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This release, the second in a seven inch trilogy, sees a further distillation of the band’s gorgeous organically structured songwriting. These two pieces are instantly noticeable as more electronic sounding than the first instalment, even though some of the strongest melody lines here are analogue in origin.
The more immediate "Pick me up" is a very distant cousin (mainly in its use of guitar) to their "Come to Light." The song instantly settles into a melody supported by a delicate clockwork factory beat, system default bleeps unwind and restart on a rolling 3-D loop between the hits. These electronics mesh into and out of the rougher de-emphasized patches of metalwork percussion. Gentle helixes of picked guitar move, sliding into a whirl as harsh early acidic squelchy synths fizz. The production places a real importance on the building and removal of different elements to the fore while other parts morph away happily into the background; the process sounds more organic than mere fader manipulation. Hopefully all this seven inch action is building up to an LP release.
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Rump
Mere Rum is on one hand a laid back electronica album, not unlike the thousands churned out every year by every schmuck with a laptop but on the other hand it also other elements peppered through the album to add a little spice. I hesitate to use the term “experimental” but there are leanings towards using unconventional sounds and structures. Granted these days that odd meters, washes of noise (such as the water-like sounds on “Tape Swamp” and “Vintertog”) and glitches are about as 'experimental' as eating hot food but it's enjoyable when they are used well. On “Plus3dub,” Christiansen uses a lot of these techniques tastefully and in less than usual contexts, the drum programming wouldn’t be out of place on an Autechre or Aphex Twin release but here the BPM is turned way down and combined with a melody, unlike the epileptic assault of the other two. Alas, he may be using these techniques well but he doesn’t show any innovation of his own.
However, at no point during the album do I feel this is ever more than a bedroom project made for himself alone. Nothing ever makes it past slightly interesting mediocrity. Attempts to bring some excitement to the music by using traditional instruments along with the electronics make it sound even duller. Glockenspiels, saxophones and electronics are a tired combination. Very occasionally there was a nice little bit of guitar, such as on “Overtone.” Apart from that, there is little in the way of originality.
Mere Rum is destined for that bottom shelf of the CD rack reserved for the releases I have no particular urge to listen to again.
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Their combination of elements sound fantastic together: simply played yet loud guitars and aggressively struck drums slowly march through gorgeous melodies, paired with the echoing, unobtrusive, and polite vocals that makes Jesu not just tolerable, but enjoyable. (I know my friend Andrew will have a word with me about this one, but I find Jesu far more enjoyable than any Godflesh I've ever heard!) The uttmost attention to sound detail is evident in every second of every song I've heard from them (still looking for that first EP, by the way). What is hard to describe, however, is their knack for writing great tunes. Jesu uses original and marginally unpredictable melodies but Justin Broderick constructs them well enough to make listening fun. Indeed, it's no impossibility: any band can theoretically combine these elements but if you don't write great tunes, then you're nothing.
The opening track "Silver" is probably the closest thing Jesu will get to a pop tune, and while I like it, I'm frightened as how close it comes to a sports theme. Its anthemic qualities rank on par with the best songs from last year's album. A different approach is tried with the second song, "Star," as a hurried, thrashy rhythm launches the piece but soon the signature sound overcomes it and nearly swallows up that beat with guitars and vocals going half the speed. "Wolves," once again, tries something new, as melody provided by something that sounds like a distorted synth takes the instrumental lead. While it doesn't sound out of place, tried at different volumes it becomes clear how Jesu's music is not experienced properly when played quiet. The last song, "Dead Eyes" also charts new territory for the duo, opening with some backwards strung beauty accompanying a fat low-end synth and vocals strung through a vocoder. Even though elements shift past the mid-point, shifting the focus from the heavy foundation to more jagged guitar playing, the song is still as sexy as it began. When it ends I'm immediately wanting more, but that's actually a good thing.
