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Although Peter Wright is a talented musician who produces evocative drones, what separates his music on this album from others exploring similar territory are the field recordings underlying the mix which provide a narrative of sorts. If they don't add up to one grand tale, then it is these pockets of stories scattered throughout the album that lend it an emotional core.
For instance, when "Approaching Low from the West" becomes a high-pitched wail drowning all voices but its own, it's capped by a billowing cloud that disintegrates all that has come before. Combined with an ominous guitar on "Blue Ridge," the water and the boat slapping against a dock suggest an empty aftermath that mutates into the shouts, helicopters, and sly marching drum of the title track.
Field recordings aren't evident in every song, and sometimes the music alone must carry the narrative, if there is one. For me, these spots are a lull in the album, but perhaps a necessary sanctuary. It's not until a banshee tunnel becomes a gentle guitar and birdsong in "Cows" that a new morning seems possible. The journey ends bittersweet with "Infection" as ringing stars and Doppler memories preface an elderly woman recounting her troubles walking which, it turns out, is because of a chest infection. I'm not sure what this story of hers has to do with the album as a whole other than emphasizing life's frailty, but the sentiment itself is clear.
With a guitar, effects, and carefully chosen recordings, Wright has created an album of surprising beauty.
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Daniel Burton recruits a talented cast, including members of Black Mountain and Windsor for the Derby, to expand a track from 2002’s Let Us Garlands Bring into a touching suite of songs surrounded by emotionally charged instrumentals.
The music itself is lush with reverb as several layers of guitars swim together rather than fight for dominance. Like comets or other celestial bodies, gentle feedback lends qualities of longing and melancholy that complement the other instruments and the vocals without stealing attention.
Beginning with “Deserter,” the core features three songs with lyrics lamenting narcissism, apathy, and the dissolution of responsibility. Generous cross-fading links them as much as the subtle melodic shifts that transform into new songs, weaving them together so tightly that each one would lose something were it to be separated from the others. The voices of Burton himself, Kate Long, and Amber Webber are all able to handle the weight of the music and maintain the same level of levity. Webber’s “Return of the Native” is especially frail, with a tender vulnerability that underscores lyrics such as, “Losing you to your desire/In rooms with ocean views.” The instrumentals are propulsive, wrapping the suite in an urgency and importance that give weight to the revelations within.
In its evocation of yearning landscapes and spiritual exhaustion, Offshore is the perfect complement to summer nights.
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To celebrate a quarter century of great compilations and albums by many exciting artists, Touch have released this new compilation. 25 exclusive tracks featuring most of Touch’s luminaries sum up both Touch’s history and mission perfectly while at the same time showing that Touch still know how to make a great compilation (an art that is neglected by nearly every other label).
Touch
The disc is presented in a digipack with an included that contains lots of beautiful photos by label head/graphic designer Jon Wozencroft. Some of these have been included in previous releases on the label but it’s nice to see them again. Wozencroft also contributes a number of short field recordings ranging from a recording of an air captain’s announcement before landing to plumbing to a myriad of noises I cannot identify (the liner notes are non-existent for these recordings). These brief vignettes clear the aural palate between the meatier contributions.
Staying with field recordings, Chris Watson has provided two pieces to Touch 25. Unusually for Watson, these two pieces are fairly pedestrian (no, not recordings of people walking). Neither piece holds my attention for long which is especially unfortunate as both of them are less than three minutes each. The aforementioned recordings by Wozencroft have more vitality to them. As does Jacob Kirkegaard’s “Heavy Water [Bärseback],” a recording of water from a nuclear plant’s cooling system which captures the power and menace associated with splitting atoms.
Oren Ambarchi’s “Moving Violation” is one of my fave pieces on the album. The looped guitar hum and drone shows how much he has contributed to Sunn O)))’s last album. In fact, without the riffing Ambarchi’s guitar playing sounds more threatening. In stark contrast to Ambarchi is “Tree” by Fennesz which follows immediately. His acoustic guitar playing is warm and delicate; soft electronics smooth the edges of his playing. The difference between these two artists highlights the range of artists that Touch has championed over the years.
The jewel that shines more than any other on Touch 25 is Jóhann Jóhnannssonn’s “Tu Non Mi Perderai Mai.” It is haunting, beautiful and transcendental. I keep coming back to this particular piece to play and play again. Although the liner notes state that it is just two instruments (a ring modulated Hammond organ and a cello) it sounds like there are a host of synthesisers and sequencers at work. The natural sounding cello sounds almost unnatural with the celestial Hammond sounding like it’s going into orbit.
Not surprisingly but still disappointingly is the complete absence of material by The Hafler Trio considering Andrew McKenzie was such a central part of Touch for so many years. As such I find it quite odd, despite whatever differences there are between them, that McKenzie is not at least mentioned somewhere on a compilation celebrating the past, present and future of Touch.
Aside from that Touch 25 is a wonderful compilation, few compilers show as much quality control as the folks at Touch have. Unlike the vast majority of compilations, this disc runs smoothly like a good album by a single artist. Considering the scope of artists and styles appearing on Touch 25, this is some feat.
samples:
- Fennesz - Tree
- Jóhann Jóhannsson - Tu Non Mi Perderai Mai
- Philip Jeck - Hindquarters
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The first time I heard Pole, I recall, I vividly sensed an odd feeling of simultaneous warmth and cold, washing over me in wave after wave of dubwise potency.
After completing his first brilliant color-coded trilogy, Stefan Betke took a heartbreaking left turn, leaving behind the minimalist sound he had helped usher in. Yet somehow, a quasi-mysterious artist known to the music world only by the name Burial managed to capture that spirit without resorting to mimicry. Better still, he's managed to develop a style all his own.
Though its release on Kode9's sensational Hyperdub imprint immediately places Burial under the dubstep umbrella, this music defies the laws of oversimplified categorization. While it does include some material from the previously issued South London Boroughs record, this self-titled album is hardly some mere collection of twelve-inch singles, with the majority of the songs previously unreleased and recorded between 2001 and 2006. That being said, these laid back tracks aren't custom built for the dancefloor, an anomalous characteristic for the dubstep genre, yet like many of his peers Burial belongs to the urban, the city, the streets.
After a brief untitled introduction courtesy of Benicio del Toro, "Distant Lights" crackles into existence with the unmistakable sounds of weaponry being prepared, followed by a subtly stuttering beat and the soulful wail "Now that I need you..." in both male and female voices. This implicit desperation worms its way throughout the album, burrowing its way into the rumbling bass. Kode9's favorite collaborator Spaceape makes a noteworthy guest appearance on the track that bears his name, weaving conscious freeform poetry with a deep accented affectation over dramatic strings and a slightly hard-to-follow rhythm. Thankfully, Burial has chosen not to showcase a bunch of dodgy grime MCs bellowing and blubbering gun violence slogans or other pandering claptrap over his productions, letting the music act as its own statement.
Surprises appear around the breaks, such as the abruptly introduced yet fleeting melody that lights up the brilliant "Broken Home" or the mutant eastern vibes on "U Hurt Me." Burial's choice of ambient interludes hold their own among their rhythmic companions, such as the stunning "Forgive," whose looped backwards vocalization reveals, perhaps, a house of God in this near-apocalyptic view of London. Soaking all fifty-one minutes in, Burial's triumphant debut delights, engages, and even astonishes throughout its duration.
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title: Précis
catalog #: krank098
formats available: CD
CD UPC Code: 7 96441 80982 0
Release Date: October 16, 2006
Content: Précis is the first album from Thomas Meluch under his musical pseudonym Benoît Pioulard. Following a series of limited, handmade cassette and CDR releases for friends and family over the last several years, and the well-received Enge EP (Moodgadget 2005), Précis arose as a documentation of a coming to terms with impermanence, marked by analog residue and the imperfections of human influence.
A multi-instrumentalist with an insatiable palette, Pioulard bases most of his songs on treated acoustic guitars and honeyed vocals, backed by carefully layered bells, bass, dulcimer, old tape samples, field recordings and myriad other sources. These sounds, though sculpted roughly into pop songs, have their own delicate patterns of ebb and flow, distortion and disappearance. From the sunny refrain of “Triggering Back” to the descent of nighttime chills on “Needle & Thread”, Précis sighs in time with the seasons. It’s an album about him, her, and you; it’s an exaltation of the ways these things end.
Context: Thomas Meluch is a 21-year old from Michigan fascinated with the sounds of nature and tape decay. Through almost a decade of recording, he has fostered an infatuation with a sort of sonic density that combines remnants of pop song structures with the lushness of painstakingly assembled overdubs that the home recording process affords him. He was recently featured on the Ghostly International compilation Idol Tryouts Two.
Press for Benoît Pioulard’s Enge EP:
“[Benoit Pioulard] creates crystalline folk-pop teeming with fragile vocals, acoustic guitars, electronics, and percussion in a hazy shoegaze style that’s .. more than a little easy to fall in love with” Textura
“[An] exceptional creative vision...cavernously emotional acoustic recordings by way of [a] penchant for electronic manipulation.” Lost at Sea
Track Listing:
1. la guerre de sept ans 2. together & down 3. ext. leslie park 4. triggering back 5. moth wings 6. alan & dawn 7. corpus chant 8. palimend 9. coup de foudre 10. hirondelle
11. needle & thread 12. r coloring 13. sous la plage 14. patter 15. ash into the sky
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title: Harmony in Ultraviolet
catalog #: krank102
formats available: CD
CD UPC Code: 7 96441 81022 2
Release Date: October 16, 2006
Content: Harmony in Ultraviolet is Tim Hecker’s sixth album. It is a continuation of Hecker’s interest in spectral communications, noise, impressionist musics, thresholds of listening pleasure/pain, and the limits of digital composition. This album is a significant development of his song-craft, challenging the usefulness of descriptors such as ambient, drone, metal, noise and even electronic music. If references are necessary it could be described as a sonata for the elements, songs of crackling embers, tidal pools, spruce skylines and autumn winds. Gerhard Richter’s abstract paintings are also a fair orientation. Materially speaking, it is a record of whirring drones, whispering fissures, dense disintegrating chords, late-night noise and truth-telling harmonics. Yet this record follows no overarching process, no underlying narrative. It is both a homage for the Italian partigiani and also not at all. It is songs about ghost writing and midnight whispers but then again it isn't. In many ways this album can be viewed as a work of total destruction, embracing indeterminacy as an aesthetic ideal.
Context: Tim Hecker is a Canadian-based musician and sound artist, born in Vancouver. Since 1996, he has produced a range of audio works for Mille Plateaux, Alien8, Force Inc, Staalplaat, and Fat Cat. His works have been described as “structured ambient”, “tectonic color plates” and “cathedral electronic music”. More to the point, he has focused on exploring the intersection of noise, dissonance and melody, fostering an approach to songcraft which is both physical and emotive. The New York Times has described his work as “foreboding, abstract pieces in which static and sub-bass rumbles open up around slow moving notes and chords, like fissures in the earth waiting to swallow them whole”. His Radio Amor was recognized as a key recording of 2003 by Wire magazine. His work has also included commissions for contemporary dance, sound-art installations, and various writings. He is also an acclaimed producer of techno, having toured and produced under the name Jetone. Tim has presented his work in a live setting around the world, including performances at Sonar (Barcelona), Mutek (Montreal), Impakt Festival (Utrecht), Victoriaville in (Quebec), IDEAL (Nantes), Vancouver New Music Festival (Vancouver), and Transmediale (Berlin). He currently resides in Montreal.
Track Listing:
1. Rainbow Blood 2. Stags, Aircraft, Kings and Secretaries 3. Palimpsest I 4. Chimeras
5. Dungeoneering 6. Palimpsest II 7. Spring Heeled Jack Flies Tonight 8. Harmony in Blue I
9. Harmony in Blue II 10. Harmony in Blue III 11. Harmony in Blue IIII 12. Radio Spiricom
13. Whitecaps of White Noise I 14. Whitecaps of White Noise II 15. Blood Rainbow
Selected Discography:
2005 Mort aux Vaches - Staalplaat (Holland) - Live recording at VPRO Studios, Amsterdam
2004 Radio Marti / Radio Havana - EN/OF (Germany) Collaboration with Stan Douglas
Mirages - Alien8 Recordings (Canada)
2003 Radio Amor - Mille Plateaux (Germany)
2002 Trade Winds, White Noise - Commissioned by Parachute Arts Journal (Canada)
My Love is Rotten to the Core - Substractif / Alien8 Recordings (Canada).
2001 Haunt Me, Haunt Me, Do It Again - Substractif / Alien8 Recordings (Canada).
Ultramarin - Force Inc Music Works / Mille Plateaux (Germany)
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On this three-track food/petrol/strings funding release the band continue their rock and roll d/evolution. What the Markers do maybe easy to flippantly sum up, but it’s spat out as complex improvisational process. This trio take the roots of musical cultures, personal experience and labels and feed them with a row of cocktail shots and composted Ginsberg instead of the same old generic watery rock moves. The thing about Magik Markers is that while they refuse to stick the tried and tested templates, they are happy to batter new life into traditional trio instrumentation.
At the center of everything, or sometimes central in a lost on the prairie outskirts kind of way, are Elisa Ambrogio’s vocals and lyrics. Her indolent NY blues on the second track might as well be from a different person when compared with the end of the bar moan on "three." Sometime timorously soft and hesitant and other times like a hell bound Jim/Kim hybrid (Morrison and Gordon), the word association and left side of the head pick-and-mix need multiple flybys to get the whole thing. Throughout this third track there’s a bulge and squawk groan from a grating wheel of sound caught in the sparking firework of guitar noise. This sap-thick take on rock and roll creaks its way into a wheezy live loop before taking off for a short nose dive flight; protest music against formality and form.
