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Although I usually prefer vinyl, this is one case where adigital transfer has actually greatly improved the listeningexperience, as even the most pristine vinyl copy will ultimately havesome surface noise. This is music that is best heard with eyes closedor lights out, allowing one to get lost in the environment evoked bythe sounds. The nature of the music of the core Mirror duo of ChristophHeemann and Andrew Chalk (here joined by Andreas Martin) requires fullimmersion in the landscapes they create, and audible sounds made by thetangible object itself only serve to bring the listener back intoreality. Drawn out passages of long shimmering tones are a backdrop forsearing bowed metal groans on the first of five untitled pieces. Theelement which sets this album apart from the many solely drone-basedMirror projects is the unexpected use of rhythms during tracks two andfour. Track Two introduces these shifting, clicking rhythms and letsthem pitter-patter back and forth without adornment for close to threeminutes. These slightly out-of-sync patterns sound more akin to theticking of a clock than any familiar percussion instrument. After thesix minutes of low rumbling and high moaning pitches that make up TrackThree the same rhythms return and are combined with shimmering,tremolo-inflected guitar playing during Track Four. This recurring useof rhythm gives the album a sense of balance. The final piece is atrademark 25 minute drone-scape, with all manner of long tonesreverberating around what sounds like a cavernous space. Hopefully thisreasonably priced reissue will serve as a model on which futurereissues will be based. Much of Mirror's discography is made up ofhard-to-find releases which are only available as expensive, small-runart editions. While the existence of these objects is certainlyjustified by the nature of the music they contain, it would be nice ifeasily obtainable counterparts were offered as well. This music issimply too beautiful to remain unheard by most of the people who wouldenjoy it.
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Along with Liz Payne (part ofboth Pillow and Town & Country), he has succeeded in shaping astrange hybrid of awkward noise and creeping drone work that sometimesborders on sounding improvised and sometimes speaks of carefulconsideration. "All Afternoon Part #1" begins the record like a wake-upcall, sirens buzzing and wailing along with a playful melody thatchimes away underneath the cacophony. What immediately follows is "KindLight," an aptly titled symphony of bell hums marked by Vida's lightvocalizations and a soothing bass accompaniment. From this pointforward all the music takes on a shadowy form, moving between nocturnalinsects, clouded moons, and uneasy consideration. Vida highlights hispieces with the sounds of natural events, faded laughter, instrumentalnoodling, and quiet transformations. It isn't always clear when onetrack begins or the next ends; once "Green Inferno" buzzes into itsslow churning of tribal percussion, the album condenses, expands, andflutters as if it had a mind of its own. "Always/Never Sleep Part #1"and "Part #2" fall out of "Green Inferno" as though they were thenatural evolution of the themes introduced by their predecessor. Theorgan sound on "Part #1" is blissfully relaxing and stretches throughtime like some dense fog of jazz and free association, while "Part #2"prepares the way for the next songs via its near-silent cascade ofreversed effects and lullaby melodies. The whole album, even with itssuddenly jarring moments, feels like one thinking mass of soundevolving before my ears. Vida does limit his sound palette justslightly, preferring to arrange some of the album via reoccurringsamples. Instead of returning to already covered ground, he could havetaken Green Infernoa bit further into the netherworld of hovering music introduced on thefirst half of the record. "Morning/Evening" and "Landlovers" areexquisite pieces, however, the former having an enchanting vocal partthat is secreted away beneath the movement and buzz of violins thatcompose most of its body. The album ends suddenly and makes me wish itsmiddle portion lasted longer, but it keeps calling my name andsurprising me with new sounds every time I listen to it.
