to layer intriguingly or create a lasting texture. Sounds abruptly appear and disappear and a unifying context is frustratingly infrequent. Rhythm is also an atypical component, but Meelkop does have a knack for echoey subterranean throbs and drones: they characterize all of the album's most compelling tracks.
I found the album to be ungratifyingly bloodless and academic as a whole but there were moments of genuine inspiration buried within. Track #2 contains a striking and unexpected interlude that sounds like a mournful string ensemble playing underwater. Built on a deep, stuttering bass line, track #8 builds and evolves to a subtle crescendo as it gradually intertwines with feedback (which has an enormously heightened impact because as a listener I am quite starved for repetition and structure by this point).
The problem lies primarily with the medium itself. First of all, listening to An Ear For Numbers without headphones is nearly identical to sitting in a room with a refrigerator and an open window. Secondly, this is not compelling without a visual component of some sort. Meelkop himself should be well-aware of this, as his parent group (Kapotte Muziek) conspicuously avoids studio recordings altogether. Watching musicians improvise collages from rocks and debris is an entirely different experience than sitting in the living room listening to the inside of Roel Meelkop's mouth.
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Put out by a small Japanese label that apparently gets no minor thrill off disseminating deliberately obscure reissues, this kooky collection of leftfield funk showcases an artist too unknown to have the honor of being forgotten, begging the obvious question of whether such a set even needs to exist.
One perfunctory glance at this compilation's comically menacing cover—portraying an artificially red-eyed Wicked Witch a.k.a. Richard Simms decked out in a shiny black jumpsuit adorned with Rob Halford's spikes—might negatively bias potential listeners from the start. Yet this low-rent netherworld Rick James identity, possibly swiped from the front cover of Street Songs, should hardly faze those familiar with the notoriously over-the-top imagery, grandiose concepts, and labyrinthine mythologies associated with some of funk music's best known acts. The Parliament-Funkadelic universe alone constructed such disorienting and convoluted storylines and ludicrous characters that no amount of recreational drug use could ultimately explain (But oh God, what incredible music!). Taken in the context of these forebears along with Washington D.C. in the late '70s and early '80s, Simms' get-up makes enough sense, and matches the decidedly dark nature of his bizarre if mostly unremarkable tunes.
Admittedly and predictably, much of the material here is heavily derivative of Simms' more talented and successful funk contemporaries, as seen through a D.I.Y. lens. On the vocal version of "Electric War," he blurts out an almost passable Rick James impression suitable for karaoke but not for much else. Still, the instrumental take reveals that, given the opportunity, Wicked Witch wouldn't have necessarily minded usurping the mantle of the then-reigning Super Freak. Originally credited to Paradiagm, an ensemble in which Simms featured on bass and vocals, "Vera's Back" is the centerpiece here, a 12 minute doozy undeniably indebted to the P-Funk catalog, replete with a keyboard solo that nods towards the great Bernie Worrell.
Simms comes closest to discovering a sound of his own on 1983's "Erratic Behaviour," a standout of haunted machine music throbbing with the tenebrous tones and atmospheres of the first Suicide album. While the least funky of the bunch, its unique groove oozes a creepiness that most self-described goth acts of the last two-and-a-half years couldn't muster in their gloomiest nightmares. The track's original B-side, "X-Rated," nudges Wicked Witch back into the more recognizable confines of funk, yet still shines with outsider appeal. Had Simms chosen to continue along this murky path, there might have been more music worth mining for this set.
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Wasting little time, Diana Rogerson is back with another album of unhinged and gloomy psychedelica. Aided this time by Andrew Liles, this album shows a marked difference to her previous releases. While some of the pieces are surprisingly accessible and (dare I say it) musical, the harder edges of this album are made of a far different material than the scratchy creepiness of Chrystal Belle Scrodd. This impressive album sees Rogerson shed the soft cocoon of A Bad Diana and bear her claws for the first time in ages.
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Since the mid-'60s, synthesizer and musique concrete experimentalist Asmus Tietchens has been an enduring symbol of artistically motivated musical work. This album, the 12th in an ongoing series of his works and the second in a four part series originally released on Hampster Records, sees Tietchens "recycling" previous pieces made between 1967 and 1970. Originally released in 1989, the album is intended more as a demonstration of the variety of techniques utilized than a presentation of new pieces culled from old works.
"Mineral 4" opens the disc with a synthesizer exploration that sounds like a ping pong game in a cavernous hallway. Its gestural punctuations are encapsulated in swathes of silence, giving the work a physicality rarely achieved with so few sonic resources. "Drahtmensch 1" follows it with a similarly percussive piece, albeit a more metallic one, sounding like some strange merger between a Karlheinz Stockhausen percussion piece and the industrial soundscapes of Nocturnal Emissions.