Clocking in at just under 30 minutes, this EP is more than enough to wet my appetite for the next mega album. With any luck the duo will finally play on this side of the pond, as I'm eager to see Jesu live, to feel the low rumbles vibrating my rib cage, my armhairs standing on edge, and the warm feeling of happiness this music gives me.
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Darla
I was never a fan of Violet Indiana, the post-Cocteau project that pitted Guthrie with Siobhan De Mare (that may be coming back if Guthrie's blog is to be believed). In a sense, anything that Guthrie does with a voice is going to be saddled with the heavy burden of outpacing the work of his legendary band that people are still just discovering now. It makes sense that Guthrie would work on instrumental music then, because his signature sound is in many ways inextricably tied to Elizabeth Fraser's voice, and making music without voices might be the only way to keep things going.
When I listen to Continental, I can't help but think that these were meant to be Cocteau Twins songs as the instrumentation, arrangement, and style is unmistakable. With its reverb-soaked pianos, crescendos of guitar, subtle backdrops of synth and understated drums, the album sounds more than merely familiar. It sounds inevitable, which is disappointing in a way because the songs seem only half-finished. For Guthrie to climb out of that shadow, he needs to reinvent himself and his approach, which is something scores of devoted Cocteau fans have gone and done in making the next generation of dreamy pop and shoegaze records.
When I concern myself with what is part of Continental rather than what the record could be, I have to admit that Guthrie still makes some of the most perfect, blissful chill out music to be found anywhere. There are journeys in these songs that tell little four-minute stories, and I love that. In a few places, Guthrie even kicks on the distortion box to roar to an almost heavy haze of fuzzy swirl that's just short of pyschedelic. Through the layers and layers of guitars, bass, feedback, and droning keys, everything still has its place, and that's the kind of careful construction that Guthrie's emulators almost always miss.
I'm glad to have Continental to provide some richly emotional background music for those times when I want something more structured than a collage of drones, but something less tangible than pop music with vocals. If I'd never heard a Cocteau Twins record, this would probably be one of my favorite instrumental rock records, but the reality makes Continental more bittersweet. Despite the quality and passion in this record, I think most people will hear it and conclude that Guthrie needs to chart a new direction, find another muse, or make up with the last one for his music to keep moving forward.
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These recordings were made with a simple yet appropriate stereo miking technique that mimics the human ears and to me is the next best thing to experiencing these pieces firsthand. Although they weren’t originally intended to be heard independently of the sculptures, that there exist visual counterparts to these alien soundscapes only whets my imagination. A six foot tall section of shimmering metal hits upon a cork ball in “Blade,” inducing a sense of danger in me as the oscillations vary dramatically in speed and volume. The variation of this piece, “(Big) Blade,” has a similar effect, while the swirling crashes of “Flip and Two Sisters (Trilogy)” made me even more apprehensive, though enjoyably so. At the other end of the dynamic spectrum, “Grass” soothes with strands of flexible steel brushing against each other as the base of the sculpture tilts back and forth. “Fountain” achieves a similar effect, albeit by different means.
It’s easy for an album like this to rest upon the laurels of historical significance, but in this instance the aural pleasure it gives far exceeds such considerations.
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Current 93 has not released an album of this magnitude, with all new material, in 10 years. Like All the Pretty Little Horses, Black Ships Ate the Sky resembles a theatrical production. It is well-calculated and sequenced and has a dream team crew: a core featuring stellar musicians (like the addition of Six Organs of Admittance/Comets On Fire guitarist Ben Chasny and cellist John Contreras to the recurring players Michael Cashmore, Steven Stapleton, and Bill Breeze) along with a supporting cast of brilliant guest vocalists and noisemakers. Additionally, like All the Pretty Little Horses, Current 93 are not afraid to tackle a traditional folk piece multiple times.