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With Parker and company presenting morejazz/rock fusion-styled compositions on The Relatives in comparison to his first outing, Like-Coping,the electric keyboard quickly becomes an integral part of the group'ssound. That, and a slightly gritty guitar tone reminiscent of a youngerJohn McLaughlin. Having used the "f" word earlier on to describe anelement of this disc's style, it's not a great surprise thatcomparisons to the dormant Isotope 217 come to mind, seeing as how bothParker-lead projects present fusion in its earliest, rawest and perhapsbest form: before the soprano saxophone and crazy-assed time signaturesbecame the norm. "Mannerisms" chugs along to double-time rhythms ofunison, quirky guitar/bass/keyboard melodies that crash with tensechords on the cyclical breaks throughout Parker's exploratory soloing.Bassist Chris Lopes' catchy "Sea Change" spirals with ostinatos againstdrummer Chad Taylor's tasteful polyrhythms, providing a steadyfoundation for the tune to switch back and forth with a half-time vamp.The wonderfully slick treatment of Marvin Gaye's "When Did You StopLoving Me, When Did I Stop Loving You" stands out on the disc not onlyfor its jazz interpretation, but also for the group's solid andcomfortable performance in the more traditional idiom that conveys agreat sense of buoyancy. There are certain elements in Parker'scompositional style and musicianship, highlighted on The Relatives,that indicate just how much his contributions with Tortoise's haveshaped their sound over the past few years. By the same token, thereare moments on this disc where it sounds like he may have worked someslightly angular arrangements in their spirit. Not to be mistaken for ajazzy Tortoise disc, The Relatives is the outlet for Parker's playful, free jazz spirit to stretch beyond the collective's boundaries with tasteful results.
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For the meeting ofthese two master percussionists, one could be forgiven for expecting analbum composed equally of competitive drum solos or hippie rhythmcircle music. What Wydler and Dammit do instead is create a variedalbum of exotic pop instrumentals that neatly defies any easycategorization. While Morphosa Harmonia is undoubtedly andunashamedly heavy on the percussive side of things, Thomas and Tobyalso tackle Buchla synthesizers, vibraphones, electric piano and bass.Contributions from guest players Jochen Arbeit (of EinsturzendeNeubauten), Chris Hahn (of Angels of Light, Martin Peter (of Die Haut)and Beate Bartel (of Liaisons Dangereuses) add further layers ofcompositional complexity to the album. The album's title gives asubstantial clue as to the sort of sound Wydler and Dammit are aimingfor; the krautrock of Musik Von Harmonia and the Cluster &Eno albums is clearly evoked in the album's floating, psychedelicatmospheres. In fact, the pair even recruited Ingo Krauss, the engineerfrom Conny Plank's legendary studio, to mix this album. Perhaps becausedrummers are often the most maligned member of any given band andfrequently the most ignored element of rock music, Toby Dammit opts toplace the percussion of utmost primacy in his music, forcing the restof the elements to follow the lead of the drums, cymbals, gongs andbells. As a listener, I was placed right next to the drum set, a uniqueperspective from which to experience this collection of chuggingpsychedelic pop songs. Most of the tracks on the album are eclectic andwhimsical, combining Martin Denny's high-fidelity exotica with EnnioMorricone's kitchen sink compositional style. Each track is built fromthe rhythm down, with eerie birdcalls, chants and synthesized choirsweaving in and out of the beats. Canny use of echo, reverb and phasingkeep the album in a constant state of dreamy psychedelia, adding bonghits to bongos, as it were. The packaging is an intriguing mystery,filled with watercolors of cats and nude females. (Kitties and titties?Pussies and pussycats?) Whatever the intention was, its a suitably oddjuxtaposition for a fun and goofy little album that quietly pushes theboundaries of percussion-based music.
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On the opener "InterludioInconcreto" the vocals are used as one element in a cut-up collage, asimilar technique Herren often uses with the voices of hip hop MCs inhis Prefuse 73 project. With Apropa't he seemed to beconsciously carving out a unique space for the Savath & Savalasproject. Perhaps now that he has shown that this project is a separateentity from Prefuse 73 he feels it is more acceptable to blur the linesa bit. It's almost as if his Prefuse persona had access to some of thematerial on Apropa't, and thus there are aspects of bothprojects here. The jagged, abstract feel of closer "Equipatge De FlorsSeques" mixes lush strings and keyboard swells with cut-up snippets ofEva's vocals. During "No Puedo De Cidir" a recurring guitar patternalternates with a drums and bass motif. Although these are acousticinstruments, the way they have been treated is as a part of a largersample-based work and thus they don't lend a live feel to theproceedings. Although she is credited as co-writer and performer, it isuncertain whether Eva willingly participated in the deconstruction ofher vocal tracks, or whether Herren simply finished the work after herdeparture from the project. Even in abstract, fragmented form her voicesets this project apart from any of Herren's other endeavors.Texturally, this material is often as gorgeous as the previous album,but by taking a different approach with the composition of the tracksHerren has created a companion piece that is not merely a remixproject. It's ironic that touring in support of Apropa'twith a live band prompted Herren to deconstruct the material ratherthan produce a work that reflected the live experience.
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In 1983, Swamp Childrendecided to re-brand themselves Kalima, and proffer up a new soundheavily informed by Latino jazz and pop. Lead singer Ann Quigleyfancied herself the reincarnation of Yma Sumac (or Carmen Miranda?),and with an expanded seven-piece backup band (containing all of ACertain Ratio except for Donald Johnson), she attempted to out-Babaluthe best and brightest of the Latino scene. God only knows why a groupof painfully white English people from gloomy, overcast, industrialManchester would try to reinvent themselves as a tropical-flavored bigband, but in retrospect it seems an unnatural and ill-advised move,especially for a Factory label band. I suspect Kalima were trying tostake out their own unique territory, and kick-start the Latino jazzrevival they were sure was about to sweep Europe. Unfortunately, theirmusic won't make much sense to those looking for something similar to ACertain Ratio, or any of the rest of the Factory roster, for thatmatter. It is competent, smoothly rendered tropical vocal jazz thatwouldn't sound out of place in an elevator, at a dentist's office, orat a local old farts jazz room near you. It infuses the Latino idiomwith some of the "cool jazz" and bebop style that I associate withMingus and early Miles Davis: smooth muted trumpets and horns impartingan urban feel to the music. Quigley's vocals are also polished,growling and cooing in the style of the aforementioned Sumac or SaraVaughn. Night Time Shadowswas the first full-length LP release by Kalima, and LTM has done theirusual meticulous job of remastering and packaging the album with bonustracks and biographical information. I suspect this album would appealto easy-listening fans, or those who really like predominantlyCaucasian, post-rockish jazz ensembles like HIM or Tortoise. I find itall a bit bland and faceless, and all I can think while listening tothis album is what a bizarre and unfortunate career move this was for aMancunian post-punk band.
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Ostensibly, the critique is the SesameStreet simplicity with which pop hits are made. But the song soundslike a remix of Jonathan Richman's "Roadrunner" with Albert Aylerlaying down some free-spirited saxophone in the background. So thequestion becomes whether the modern music abhorrent to McBean and hisBlack Mountain is the pop stuff or the other stuff. Neither we nor theband ruminates very long on that question before "Don't Run Our HeartsAround" wanders off in a direction hinted at at the end of "ModernMusic." The song resonates with the contusive sound of Black Sabbathand Blue Cheer: deep sludgy metal guitars with psychedelic overtonesenough to leave one bruised. The guitars on this song and throughoutthe album have a wonderfully primitive growl and aggressiveness. It isan altogether different blackness than the first song, but perhaps oneintentionally conjured by the band's name. The song's dynamics areeffective and ecstatic. It oscillates from jam session to quietcampfire sing-along to serenade to a final intense and fiery tornado ofsound and metal. There is no sense of balance in "Don't Run Our HeartsAround" but the instability is invigorating. After the misty drearinessof "Druganaut" (inspired song title; less inspiring music andperplexingly released as a 12"), the playful romp of the minilithic "NoSatisfaction" pays the Rolling Stones some proper homage. McBean'svocals are not overly deep but still soulful; most of the songs employbackground vocals (his own, plus other band members). The femalebacking vocals are especially remarkable for extracting the moreelusive tones and textures in Black Mountain's songs. "No Hits" offersa forceful drumbeat and rollicking tempo combined with electronic soundsamples, chanted vocals (chanted to the point of ceremonialincantation), and that same squawky saxophone, admittedly a pastiche ofstuff you might dredge up in the East River. In fact, the whole albumis a pastiche of styles. Even within the songs there are frequent andsometimes halting transitions between parts. A consistent tone isenough to bind a Black Mountain song together and sometimes the tone isall that does. "Heart of Snow" begins as a gentle guitar and voicedirge (this is the first time that Amber Webber's vocals are theunquestionably lead) and is then bridged by a dual guitar and pianopart, expanding into a freedom rock interlude, back to dirge, untilfinally dirge and freedom rock combine to create something almosttriumphant. All the while, the tone is the glue and the cohesion forthe song. The album's closer, "Faulty Times," has some indulgentkeyboard segments which nauseatingly recall The Doors, but some morethoughtful parts of the 8-minute song are able to rescue Black Mountainfrom one ill-advised allusion and perilous misstep on the band'splayful ascent.
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They are the easiest of the Runes to be calledjazz or even new-age, but the words will hardly sound dirty to anyoneever seduced by Vangelis or something from the ECM label (for whichlabel owner Rune K. is longtime employee). While 2003's Veggie arranged the group's progressively more electronic sound within a lattice of kinetic, percussion-driven outbursts, Last Suppersounds like less of a retreat into more textural play than a documentof the members' focused effort towards integration. Arve Henriksen'strumpet attempts nothing that his last solo record Chiaroscurodidn't test first. His lush, breathy style, however, has never soundedmore comfortable than among Thomas Str?nen's much looser, clatter-heavydrumming and the subtle hums, whirs, and pure tones making up theunobtrusive electronic quotient. The quartet is horn-led without thesax and trumpet becoming the fulcrum for the movement of each track,their looping overlays and uniformities creating instead the driftingbackdrop from which all of Last Supper's small surprises burstlike budding desert flowers. Str?nen's percussion bears the influenceof the gamelan sound as well as the sparse, resonant bleats that wouldcharacterize Asian musical drama. Henriksen's playing, on the otherhand, sounds less Eastern than usual, opting to connect distinct soundevents rather than punctuate their contrastive parts. His playing, andthe interconnected of the album's tracks, their seductive whole,reminds me most of In a Silent Way, a recording that for me hasalways represented a perfect open-endedness of mood. It is music thatthrough familiar means and a relatively even keel reaches a magicalpoint of atmospheric flux and regeneration. Those attracted by?Daddycation,? the song included on last year's defining Runecompilation Money Will Ruin Everything, will be pleased to find it repeated here among tracks which mirror its vague and triumphant sense of melancholy. Last Supperwill also be perfect for those made curious by Henriksen's playing withSupersilent but yet too timid to try one of his solo records.
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In the early morning hours before McGregorawoke, he would rattle off remarkably coherent narratives that were byturns surreal, disturbing and hilarious. It was not until 1961 thatBarr began to record Dion's sleeptalking, and he recorded his roommatefaithfully every morning until he moved away in 1967, amassing acollection of thousands of McGregor's so-called "somniloquies" onmountains of reel-to-reel tapes. In 1964, Barr approached a DeccaRecords executive with the idea of releasing an LP of Dion's bestdreams. In possibly the strangest major label move ever, Decca actuallyagreed, releasing not only the classic LP The Dream World of Dion McGregor (He Talks In His Sleep) ,but also a companion book with many more dreams transcribed, withaccompanying illustrations by Edward Gorey. The book and LP both soldpoorly to a largely bewildered public, and in the intervening years thecult of Dion McGregor slowly grew, and the book and record both becamecollector's items. McGregor died quietly in 1994, and then seeminglyout of nowhere, Tzadik released a sequel to the Decca album (1999's Dion McGregor Dreams Again),with more than an hour of dreams deemed to be too obscene for theoriginal LP. I assumed that was probably it, but surprisingly, TorporVigil Industries has dug deeper into the Barr tape archive to puttogether yet another hour-plus collection of somniloquies from the samebountiful source as the other two classic releases. I was apprehensiveabout this volume, thinking that most of the best dreams would havealready been used on the first two albums. I was wrong, however; the 24tracks that make up The Further Somniloquies are vintageMcGregor, full of surreal humor, oddly disturbing mental imagery, andthat same fey delivery that made the other dreams so supremely funny.Just as on the earlier recordings, the sound of NYC traffic noise canbe heard in the background throughout (Dion liked to sleep with thewindows open), and every dream ends with McGregor shrieking and wakinghimself. The man's sleeptalking talent was truly outstanding: from theopening track "Scavenger Hunt" ("A yellow robins egg...a wolf'sdream...a Welsh shoelace...a dirty napkin used by Garbo"), to thefinale of "The Wet Parade" ("Walk straight into the sea, goddamnit!Hup, two, three, four!"), McGregor's dream world is utterly bizarre,frequently hilarious and always fascinating. Along the way McGregorplays "Food Roulette" with a lazy susan of poisoned eclairs, talksabout living in a boarding house full of circus freaks, and reveals hisobsessions with mangoes and horseshoe crabs. Many of the dreams are someticulously realized and performed that I have often wondered whetheror not the whole phenomenon was really just a hoax, despite the volumesof anecdotal and medical documentation regarding McGregor's peculiarcase. Even if it is a hoax, it's an amazingly entertaining one, andthat should count for something.
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They seem to thrive on the energy whichis produced by trying new combinations of instrumentation andpersonnel. On the opening improvisation, recorded in Glasgow, theaddition of Daniel Padden on clarinet, Alex Neilson on percussion andChristoph Hladowski on bouzouki combines with the duo's cello andguitar and produces a swirling mass of sound that a duo could notcreate on their own. The chaotic, free improvisational flavor of thispiece is deceptive as an opener, as throughout the remainder of the cdthere are calmer elements. The mood is plaintive on a collaborationwith guitarist Nick Talbot (Gravenhurst), recorded in his hometowmBristol, England. On this recording Miriam makes up for her lack ofvocals on this album with some equally emotive screaming cello playing.Track three, recorded in Bologna, features an extra guitarist and givesMiriam room to stretch out on cello, producing aching tones that serveas a background for the two guitarists to pit feedback againstfingerpicking. Although it's often difficult to tell who is playingwhat, it seems that Goldberg and Alexander value this anonymity. To me,this music is about the immediacy of exploring new directions, and withexpert players the results are not self-indulgent. Of nine tracksincluded, only three feature the duo by themselves. Two of these wererecorded at Morden Tower, Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, and find the pair makingexcellent use of electronics. Tastefully enhancing their acousticinstrumentation with many different textures provided by warped analogeffects is one of the strengths of this project. Also from this venue,track seven sounds particularly fresh, with Alexander's guitar playingsounding like a direct response to the sharp electronic tones swarmingall around. The 15 minute track recorded at Talbot Hotel inStoke-on-Trent which closes the set is a highlight, and features HarrySumnall on electric tamboura, harmonium and percussion. The trio createa hazy mass of drones which allow guitar and hand percussion to weavein and out of the mix. By leaving the focus somewhat open-ended, yetworking with a worldwide network of likeminded collaborators, Alexanderand Goldberg produce exciting music that is at once selfless andfulfills their personal vision.
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In truth, the Minimal Man sound wassomewhat derivative, but Patrick Miller's intensity and willfullyanti-musical aesthetic provide a fascinating footnote to the history ofpost-punk and industrial music. The debut album, The Shroud Ofwas released on Subterranean Records in 1981, and is presented here inits entirety along with some early singles and compilation tracks. TheMinimal Man sound is relentlessly dark and aggressive, with cheapsynthesizers and drum machines, jagged guitar and occasional shrieks ofsaxophone all purposely pushed into the red, creating a dissonantblanket of treble-heavy distortion. Patrick Miller's vocals areunmodulated and flat, his lyrics nihilistic, each line echoplexed,doubled or otherwise mutated into a synthetic oblivion. Chuggingsequencers spit out fuzzy non-melodies as Miller cultivates hisKafkaesque persona, full of anxiety, angst and existential dread. Withlyrics that indicate an adolescent fascination with Philip K. Dick,William S. Burroughs and J.G. