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My heart belongs, in part, to the blues and to country music; even folk music occupies a special place in my heart. Everyone from the infamous Robert Johnson and John Lee Hooker to Leadbelly, Hank Williams Sr., Jimmie Rodgers, and Chet Atkins occupy some space in my collection. It's not hard to hear why people are still attracted to this music; the absolute recklessness with which so many young musicians handled themselves lends itself to modern application and the music resonates with stories that everyone is familiar with on some level. The appeal is human, in the soul, deep down in the stomach where the blues seem to settle and feel most comfortable (or uncomfortable). Ehlers has already paid tribute to Robert Johnson once before, on his Plays record, but his approach was distinctly electronic and modern. The music was enjoyable, but the editing techniques and various effects applied were oblivious to the organic qualities of old 78 records and gritty guitar work. A Life Without Fear is a new approach to an old craft, one that carries the very spirit of the blues in it despite all its surreal references.
The album begins with a guitar being tuned in out of the ether. Like a ghost out of the dark it shakes, warps, and then snaps into focus and the Mississippi Delta Basin unfolds. Blue skies, white clouds, dark green grass, and intense heat. There's mosquitoes in the air and a dirt road winding hazily into dust. The effect is immediate, but this is no effect, nor is it a sample. Ehlers has employed a band to carry out his vision this time, so instead of sounding distanced from the source material, Ehlers and his group dig right into the ground and get their hands dirty. The opening song, "Ain't No Grave," is listed as a traditional piece of music, furthering that history-centered effect the guitar confers. Not content, however, to mimic what he reveres, Ehlers leaves no stone unturned in applying story-telling to his work. If the blues ever did anything, they told a story or warned of coming trouble, detailing every lone moment, dirty deed, and passionate outburst in the book. Fittingly, then, A Life Without Fear sounds like a story. The CD begins to spin and it is as though I've just turned on an old Zenith wood-frame radio, glowing radial dial and all. Actors, actresses, sound effects, and comedy all pour out of the old speakers in a mash up of music and pulp literature. The music is as much blues as it is collage and plenty of stray sounds wonder in like dogs out of the rain while guitars strum, slide, and snap over a fire of songs.
As the album progresses, Ehlers introduces new techniques and new sounds to the mix, moving the album from Mississippi to the labors of guitarists like John Fahey. While he cannot recall the virtuosity of someone like Fahey, he does invoke his spirit. The guitar playing begins to sound classically trained as harmonics pop up like crystal sparks in the music, surrounded by the echo and reverb of a muted string. Trumpets appear in one song and in another it's as though tribal music becomes confused with Latin rhythms and Caribbean instruments. The transition from the blues to this new sound is smooth, however, Ehlers traveling back and forth with ease, introducing one to the other as though they were old acquaintances. The thick molasses that consumes the end of the record settles everything into a deep sleep, bringing the album down from its excited buzzes and swinging guitar. I can imagine sitting on a porch somewhere, lit only by a kerosene lamp, and watching the river go by, along with the night.
Ehlers takes the blues and moves with them, refusing to sit comfortably among the accomplishments of other musicians. Ehlers takes what he loves about the genre and adds his personality to the music beautifully. But he doesn't travel so far that the music becomes blurred and unrecognizable. Ehlers ends the album with Ralph Stanley's "O Death." Instead of remaining an a cappella performance, this rendition adds a cacophony of reverb-drenched guitar rumbling to a strange, almost yelled take on the vocals. This is as far away from the original material as Ehlers could've possibly gotten without completely tearing the tune apart, but then again Ehlers didn't exactly stay perfectly true to the source material anywhere else on this disc. A Life Without Fear is a great take on a style of music whose popularity has spawned plenty of no-talent hacks. Thankfully, Ehlers' interpretation is both tasteful and exploratory.
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In their defense, this group has a lot of expectations to live up to: as Slowdive all three of their full-length albums were three of the most important records of the 1990s; and as Mojave 3 their development reached an unbelievable peak with the epic "Bluebird of Happiness" on their last album, Spoon and Rafter. Puzzles Like You has no epics, no songs that break the verse/chorus/verse mold, and no songs that even reach 4 1/2 minutes long. Mojave 3 have stated their intentions to get back on the road and make the live rounds as far as they can, so it's understandable they wanted to make something both upbeat for them to play and fun to listen to. While I might not have been expecting this album from them, their new sound actually proved itself to be a very amiable, enjoyable sound when I showed their first video from the record, "Breaking the Ice," on Thursday night to a unanimously positive reception at my video night here in Boston.