Marc Almond opens the album with "Idumea," an 18th century hymn, which reappears later with other vocalists. His voice shines in top form here. This version serves two purposes: accompanied only by a simple acoustic guitar, it remains quite faithful to the original; additionally, its magnificence sets the bar high for the rest of the record. "Sunset," which originally came out on that one-track/two-song CD single sold last year in Toronto is David's first appearance. I can't help but think it's a subtle nod to the loss of band member (and more importantly a close, dear friend) John Balance, most explicitly by the line about not seeing "chalice or graal" (remember the short lived Threshold House offshoot Chalice, whose catalogue titles all began with "Graal"). Tibet goes from calm to fiery as the music picks up in pace and intensity with the multiple guitarists and driving drones on the following "Black Ships in the Sky," returning to a more reserved delivery on "Then Kill Caesar," which is accented by the haunting viola of Bill Breeze, echoing the sorrowful sounds he's performed during Coil's seasonal single series.
Bonnie 'Prince' Billy's version of "Idumea" ushers in the next act, accompanied by a banjo and Indian drone sounds. It's followed by two more Tibet-sung standards before the next version of "Idumea." Baby Dee's take is as jaw-dropping as just about any of her own harp recordings, accompanied only by a quiet viola. "Bind Your Tortoise Mouth" follows, the perfect marriage between the respective styles of Six Organs and Current 93. The acoustic playing is distinctly Chasny's and the baroque verses speaking of God and kittens are unmistakably the lyrical obsessions Current 93. Antony's "Idumea" is perhaps one of the only things on the record I'm not completely floored by: while it's passionate and pretty, it's brief and only features his multitracked voice, and not his beautiful piano playing that I adore so much.
Veteran Irish folkstress and child star Clodagh Simonds (Mellow Candle, Mike Oldfield) accompanies herself on harmonium for her incredible version of "Idumea," ushering in the 11+ minute opus of "Black Ships Were Sinking." Here's where it seems Steven Stapleton has taken over, chopping up strings, vocals, spinning things backwards, and stretching them out before Cosey Fanni Tutti's time-stretched take on "Idumea" seamlessly and quietly segues from the chaos into Antony's second contribution, the song "Dancing Dust." A piano and vocal piece, "Dancing Dust" is indeed one of the album's highlights, but, at under one minute, it is far too short! Pantaleimon's "Idumea" follows like a beautiful soothing lullaby a mother would sing while stroking her child's hair as they fall asleep, and the serenity ends.
The next act is basically the nightmare trilogy and climax: the angry dissonance of "Vauvauvau," as blistering distorted noise battles with Tibet and acoustic guitar; David Tibet's painfully direct version of "Idumea," where we actually finally believe the lyrics which address the singer's own mortality; completing with the chugging, metal-edged "Black Ships Ate the Sky," rock guitars pounding away as David gets it all out, screaming over the death of friends, the dogma of duality of messiah versus destroyer; David as the protagonist, losing control while screaming for answers: "Who will deliver me from myself?" It's an utterly frightening and cathartic track.
Peace follows with the final songs, Tibet's reflection and resolution on "Why Caesar is Burning II," ending with Shirley Collins' version of "Idumea," which is appropriately the version which sounds most like a finale.
It seems as if everything is in line for Current 93: as if their time has finally come. The musical trends of modern folk have exploded in popularity in sequence with Current 93's mastery of the genre. David Tibet and Current 93 are the true leaders and have set an almost impossible example to follow.
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Domino
In the 20 minute opener, "Hold Down the Rhythms, Hold Down the Machines," it seems that Hebden and Reid find their groove after only a remarkably very brief intro. Reid's bass drum is pounding a thundering beat while Hebden's got an array of loops only about a minute in, and by the four minute mark, vibe/marimba-like sounds are driving the melody. A steady rhythmic pattern at seven minutes is fun to groove to and by the eighth minute, each begin to let things spin almost out of control, before bringing it back in line for the last half of the song. What I most enjoy is towards the end when Kieran's grooving along with Steve, adding a few bass-note loops to his mix of gadgetry.
Thumb piano, wind chimes, bells, and low rustles usher in "Noémie," and here's where I can see the comparisons to Miles Davis (as proclaimed on the sticker on the front) can arise. The foundation is laid and on top of it, samples of wind instruments and what could be an alto sax trickle in and out: repeating, exploiting, and diverting from a theme. But the Davis connection doesn't last long. "Noémie" is like a journey through uncharted terrain. The first part is calm and assuring: both Hebden and Reid thankfully choose to remain in a sedated mode for a good, long period, keeping focused without letting things erupt predictably. Things pick up but it doesn't feel like we're anywhere different for a while, it's as if we're moving along through the same scenery as before, only a bit faster. Only towards the end do things become spooky, ominous, as if we've wandered off course into some dark regions, but we do soon return to the sanctity of the home base by the end of the journey.
"We Dream Free" sounds more like a band than any other piece as it opens with what could easily be a double bassist and guitarist playing along with Kieran and Steve. Peaceful, decorational sounds like glistening bells and chimes come in and out and as Steve drives up the pace and intensity, Kieran keeps on the mark, maintaining a bass line (which is probably difficult given the gear he's actually working with). Unlike on Vol. 1, this record's closer calms to a halt and actually comes to an end without getting lobbed off abruptly.
Hebden and Reid have once again issued a great archive of their fond session work, but haven't covered any new ground with Vol. 2. Those who were not a fan of Vol. 1 won't be won over by any drastic differences. I think with this one, however, I'm personally more satisfied, like the tunes are something more substantial that I can sink my teeth into easier, and I'm not itching for a resolution.
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As one half of Birds of Delay Steve Warwick makes dirt sediment peppered petroleum noise. With his solo Heatsick project it’s all about exploratory drone, hitting every frequency on his way through. From a growling rusty Harley opening that builds and quickly plummets, scrambling for a handhold, this continues its hi-energy search for the full twenty minutes.
It’s the range of sounds and the speed in which they’re found, assimilated, used and streamed out on this release that makes it work. The hand manipulated high-end sorties feel like pillaging punk attacks on a white canvas. A sense of watchfulness and hand-manipulated purpose goes into the strings of tones and pulse lashing whines, with no movements feeling like tea break feedback accidents. When, for a few short seconds on Submerged, the drones’ shift into a mechanoid altered feel, the feel is short-lived, blanching winds give nothing the chance to settle here.
Even tough a few of these skinny throbs transform into siren calls through thirty cubic feet of transparent oil the sounds are far from being submerged into the mix or waterlogged down with effects. They are free to lash, splurge, spread and blast across the record; slashes of swooping violence that scream and whinny. More than just a series of rise and fall patterns, this grinds against sleek surfaces sounding both flustered and direct as it splinters, melts and pierces.
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On this four song EP, Tartufi finds a safe formula and sticks to it. Unfortunately, the formula only succeeds on the first song and makes clutter of the others. "Midnight Tracks" has it all—the back and forth fuzzed guitar interplay, the dual vocals, and the multiple changes in direction. The song is performed well, though it’s somewhat standard fare. Those that follow are essentially more of the same.
Acuarela
Almost every track on this EP runs at least five minutes yet never manages to say much. Not that the group isn’t trying. "Slow Man" spends the first two minutes building up to a climax that stops shy of its mark and doesn’t quite satisfy. "Ashes" ends with a meandering jam that dilutes the impact of the rest of the song. The best parts of every song are the instrumental sections. Not that the vocals are bad, but they’re not a highlight, either. Gruzden and Angel’s voices harmonize well but they don’t venture outside of their limited comfort zone. The melodies themselves aren’t particularly memorable, nor are the lyrics. In fact, the middle two songs have such similar arrangements that they are difficult to tell apart. Rather than exploring different ways of singing or different styles of playing guitar, the band simply adds sections onto the end of each song to cumbersome effect. They seem uncertain as to what they want to say or how they want to say it, using addition when subtraction might best reveal their intentions.
 
Maybe live these songs feel more inspired, but recorded, the band’s calculations are their undoing.