The droning crescendo of "Ultima Terra" is marked by its static lushness—as its volume becomes louder, its details reveal themselves, displaying a world of sound in itself. Later, "Modal 5" takes choral-like repetitions and meshes them with the echoing atmosphere present throughout the album. Odd synthesized lurches bound about behind the rich pulsing fore of the work.
"Ein Fleißiges Insekt 2" features well-like kerplunking of sounds beneath the kinetic scraping of insect-like movements. "Kryptophonie 2" presents an eerie world of glacial moments. Synthesizer sounds glide about behind mists of delicate reverberations and mechanical chugging rhythms. The less cohesive "Gesichter Von Gestern" incorporates radio broadcasts and space-like synth sounds as it quickly romps through a variety of moods in its brief minute.
In addition to the album's original twenty tracks this reissue provides two bonus tracks. "Kryptophonie 1" features loops which mesh in and out of phase with each other as they ebb and sway about, eventually evolving into some loping mythical creature all its own. "Zweite Sekunde" presents an exploration in rhythm as taps are bounced about the speakers and turned into whispered echoes of the original.
Abfleischung, while hardly the best demonstration of Tietchen's capabilities, does offer a fascinating glimpse into his working method. Each piece serves as its own distinct world, and it is the abundance of details within those that keep the work as rewarding as it is. Tietchens is a sonic sculptor in the truest sense, and here he is able to display the depth of his talents while providing a window into how he utilizes them.
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Germany's Analog Africa unleashes yet another amazing collection of long-lost African funk recordings. This, the follow-up to last year's uniformly beloved African Scream Contest, focuses entirely on Benin's staggeringly prolific (and largely unheard) Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou.
During the course of several trips to Benin, Analog Africa's tireless record-collector Samy Ben Redjeb compiled several hundred tracks recorded by Orchestre Poly-Rythmo de Cotonou between 1970-1983. This is the first of two expected compilations and focuses entirely on "secret" recordings that the band made on small labels while under an exclusive contract to Albarika Store. All of the tracks were originally issued in very limited pressings and only one has ever been released outside the band's home country. The music is uniformly raw and underproduced (in a good, visceral way), largely because the covert and budget-impaired nature of the releases necessitated that they be recorded in private homes with only one or two microphones.
It is difficult to pick a stand-out track, as they are nearly all uniformly solid. Nevertheless, I'm quite fond of "Dis Moi La Verité," despite the fact that it eschews any African percussion influence. This handicap is easily overcome by the tight and infectious bass line, and the call-and-response vocals are quite catchy. "Mi Homlan Dadalé" plays much more to the band's strength of wild and unusual percussion and is probably my favorite.
It is obvious why Redjeb decided to devote so much time and effort to making these recordings available, as the band has a rather unique sound and they are consistently excellent. There are many similarities to Senegal's Etoile de Dakar, especially the clean, simple guitar lines and and the Latin-tinged percussion. However, the Orchestre is much more bass-heavy and rhythmically complex (as well as quirky and varied). Or course, the occasional flourishes of endearingly clumsy and weird psychedelic organ are a large part of their charm too. Regrettably, the Orchestre lacks a frontman with the presence and star-power of Etoile's Youssou N'Dour, which may be at least partly to blame for their comparative obscurity. That said, the vocals certainly aren't bad, just not particularly charismatic or unique (and early N'Dour can be off-puttingly over-the-top sometimes anyway). In fact, a prominent vocalist might actually have been a liability for these guys, as it it is the groove that takes center stage, not the songwriting.
Yet another reason for the band's singular sound is that Benin is the birthplace of Vodun (or voodoo) and the band makes inspired and inventive use of its complex, ritualistic percussion. The band reference a number of traditional Beninese rhythms here, but they all invariably wind up incorporated into lively, propulsive grooves. Interestingly, one of the primary rhythms deployed here is Sakpata, which is dedicated to a deity known primarily for protecting people from smallpox. I do not currently have smallpox, so I was regrettably unable to test its effectiveness. Nevertheless, it is certainly refreshing for funk to take such a humaintarian and healthy turn (especially given the lengthy wake of unwanted pregancies and venereal diseases that American funk has presumably left behind it).
Redjeb seems to have preternatural and unerring good taste, as the two streaming mixes posted on his blog are no less impressive (and obscure). It is frustrating that releases are so slow to trickle out of his label, given the seemingly endless vein of material. Of course, I'm sure finding the recordings, sifting through them all, tracking down the bands, writing exhaustive liner notes, and securing the necessary rights are all very time-consuming and non-lucrative endeavors. Consequently, my impatience and gluttony is tempered by my deep appreciation for Redjeb's devotion and energy. I can't wait to hear what he releases next.
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