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Released in 1986, Geboren stuns in the same way early Esplendor tracks do, with blasts of chugging, caterwauling noise sounding straight from the factory floor. Tietchens’ most monotonously rhythmic work to date, it lacks the esoteric primitivism of earlier records or just severely limits the spaces in between, emphasizing speed in a defiant and less calculating way. Here is the artist realizing that his own devotion to excavated and mechanized sound, nourished by insular years of homespun synth modification and cyborg cocktail hour, is, for many others, a politicized vision, a voice of dissent and celebration.
Still, Tietchens remains an outsider, his tracks veering immediately from the stoic, resonant clang and noise surge of early Esplendor to imagine instead a smoky, confused planet of machinery, grinding fast towards the end of something or wailing inertly through the pauses, with barely, regrettably human voices full of pain and frenzy. Tietchens has stated the album’s (title: “Born To Serve”) inspiration from Cold War tensions at the time, and it’s not hard to feel the anguish in many of these subterranean plunges: a locomotive of flushing machine sounds sped past the point of their breaking and left to drag, drain and drivel, cut through with vocal shrieks and frail drones that feel new to the Tietchens lexicon. Strange that his most human-damning record to date is, to this extent, his most human in terms of allowing fragile or frayed elements more prominence.
The apocalyptic feel of the record is somewhat tempered by a remainder of spacey, Biotop-era sounds that feel, in this context, even more alienating and abusive, like a dance over graves, reeking of excess almost pornographic, and similarly leaving me feeling played-with. No Tietchens before this has ridden the ecstatic fringe or really reveled in anything but its own science, and I can appreciate Geboren’s accomplishment even if it does not feel as singular as the artist’s previous work. The three bonus tracks included with the Die Stadt reissue and recorded during the same period actually feel more like throw-backs to the Sky Records days anyway, so we’re reminded that Tietchens is a man of many changes and humors and much that Die Stadt is still holding back.
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Die Stadt
It is worth mentioning right away that the music composing the album proper is wholly different from the live set provided on the second CD. The list of instruments used in the making of the five studio recordings is enough to prove this true: electric guitars, tapes, piano, drum machines, percussion, and vocals all make up Oneiromancer. The live disc, from his Toronto performance in April of 2004, lists electric guitar as the sole instrument. Where the first disc is all hazy moans and windy gusts of synthetic beauty, the live disc sounds far more rich, busy with music and manipulation, but retaining the hazy qualities from the album.
"Wake Up" betrays its name entirely, sounding more like the beginning of a dream rather than the cloudy and often frustrating moments of an early morning. All manner of recorded noise clamor along in the background while Baker generates warm, synthetic tones to draw away from the perhaps frightening nature of those sample noises moving along below. Death makes an appearance on the second song, but its presence there is rather obscured. The sounds of what could be a hospital often resonate out from Baker's cloud of synth, but there's very little context to place any of this in.
The problem with the album eventually makes itself evident in the way Baker chooses to organize all of his material. The first disc is essentially one long song utilizing the same arrangement: sampled loops and tape sounds played beneath a wash of warm tones and fuzzy feelings. It is relaxing, but not always engaging. "Do You Remember Me (From Your Dreams)" succeeds the most in getting my attention and holding it, but then again it isn't anywhere near as light or wandering as the previous two pieces. There are some light percussive parts littered throughout the disc, but their presence seems more like an afterthought, placed there to provide some current. In reality it cheapens the music and almost gives it a world-beat feel, as if I were listening to samples from the rain forest mixed with exotic drumming. It isn't all bad, but it barely stands up against Baker's other work.
The second disc, on the other hand, makes up for that stereotypical, perhaps underdeveloped music. Baker sounds more lively when given a single instrument to work with and the compositions, in turn, are far more vibrant. Instead of keeping a thematic of dreams running steady, Baker focuses more on the texture and severity of his sounds, mixing them and crossing them expertly. Small synthetic sounds (evidently from guitar) waver and flap through each piece. Being present for this live performance must've been nearly surreal: for 18 minutes Baker weaves plentiful rolls of sound together and keeps his work from being either cluttered or overbearing. Each of the songs blend into each other flawlessly, giving me the impression that the live disc is an album just as much as the first disc is. Baker fans will definitely want to pick this up for the live set and perhaps newcomers will find something here to love. While it isn't his best work, it may be one of his least challenging and, with the inclusion of the live set, one of his most diverse works.
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Those lucky enough to have witnessed Burning Star Core in solo form will expect more than just a single idea bled into 40 minutes. This release captures three different 2004 shows that give an excellent example of the styles that C Spencer Yeh can rip, both alone and as a team player. It never does any harm to get an all-star cast either.
The restraint of the lineup on the opening piece has to be heard to be believed. Joined by two thirds of Hair Police (Trevor Tremaine and Robert Beatty) and noise merchant Mike Shiflet, this is not the expected blowout racket. Though it does reveal, especially to those who haven’t seen any live shows that Yeh is a far more energetic sounding player than his mild-mannered exterior would imply. The hardcore wall of whistling feedback and pitch-fucked swoons are soon revealed as sourced from his violin, not a ten strong gang of doom metallers. A rabble of free percussion buck shots punch through melodic riffs that seem to crack open as soon as they are birthed. The piece has a rising feel of a static lift off, focused electric power forcing the sounds into elevation.
"Two" is a duo piece with the aforementioned Beatty fights the closer for disc’s top slot. Fluttering violin and flickering film reel sounds reveal an instant interplay between the two players. This soon becomes gorgeously twisted up by DJ scratch-like high frequencies and metallic chiming sirens. After a brief lull comes a wall of dial manipulation and some painful throat work, Yeh sounds like a brutal cross between Mike Patton’s throat rips and Gonzo from the Muppets.
His solo closer is a voice, black box, and wires piece that rattles along in a sweetly sinister style. The handling of electronics here is astounding listening, and amongst his best works ever. The constant bed of clatter, like the rattle of an underground drain, is a slowly warmed through murk that’s driven by propulsive drifts of synth sound. At times it seems like a static organ part floats over piece, levering departed souls up and out of the music. This is at times before glorious and chilling, making the 14-and-a-half minute ride totally transfixing. 2004 appears to have been a very good year for Burning Star Core.
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Den Luftbårne Koksiske Hændelse works as five separate tracks but is even better as a seamless piece. There is a breadth of instrumentation and a concentrated feeling for contrast and flow, achieved by (I think) guitar, power tools, drums, reeds, strangled strings and perhaps very restrained laptoppery. The result is drone, noise, feedback, repaired folk, rabid jazz, a wintery ambience, and one almost perfect electro-metallic garage freakout. As if emulating desperate attempts to prevent an ice-covered aircraft skidding from runway to crowded pre-school "Tai-ai hey back off chief" is a grating, attention grabber which bleeds into the marvelously controlled "Jørgen, Søeren og Magrethe" a throbbing, yelping, gliding, ghostly Nordic relative of Pere Ubu and Joy Division.
Next, "Jesuspiben" uses unknown (perhaps) bowed and blown instruments to conjure a sacrificial rural sensibility at which Woven Hand appear to have been aiming. This gives way to a calmingly intense out-jazz, before slowly mutating into the beautiful “Guldfisk” which emerges as sneakily as an unreliable narrator yet hangs around long enough to please those of us who will always mourn the passing of John Fahey.
Finally, “Et Nul For Meget” takes clocks, chimes, synths, bells, reeds and unknown percussive objects to a place where Texan composer Jerry Hunt could guide a listener. Slütspürt may be in Berlin or could have relocated back to Copenhagen. Their name actually means something crushingly dull, but in English affords the same brief sniggering enjoyed when signposts for Wank, Germany or candy bar ads for Spunk were first glimpsed. Den Luftbårne Koksiske Hændelse contains a lot more invention and pleasure than most bands manage in their unfailing attempts to fill every last bit of nearly 80 minutes of disc space.
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Fat Cat
I'm going to have a child one day and by the age of three it could potentially help me record a very hyped record. It would only sing, perhaps laugh and cry, and maybe shake a few percussive instruments, but it would be enough to meet the aesthetic needs Our Brother the Native and other bands they resemble. Take some minimalist composition, acoustic guitars, a rattle or two, and then toss in lazy, inexpressive vocals for a stew of finely layered boredom.
Tooth & Claw has all of the ingredients necessary to stir up the interest of all the pseudo hippies worshipping at the feet of Animal Collective and everything they do. That, in itself, is enough to wreck the album. The group worked so hard to give the album a free and flowing sound that in the end is nearly falls apart in the attempt to sound earthly or something else ridiculously comparable. I'm not sure if the band thought they could summon the earth mother and win the adoration of the music-buying public by recording a dull album or not, but in the end that seems to be what they've done. Derivative is an old word, but if I could pretend it weren't then I'd say the origin stems from the release of this album in some way.
After a few listens it becomes evident that the guitar (the same guitar used throughout ad nauseum) is pretty in and of itself, but that ultimately it doesn't matter because it never really expresses anything, never stands out on the record. It'd be nice if Our Brother the Native understood dynamics on a level that wasn't confined to the innards of a song because the whole album sounds as bad as Kansas looks flat. Drive across Kansas sometime, in fact, and the way this album sounds will become perfectly clear: it's featureless, annoyingly cute (or tries to be), and devoid of any inspirational features or original concepts across the board.
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Never reaching the higher BPMs of the most memorable cuts from that Ben Gibbard / Jimmy Tamborello project's Give Up, Uphill Racer's debut for German electronica label Normoton finds its strength in cognizant structures, in welcome familiarity as opposed to post-new wave gimmickry. Dreamy emo warmth laminates these quite accessible tracks, with the essential ingredients of acoustic guitar, trembling chorus-laden singing, light piano tinkling, and soft rock rhythms on proud display throughout.
Opener "The Fat Grin Of The Enemy" sets the stage with a lively downer full of cryptic lyrics and well-timed musical peaks and valleys. "Burns First Dies First" soars with ornate strings and a fluid chorus that, while difficult to sing along to, rivals most of the empty gestured adult contemporary balladry plaguing the VH1 Top 20 Countdown. A shameless sample from sappy late '80s show The Wonder Years hits about two minutes into the nonetheless thrilling "Polarbear," and an equally cringeworthy one from Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind kicks off "One Face Down," though these minor stumbling blocks don't damage the album all that much. The closer, an untitled "hidden" track, reprises themes explored in the prior 45 minutes, with odd field-recorded samples and less natural tones that create moods and break them as needed.
Charmingly sensitive enough to captivate the scruffy Williamsburg massive and those in the like-minded blogosphere, Uphill Racer's home listening tearjerker centerpiece will complement any post-break-up Sunday afternoon or Grey's Anatomy cliffhanger. Rest assured, Mom will dig it too.
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Bryce Kushnier fuses his experiences in Winnipeg’s electronic and indie rock scenes for his latest full-length as Vitaminsforyou. A nod to a hill in Manitoba known for saving townspeople from 19th Century floods, the result is a huge, sprawling electropop epic showcasing the best of both worlds.
The dam holding back Kushnier’s stockpile of ideas ruptures on this disc, overflowing every song and yet with remarkably little filler. The first real song on the album, "So Long Pleasant Bay," smoothly integrates field recordings, banjo, xylophone, and electronic beats. The song, like many of the others that follow, is frequently busy yet never crowded or cluttered and takes its time evolving structurally with little gratuitous repetition. On its heels is "The Ukrainians" featuring group vocals that come across like some odd, digital age town hall hootenanny. As with "Pleasant Bay," "The Ukrainians" seems to come from more of a rock background despite the electronic beats, but the songs that follow inch closer and closer to the dance floor. The strategy works, though, because even when the beats take the fore, the songs still retain plenty of warm, melodic dressing to heighten their appeal.
Not only do some of the arrangements evolve drastically as the songs progress, but Kushnier keeps the track sequencing from becoming predictable, too. The album opens with "I Move," a tape recorded conversation, and has intermittent surprises like the phone messages from friends on "A Call From Curtis," "A Call From Ghislain," and "A Call From Emm," or the experimental "Everything Is Always." Similarly, "Welcome to Echo Valley, Saskatchewan" is an unusual track of electronic warbling while "When We Were Young" consists of fuzzy ambience.