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Beta-lactam Ring
Beta-lactam's website provides an excellent and brief history of the Old Church's unique instrument. Installed in 1883 in Portland, OR, this mechanical pipe organ has seen multiple restorations since the 1960s, but was not satisfactorily restored until 1997. The instrument's voice, a soft and powerful bellow, has thankfully survived over 100 years to make this recording. I always enjoy hearing unique and strange instruments and though pipe organs are not difficult to find, one of this caliber, still resting in the church it was constructed in, is an apparently rare find. On top of that, its sound is distinct from many pipe organs I've heard, resonating with a wooden, hollow timbre unlike the tones generated by electric pipe organs I've had the pleasure of hearing.
Chao Organica in A Minor could properly be considered a historical document if it weren't for the unusual chants and didgeridoo-like echoes that spread across its belly. The album is split into two tracks: one over 20 minutes in length and the other over 40. Both tracks are undeniably minimalist in nature, utilizing nothing more than the organ and a solo vocal performance. As much of a treat as the organ is, the vocals are a key element to the performance, lending it a supernatural and religious tone appropriate to the environment it was recorded in. Given the right circumstances and frame of mind, it seems like that supernatural contact could've been made with the help of this performance. Each track generates slow, extended melodies. The focus is almost obviously on the textures that the vocals and the organ produce. It's hard not to think of Coil's Time Machines when listening, but the inclusion of the wordless chants adds a dimension to that comparison that renders it null and void. Far from sounding like an improvised performance, every minute of each track provides carefully constructed moments of brilliance.
It's difficult to imagine that this isn't an esoteric recording of a ritualistic performance meant to summon the will and power of every audience member. The music acts like a camera, focusing my thoughts and ideas into coherent wholes. It organizes moments and slows them down, making them visible, available for careful analysis and steady meditation. Around the 22 minute mark in the second, untitled track, near silence falls. A space is opened up for due consideration, for analysis and repose. It's a striking bit of silence that seems to last forever. As the track continues and the faintness hint of organic wind begins to creep over the album, a feeling of renewal washes over the music. It's one of those excellent silent moments in music, where the silence makes just as much difference as the music itself does. The only difference is that, as the album begins, a strange new element strikes me; there are now vocal samples bleeding through the hum of the organ. It is difficult to hear, even more difficult to understand, but it nearly dates the album. Suddenly there is a significance lent to the album.
I imagine a sepia toned desert and a plot of land occupied only by a church. The fear of the outside world crowding in around the congregation and a speaker in charge of exorcising all the negative aspects of what lay outside the fellowship's grasp. The album pulses to a silent end, leaving things uncertain, but somehow more bold. The grass and leaves outside look greener, the sky a deeper shade of blue. The world seems to resonate with the vibrations of the album's closing aura, removing this music from performance and fixing it in the realm of pure existence.
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This is another outstanding emission, the best to date, from the increasingly obviously talented Black Sun Productions collective. With the help of draZen there’s a process of musical distillation going on that sees Massimo and Pierce channelling a sound that’s definitively theirs.
A sense of otherness saturates Im Gegenteil (meaning ‘in the opposite direction’ or ‘the wrong way’) which sees a fine balancing act of elements with one distinctive mood. The tribal rhythms, melodic electronics and deft use of space combine with a sense of loneliness creating an air of solipsistic solace. The lone piano notes of "A Well Hung Monk" sit untouched within the whines of streaking sound trailing around them and the last minute’s muffled percussion. Both "Clear Skies and Dark Skies" and "god?" are perfect bindings of draZen’s wide screen world and Pierce’s underground delicate menace.
The closing track "Das Gegenteil" subtly moves in increments through metal and plastic cylinder violence. Tablas reverberate into an industrialised pelvis grind that speeds from a bubbling pulse towards some messy sweat flecked end. Throughout "god?," the most accessible track with its catchy daylight hook and countering synth, a sample cries out in German ‘Is there a god for us as well?’. If Black Sun Productions do have a god it’s likely to be an old and licentious one; the black sun slowly continues to rise.
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