Despite the sometimes-harsh nature of dissent the opener here is a beautiful piece of coming together chemistry. It’s like I’m suddenly the unseen presence in a pre soundcheck jam that quickly flowers into something more fragile and gorgeous than the most carefully sculpted song. The centrifugal piano seems to be miced up from the next room as a laid-back guitar and lone female lullaby slip slowly into perfect post sex sync. Snatches of melody come like the whole affair is being blown from across some smoky water. Everything seems abstracted and one step removed, even its unconscious move into confusion, beat rant confusion and spluttering squall has an air of liberated elegance.
This sense of freedom is also apparent in the lethargic blues of "Two" where Leah Quimby’s bass begins to fill the gaps note by precious note. The drums might be a little overstated, but Quimby seems to be on her own path putting delicious musical flesh to bone.
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A monologue labyrinthine enough to confuse David Lynch is performed by Anna Chancellor to open this album. The narrator could die at any moment, there is an organized operation controlling metaphysical principles beyond human recognition, and data is being processed in order fulfill some clandestine goal; Barry Adamson is still one strange customer, his music as varied as his imagination and resumé.
Central Control International
The film noir narrative that begins this disc is completely eradicated by "The Long Way Back Home," a country western pop monstrosity flung together on the breath of harmonicas and the rattle of galloping drums. That musical emphasis is again replaced by a song that could belong in an episode of Twin Peaks or perhaps on the radio; it is as ambiguous as it is entertaining. I suppose that shouldn't be surprising, Adamson has a history of riding that line, the one that sits between accessibility and complete artistic indulgence. He's played with Nick Cave and Lydia Lunch, contributed his work to soundtracks (including Lynch's Lost Highway) and released his fair share of solo material. Stranger on the Sofa might be a conceptual record, but without reference to stylistic content. Adamson separates his ideas from his music, preferring to let whatever is on his mind bleed out in any number of formats on this record.
For example, "Officer Bentley's Fairly Serious Dilemma" begins as a milkshake of '50s pop culture, rhythm and blues convention, and show tunes bravado. It ends in a flash of distorted guitar solos, police sirens, thumping bass, and whistled hooks. It's like Adamson is writing about a murder case with a giant smile on his face and a copy of a Monkees' album playing somewhere in the background. Jim Thirlwell would be damn proud. The next track switches things up a bit, using a set many Adamson fans will be familiar with: organ, jazzy drums, and a bit of distorted ambience. It's called "Who Killed Big Bird?" and it erupts with horns and programmed percussion, flutes and spats of rhythmic seizure, like an episode of Spy vs. Spy translated for an electro-jazz ensemble. I can't help but think of Chicago in the early parts of the 20th century: Al Capone and "Bugs" Moran taking care of business. This time, instead of being set in the real world, these characters are transported to a place occupied by Batman villains.
You can guess what the rest of the record is like; Adamson is a greater writer and on this album he is particularly good, perhaps even excellent. All the songs are memorable, sometimes gorgeous, and always a strange amalgam of past and present influences. The vocal delivery is smooth and dramatic, the work of the Rat Pack generation, but tempered by the touch of much broader influences. Things sound sinister and shady when Adamson wants them to, confusing or contradictory where appropriate, but more importantly the music is great fun. "Theresa Green" makes such vibrant use of its instruments that its almost cheesy arrangement at points is easy to ignore, or perhaps appreciate in this context. I'd never go in for this kind of stuff from anyone else, but Adamson is brilliant in this mode. His music is free to wonder where he wants to go and so he lets it wonder, from one place to the next, without the faintest hint of discontinuity or jarring incongruity. "My Friend the Fly" oscillates between a strange, poetic tale told under the air of brass instruments humming low in the distance before it breaks into a jam of big band proportions, saxophone letting loose next to an upright bass and an outright menacing sense of doom.
Adamson is an expert chameleon and it shows on Stranger on the Sofa. I'm not sure that I understand the whole conspiratorial tone that the opening piece set up, but Adamson has almost always been dark. The nice thing about this record is that said darkness isn't suffocating, it is told more from a distance, with a sense of humor healthily in place. It'd be a dream if he'd team up with Bohren and Der Club of Gore, the two evoke the same sensations in different ways. Until that dream comes true, however, Adamson has his unique take on intrigue, betrayal, suspicion, and mystery available right here.
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From what I had heard about the Yellow Swans, I expected this album to be harsh, with plenty of layers of static and distortion washing over all other sounds. While those elements are present to a certain degree, Drift is much more varied and better than I had hoped.
I find noise for its own sake to be pretty boring. It’s not enough to come up with a cool sound, it must also be used in an interesting way. Too often it seems that noisicians settle for texture when rhythm, atmosphere, and an overall sense of dynamics are just as important. With the three untitled tracks on this album, the duo of Swanson and Salomon provide great examples of how a wide variety of sounds can be used as compositional tools in music that’s still completely abstract and unpredictable.
Assembled from months of live shows, the group sets the best parts against each other to delirious effect. The first track finds rhythmic clouds of distortion battling mind-cleansing drones over an undercurrent of undifferentiated bass. Later a guitar joins, in addition to other rhythms that appear and then soon vanish. There is a lot to focus on, but not in an overwhelming sense. The next track cools down a little bit, with drones, digital scales, and spectral gasps amid whirring machinery. The last track starts meditatively and slowly awakens into a soaring, triumphant epiphany that’s nearly thwarted by disruptive squeals before regaining its balance.
Both rejuvenating and exciting, this album unfolds and rewards after repeated listens.
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Bastard Noise, Sissy Spacek, and Sunn O))) member John Wiese concocts an arsenal of blistering eruptions that’s sure to blow both eardrums and speakers alike.
Using material recorded at places mainly in the Midwest and on the East Coast, Wiese has assembled a gurgling catalog of sounds that zoom past like fireballs of static, countered by a subtle yet disruptive low end. Many of the more interesting sounds pass by too quickly for me to appreciate, and are often buried under dense layers of distortion. The album’s most consistent characteristic is that it’s hard on the ears, which is also its downfall. The biggest flaw is that it only has one speed, and I never thought such a wide variety of rushing sounds could become so monotonous.
The songs are basically an interconnected series of explosions, a tactic that soon loses its power to shock and leaves me with a pummeling headache. One of the best things about it, I have to say, is how Wiese plays with the stereo channels in a manner that’s truly unpredictable and enjoyable to follow. As far as his albums go, I prefer something like Ghost Call, which gives me time to absorb its nuances rather than rushing me through the exhibit before I have a chance to fully explore it. I respect the extremities of the sound and the envelope-pushing going on here, but an album’s worth of this convulsive material relegates it in my mind to something to be savored for its shock value rather than its ability to both provoke and compel.
As much as I hate to admit it, I found little magic in this recording.
samples:
- Recorded at Mass Art in Boston, MA, 02/05/05
- Recorded at the Tower in Cleveland, OH, 02/10/05
- Recorded at Radio Cherokee in St. Louis, MO, 02/14/05
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England's Eden Maine might appear all bluster and bark from first look: a blood-red album cover and song titles which hit on everything from Satan to homicide to strongly-worded exhortations not to breathe. It seems a little bit contrived and postured. But once past the introductory wispiness of "Solstitium," Eden Maine's bite becomes painfully apparent. And yet the bark persists.The vocals are a barked scream which sometimes descends into a more conventional yell, the disparity between the two people making the yell seem altogether dulcet. Around all the throatiness is some calculated and masterful metal. The music is begotten from the Hydra Head records genealogy, more in line with the Converge camp than with bands who have incorporated a little more irony into their themes (consider Botch's song titles, for instance; especially that one about C. Thomas Howell).
Eden Maine want everybody to truly believe that the sky is falling, the earth is cracking, and that they are the minstrels of the Reckoning. Listening to "Murder Was Her Name" might not bring salvation, but it could genuinely get someone energized enough to kick Satan or Jesus in the balls before you they, (depending on which side they're on). The drums alone pulsate with the terminal velocity of Sisyphus' rock as it falls down each successive hill.
The iron maiden into which Eden Maine slip occasionally is that they rely too heavily on unimaginative guitar parts to underscore the music. When this happens, songs begin to sound the same. The contra-case is a song like "The Hunter and the Hunted," which begins with precisely the kind of infectious noodling you want to hear from this band and retains the theme throughout the song, falling back on it in moments of brave recapitulation. On the other hand, "Do Not Move a Muscle, Do Not Breathe a Word" exhausts the listener in a dogged repetition on lines to the point where both band and listener are exasperated and breathing hard. "The Atheist Light" goes as far as to bring a cello into the mixture, though this instrumental song never really digs deep enough into the regions of Tartarus which the other songs strive for. It's too sugary and saccharine, and we all know Cerberus can't be tempted with cotton candy: something with meat is needed.
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