Despite the disparity between some of these musical styles, the album holds together with a surprisingly tight and consistent weave. I’m not always crazy about Kushnier’s shy voice or some of the serviceable lyrics, but these are easy to ignore since there’s so much more going on in these songs that draws my interest. Strangely enough for an album over an hour long with almost twenty tracks, there are few missteps and no outright duds on this disc. Although there are many pop elements within, that none of the songs is perfectly polished for mass consumption is one of its many charms.
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Load
The name Anders Hana scares me: I didn't like his solo release on Utech (it bored me to tears) and Moha! isn't a band to write home about. Each release demonstrated Hana's love for the guitar, but didn't showcase a single ounce of song writing talent. Noxagt, on the other hand, are precise and powerful. For all their energy and manic presentation, their music is beautifully arranged and written. It would seem, then, that Hana has found himself a home. Paired with the heart-attack-inducing, rhythmic convulsions of Kjetil D. Brandsdal and Jan Christian Lauritzen, Hana's guitar finally sounds fantastic. His love for the instrument brings the whole album home.
Brandsdal and Lauritzen still like to sound as though they're trying to fight themselves out of a paper sack with a chain-saw, but their sloppy, muggy chops are now highlighted by a guitar. At first the difference isn't readily apparent. Erga's viola work was magnificent, making the instrument sound natural in a setting it wouldn't normally be placed in. Replacing that sound with a guitar has its advantages, though, one of them being Hana's ability to let the instrument lead him as much as he leads it. Feedback, the light hum of strings being teased, and the shriek of an abused fret board figure heavily on this album, making it a rougher and more sizzling album than anything else in the band's discography.
The differences are not enormous, even if they become more obvious later. This album chugs more than their other records, it has more open space rather than more chaotic arrangements. Everything is much slower and more focused on timbre this time around. Noxagt remains the same in the most essential ways, Hana has simply entered to modify their presentation. Noxagt fans might be disappointed by the lack of viola power on this record, but Hana has finally proven he's a competent musician and band member. In the end, this is a tweak in the band's work that I suspect will birth more and different fruit in the future.
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Drag City
When I first saw his first self-led project live, Aerial M, David wouldn't even face the crowd, nevermind singing in front of a crowd. Over the years his vocals have become more prominent and here it seems like they're no longer just another instrument, but in the driver's seat of the song, taking front row center at times while an arrangement of organ, piano, and strings now accompany competant guitar, bass, and drumming. I have always been impressed with every step Pajo has taken along the way with the evolution of his own projects, but more than ever, he is showing his true talents as a fully-realized multi-faceted composer.
For the most part, David presents an album with a heaping amount of variety. Not only does he show that he can do Beatle-esque blues and power pop with songs like "We Get Along, Mostly" and "Foolish King," but he even makes a kind of nod to the old Aerial M days with the instrumental "Insomnia Song." Most of the first half of 1968 is very dark, subject wise, despite the bright, white cover and lush, elegant booklet. "Who's That Knocking" opens the album with words like a very grim lullaby and musically it shifts between some contrasting movements without a weak spot in its nearly six minutes. "The Devil Wants His Revenge" comes up a couple times, adding more evidence to my theory that Pajo must have signed a pact similar to Robert Johnson's: Dave's just too damned talented.
Even though he has been spending much of his time recently in Brooklyn, he's almost more in touch with his country roots than he has ever been, comically singing about "hillbilly killers on the run" in "Wrong Turn," followed by a murder and cannibalism by a river story in "Cyclone Eye." Additionally, he makes a nod to the Papa M singles series (the One, Two, Three,... EPs where songs were recorded at friends' places), however, where Papa M would include the collaboration of friends, "Walk Through the Dark," is a very introspective song with the recording made alone in a hotel.
The full sound returns for the endearing "Let It Be Me," and if there's a drum machine playing these beats on this or any of the other songs on 1968 (like it sounded like on Pajo), he's done a briulliant job of making them sound real nearly everywhere. "I've Just Restored My Will To Live Again," ironically ends the album on a very lyrically bright and optimistic note, completely contrasting the context of the song, recorded with only a simple guitar and voice on what's probably a very crummy, hand-held recorder.
1968 is very fluid, comfortable, and full sounding, and it's time that David Pajo isn't just "that guy who played with Tortoise, Stereolab, Royal Trux, Zwan, and Slint" (and that alone wouldn't be a bad way to be known) but regarded for his own strengths as an excellent composer and arranger.
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