I can firmly stand by the first half of the album. If their historic pedal steel wasn't enough to indicate Mojave 3 are obsessed with America, the song "Truck Driving Man" should seal the deal, almost mimicing BTO's "Taking Care of Business" with its banging piano, but it's obviously a British group making the noise as it's got that slight tinge of ELO-style attempts at rock and roll. The title track is a catchy clap-along number while "Breaking the Ice" is a perfect hit formula single, with energetic guitars and catchy chorus "I know you want to get away / I know nothing ever stays the same." I only start having a problem with tacky lyrics on "Big Star Baby," when Neil Halstead sings how he doesn't want to be a big star. Fear not, Neil, it's not happening with that song.
The second half of the album is definitely the weaker half, with more songs I didn't find all that challenging nor mature for a band with 16 years of writing and recording experience who have achieved greatness on a number of occasions in various styles. While I love "Ghost Ship Waiting," I'm not fond of the accent heavy "Kill the Lights," with the silly refrain "Kill the lights 'cos I'm getting oldah / Watch the news and drink more watah / She likes a man with his trousahs shortah," which apes the musical style of ? & the Mysterians' "96 Tears." Neil's probably taking the piss out of the Brits, but I never found approaches like this clever nor witty.
Once classic elements, like a strong presence of Rachel Goswell, are sadly missing, however, a number of pieces remain in the group, showing themselves later rather than sooner: the pedal steel guitar and the warbly theremin underneath songs like "You Said It Before" and "To Hold Your Tiny Toes," but the framework is predominantly different. Puzzles Like You is a notably peppier approach than the group has ever taken and I can understand why they did it. While I think the album has its good and not so good moments, together with some of their timeless Mojave 3 classics like "Love Songs on the Radio" or "Mercy," the variety of repertoire has expanded for the better on the whole, and it could seriously make for some fantastic live shows.
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Live at the Roxy, London - April 1st & 2nd 1977 is the first CD in the box, capturing two identical sets five months before Wire recorded their debut LP Pink Flag. These are undeniably the "early versions" of some of the songs, as Wire would play them over and over again until they were completely pleased with the songs. Some minor changes were made: tempos and words got modified slightly: "one dimensional man," for example in "Straight Line" became "one dimensional boy" and "Mr. Suit" is noticably faster on the LP. This was a new lineup for Wire, after losing member George Gill, but the band was tight, well-rehearsed and comfortable enough to speak boldly to the audience from the stage in rare terse comments between songs like "If you want it louder, go see the sound man back there," Graham telling the audience to "pay attention," and "12XU" being introduced as a single (yet there's no indication that I can find that it was at the time). Mike Thorne, acting as producer and EMI talent scout managed to get the recordings to become Wire's demo and the rest is history.
The joy in these recordings is that the concerts are completely full and unedited, despite only amounting to about 25 minutes each. Just like the recording of Pink Flag, one song nearly always starts on where the downbeat of the last song just ended would have been, confusing any newbie to their music into wondering where the songs end or begin! Cherry picked from the April 1st date to fill bonus tracks on the 1995 Japanese CD of Pink Flag were "Mary Is a Dyke," "Too True," "Just Don't Care," "TV," "New York City," and their cover of J.J. Cale's "After Midnight," all tracks never commercially appearing on any studio LP. Additionally, the version of "12XU" from the second night was the version which appeared on the Restless compilation On Returning and with "Lowdown" on The Roxy, London WC2 from EMI, a top 20 various artist LP released in August of 1977. The concert recordings are well-preserved, probably hanging around in EMI's vaults for years before they finally gave up, perhaps EMI conceded that they can't make any money off Wire despite the amount of publicity Wire always seem to get!
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Live at CBGB Theatre, New York - July 18th 1978 wasn't recorded or preserved as well. The CD was recorded for a Live at the CBGB series that aired on WPIX radio in NYC and wouldn't have even survived had the tape not been handed to one of the Wire members after a radio session. It doesn't play the role of a fine live recording nor a hidden gem, but serves as a document of their brief US visit, where they played a couple shows, missed a few shows, and did a radio session. It's not a disc that I can imagine going back to for a lot of listens. The recording sounds as gritty as CBGB's was. An important club, CBGB's was never known for its sound or sanitation, and in the '70s, Wire weren't nearly as popular with the audiences in the US as they were in the UK and Europe. Missing flights and missing shows, the recording comes from the second set scheduled for the second night, featuring songs that all appeared in studio versions at some point. But the band seemed tense, tired, and sounded like they were rushing through the songs to try to get the whole damn thing over. A better Chairs Missing material document is by far the CD/DVD release from the performance on Germany's Rockplast TV program, On the Box.
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Discs 3, 4, and 5 in the box are restored versions of Pink Flag, Chairs Missing, and 154: albums that have been reviewed by people worldwide for nearly three decades at this point. Basically, you should own them by now if you don't. I won't say anything more about their content or worth, you'll just have to believe me. What you get with this release is a deluxe booklet that contains lyrics that didn't appear on some of the previous pressings, back stories of the band and their experiences during the time of the recordings, tours, and various other tidbits. Absent are all bonus tracks, as the CDs represent the LPs in their original state. I understand the respect for purity in this decision, but the songs that are gone are important pieces of Wire's history and I would hope a compilation will be forthcoming to tell those stories. "Dot Dash" and "Options R" were the studio recordings initially released on Pink Flag; the extended (and far superior, in my humble opinion) single version of "Outdoor Miner," "A Question of Degree," and "Former Airline" are absent from Chairs Missing, but the four songs absent from 154: "Song 1," "Get Down parts 1&2," "Let's Panic Later," and "Small Electric Piece" are a different story as they were actually released with initial copies of 154 as a bonus 7". Of course, Wire/Pink Flag could be gearing up to compile these with the post-EMI single tracks "Our Swummer," "Midnight Bahnhof Cafe," "Crazy About Love," "Second Length," and "Catapult 30," along with some other leftover bits and pieces floating around.
For samples of these classic recordings see our Wire Sound Archive site.
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- Duncan Edwards
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The single track is of 8:29 duration, naturally enough given the date of Katrina. Conceived by New Orleans' abstract-expressionist Potpie (with thirteen releases to his credit, mostly sine-wave generated pieces like Black Panther Coloring Book), and executed by Alec (of drone-psych band Chef Menteur), the piece takes off at around the one-minute mark when the echo and loop kick in. There's no way this could have the shock of some of Reich's early audio-collages, forty years hence, but it's apt in that if you find yourself begging for it to be over, well, that's how the Crescent City citizens feel.
(Available for free download at http://www.backporchrevolution.com/hiddentrack/ .)
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When I first heard Houdini many years ago, I was mainly used to listening to absolute rubbish (barring the odd exception). Back then it was a revelation in heaviness and this new live interpretation allows me to listen to that album with fresh ears. It also allows me to kick myself harder for not being able to attend the Dublin performance of this album. As this album was recorded live without an audience, the sound quality is great. In many places it’s clearer and sharper than the original studio version. I think that the lack of audience adds to the tension of the pauses in the songs, the end of “Joan of Arc” being an example of this as each time it stops and stutters I expected the roars and whoops of a crowd. Instead the reverberation of the warehouse adds a touch of menace to the music.
These new versions are true to the original recordings in spirit if not always in performance. Houdini Live 2005 opens with “Pearl Bomb” (the song order is different to the original). Instead of the mechanical sounding drum beat there is Dale Crover’s drumming. It’s slightly sloppy but fits the song perfectly which is Crover’s style (he’s the sloppiest tight drummer I’ve heard). Trevor Dunn from Fantômas joins the core of Crover and King Buzzo and he plays like they were his bass lines to start with. Buzzo’s guitar and vocals both sound bigger this time around. Throughout the album he sounds like he’s shouting at me, demanding my attention.
There’s not a version of any song that is inferior to the original album. Equally, this album isn’t better or a replacement for the studio album. Instead this is like an alternative reality version of Houdini. “Night Goat” has an extended intro with Buzzo’s guitar feedbacking like a bitch before Crover comes in with some seriously fuzzed out bass. The song rears itself eventually like some monster from the depths reaching out for dinner. For me, the centrepiece of Houdini was always “Joan of Arc,” a grinding slab of heaviness. Here it is slightly faster but still maintains all of its charms. It is as close to any song comes to defining what the Melvins sound like. It bleeds from the speakers and congeals in the ear canal. Unfortunately it’s still too bloody short.
On the other hand, songs like “Honey Bucket” and “Going Blind” show a more accessible side to the band. They are still the most accessible parts of the album but pack more oomph now. Not considerably more of an oomph but more nonetheless. One track that stands out as being an out and out improvement is “Spread Eagle Beagle.” Over twelve minutes of thumping percussion from all three members of the band. In addition, Lustmord steps up the plate and adds processed percussion of his own. The song sounds huge compared to the original. The space of the warehouse is particularly audible on this track. It’s a colossal way to end the album.
As mentioned previously, Houdini Live 2005 isn’t going to replace Houdini. It does allow reappraisal of these songs. They still sound as breathtaking as they did when I first heard them. I don’t know how many bands can go back to an album like this (especially one that was never intended to be reproducible live) and provide such a wonderful reincarnation.
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Anyone who's heard Machine Gun will undoubtedly think of intensity and confrontation when the name Peter Brötzmann comes up. His style is audacious, bombastic, and all the more enjoyable for it. His work with the Chicago Tentet has been called, at various points, a bit more subdued than normal. While Images (released by Okka Disk) might've been quieter than normal, the versions as performed by Pillow are nothing like what I've heard by Brötzmann in the past. They are more meditative than anything he's belted out of his lungs on sax and, in fact, there's no sax to speak of anywhere in these recordings. Instead, an improvised rumbling subsists over 18 minutes of space, reshaping itself with the calls of trumpets, cellos, guitar, dry ice, and other instruments. Liz Payne's percussion is less percussive than it is environmental; it is a rapidly changing series of hiccups and metallic whines, like the wheezing of a giant printing press in its death throes.
True to many of Brötzmann's own proclivities, there are very few signs of melody and when they do appear they are a brief and welcome disturbance. For the majority of the time, this quartet plays with tonal qualities and stumbling rhythms, squeaking and shaking as much avant garde jazz does, but never exploding into rages like Brötzmann is so fond of doing (Brötzmann sometimes doesn't bother with quiet moments, continually destroying sound as he goes). The album flows together well enough, keeping a safe distance from the bland territory of material remixed over and over again for a single disc. While this saves the music from some redundancy, at certain points the random noise all becomes a bit monotonous, failing to summon up the excitement Brötzmann's playing has often evoked in me.
While my interest is piqued in small increments, I find my mind wandering during large portions of the record, my attention span drawn to what's happening around me instead of the music that's playing—there's nothing that stands out enough to keep me drawn inside the music. There are moments of beauty, especially when the cello parts stand out among the other sounds. It seems that the more meditative and withdrawn the band becomes, the more elegant and capable they sound. The last track is a great example of this, especially when compared to the other interpretations.
Taking in a piece of this record here and there can be entertaining, but as an album it fails to be consistently entertaining; it's status as a work of art is a topic beyond me. Though coherent, the album simply isn't varied enough to warrant the amount of time this band dedicates to this particular piece. "Images" was one half of a record, not a record itself.
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- Scott Mckeating
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This is the sound of brain stimulation flash storms which play out like the dreams of anaesthetised car crash victims. The floats of electronically altered high violin movements are spread a mile thick over glaring beams of individually picked notes.
This kind of burnt out overloaded minimalism is noisily virginesque and uses the obscurity of excessive sonic cover to shy away from straight up splendor. The closer or louder the listen, the clearer the day below the cloud cover becomes. Like the incidental themes of those ignored by their creator, this is a beautifully lost piece of music that gives of hints of a yawning ache. The fine edges of ever moving loops and percussive splinters give glimpses of what’s buried beneath, but they’re transitory.
The flipside’s subtler build reveals things more clearly through its leisurely pace. “Illiaster” exposes what could be flourishes of harp and electric bouts of fuzzy sound inside a swoon. An intrusive buzz that appears could have ended up being unsettling, but instead it’s like a little sliver of reality towards songs end. Axolotl obligingly provides his own gentle re-entry orbit. Although complete as standalone songs, both sides feel like they’ve been cut from a larger work. It’s hard to take in the scale, or more accurately the sheer depth of the sound, of both the title track and “Illiaster”. This Axolotl (aka Karl Bauer) 12" sounds like it was born to be a long player.
(no samples available: vinyl only)
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The debut release from Elseworth Cambs is an enjoyable EP that although they are not trying to reinvent the wheel in terms of songwriting, they produce fine examples of simple but well crafted tunes. On Leaf or Tree there are six examples of folky, pastoral songs. The vocals are relaxed and not really in tune with the music but that makes them work all the better. Musically a gently strummed acoustic guitar holds centre court with piano, glockenspiel and accordion occasionally making an appearance.
For the most part, Leaf or Tree is slow and meditative. “Oh White Swan” starts as a somber piece about seasons before the guitar changes pace and the lyrics turn to spring. Vocal harmonies and piano drift in which leads to a dramatic shift in mood, warmth takes over from the icy start. “My Eyes are Woolin” has a far rockier edge to it compared to the rest of the CD. The tempo is upped and drums add a bit of life to the music. Lyrically there is nothing startling on any of the tracks but unlike most of the current folk artists the lyrics are straightforward; the words sticking to themes of love and nature. Songs like “This Boat” and “The Storm” make me feel like brewing a cup of tea and sitting in the garden for a few hours. Maybe it’s the fact that summer is finally kicking in as I write this but Leaf or Tree is beautiful in its simplicity.
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This double CD set collects songs previously only available on 6" vinyl and adds a second disc of remixes to sweeten the deal. The level of aggression here is almost ridiculous, with every aspect of the music overflowing with testosterone. If anything, this collection is like aural steroids, with any form of subtlety to be avoided at all costs.
Each song has generically distorted guitars, drums that sound like machine guns peppering a toy kit, and ridiculously garbled and hopelessly incomprehensible vocals, which is more or less what I expected from titles like, "Thinning the Herd," "Clorox Bong (Identity Picnic)," and "Crash Course to Maximum Nowhere." Making it worse, or maybe better, is that the songs are more like snippets, with one as short as eleven seconds and none much longer than a minute. With ten songs clocking in at about eight minutes total, at least the assault is brief.
Somewhat surprising, however, are the fourteen remixes included on the second disc. Most of them are just obnoxious, but there are a few that take the minimal source material and manage to stretch and mold it into something unique, with Vinda Obmana’s "Three Ring Inferno Mix" being my favorite of these. Also enjoyable were Merzbow’s "Agorzbow Merzbleed Mix," in what I consider more or less typical of his style, and Justin Broadrick’s "Flesh of Jesu Mix," which to me actually sounds closer to his Godflesh material than his more recent incarnation. I’m a little puzzled why the original songs and the remixes are on two separate discs since everything fits easily onto one, but that’s ultimately irrelevant. Either way, the entertainment I got from this collection probably wasn’t intentional.
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At its inception, Nurse With Wound was a group, not a solo project. However, for the last 25 years or so, even with the large cast of collaborators and producers that have worked on NWW records, it has seemed like the sole autocratic creative domain of Steven Stapleton, lone surrealist wolf. That's why its odd to see Stapleton involved in so much group activity lately, with active memberships in ensembles such as Scribble Seven (with Maja Elliott, Joolie Wood, Freida Abtan, Colin Potter, Andrew Liles and Matt Waldron), the Wounded Nurse Ensemble/Salt Marie Celeste live group (with Diana Rogerson, Potter, Liles and Waldron), and now The Sleeping Moustache.
The Sleeping Moustache is an adventurous fivesome consisting of Steven Stapleton, Jim Haynes of Coelecanth, Matt Waldron and R.K. Faulhaber of irr.app.(ext.), and Sigtryggur Berg Sigmarsson of Icelandic experimental group Stilluppsteypa. There is no clue given as to who does what on which track, and in fact the album's packaging consists only of five primitive, apparently hand-stamped brown paper slips, each listing the five members of the group in a different order. In the background are fragments of Dada-esque typeset dialogue: "Please sirs, could you help me onto the railings so I might leap to my death into the waters?" or "This malign energy issued forth unchecked, saturating the intimate and the mundane alike to twist the innocent contents of our lives into shapes of vivid, indescribable horror." Each slip is backed with a small print by the artist listed on top. Because of the lack of practical information given about the project, the sounds on this CD emerge as even more esoteric and inscrutable than they would have anyway, and it would be impossible to untangle each artist's contribution. The only entity that can be held responsible for this album, then, is The Sleeping Moustache.
The mind-blowing quality of production is a consistent thread running through this cracked, chaotic journey across unspeakably weird audio realms, remaining vivid and thoroughly fucked for the duration of the album. The album plays like an abstract radio drama in which the narrative could never be turned back into sensible language. Chilling drones and stereo-phased plinks and plonks stretch and dilate while tiny flesh-eating robots force a freight train backwards through a rift in spacetime. Squeaking door hinges and creaking wood stairs slowly sink into a burbling peat bog at midnight, while a gas-fueled generator floods the scene with obscene fluorescent lights. Outmoded machinery and monstrous disembodied spirits battle for supremacy against a backdrop of cosmically generated keyboard drones, which shudder and pulsate as they fester into glowing red sores that blasphemously belch and vent thick steam into the pipes of a church organ. Heavily delayed voices utter foreign gobbledygook which bounces between the stereo channels, farting beings of pure static who cannibalistically consume each other inside telephone wires. Damp, evacuated warehouses serve as the setting for strange and awful ceremonies involving tesla coils, rusty steel beams and quivering electrified gelatin fingers slowly caressing articulated marionettes enacting their own doom.
Suffice to say, fans of classic Nurse WIth Wound will rejoice at The Sleeping Moustache. It's a thoroughly enjoyable resurrection of the sort of classic 1980s audio surrealism that groups like NWW and HNAS perfected, worthy of repeated deep listening sessions on headphones.
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Splitting this vinyl, and the handmade silk-screened covers, between a pair of duos from Canada and Brooklyn shows noise, guitars and drums acts don’t have to follow the routes of their bigger peers. Although Mouthus’ heavily textured freakout is worlds apart from Cousins of Reggae’s broken behemoth, there is a common battleground.
Cousins of Reggae is a massive misnomer. On this spilt they seem to prefer distorted violence to the delusions of herb, but should they ever turn their sights on Babylon, it’ll end messily for The Man. Spewing splint-legged detuned guitar mess into five chunks of ‘no future’ slaughter, this duo make primitive sludgy pummelling seem driven by aggression.
Like light starved subterranean straight edgers they jostle and batter five versions of "History and Prehistory of Hudson’s Bay." With caveman flint whittling torpedoes of feedback spurting from their doomy ham-fisted string punching, this is held down and drowned rock music. This sound of this primitive down-the-well mix of guitars, drums and noise sounds like its coming from behind the screen around the bed at the end of the ward. There’s no massive variety between these most of these songs, maybe a little bit more muscled feedback manipulation here or some distant vocals there. "Part Three" adds some elusive chimes to the staggering surges, and this portions length makes it the most satisfying of the Cousins side.
The first Mouthus cut, "Better than Facemask," layers beat upon beat with sub rhythms continuously deposing the chance of melody with a shot to the back of the head. This propulsive layering of drum is normally the preserve of Brazilian funk or the crusty dreads on a festival percussion jihad, yet Mouthus make it the sound of mechanical insects mating endlessly. Part of their appeal is the fact that the sounds thunder out from different layers of murk, pulling an addictive shadowy curtain over the turmoil like a layer of dirt. The mix seems to bring out certain pieces into the shuddering daylight only to be superseded by another beaten barrel looping rumble. Perversely with "New Drugz" the duo ditch the beats, replacing them with rushing static. Everything else that makes up Mouthus is brought a little closer to the front: the dusty stylus metal buzz, low bass tuning and Muslim / pagan chants. The band unquestionably has their rhythm thing down to a T, and "New Drugz" suffers a little from the lack of steady movement that this could bring. Its lack of flight might be paving the way for the band’s entry into blacker psychedelia, but I prefer my Mouthus to be eight limbed and on the move.
samples:
- Cousins of Reggae "History and Prehistory of Hudson’s Bay in Five Parts - Part One
- Mouthus "New Drugz"
- Mouthus "Better than Facemask'"
 
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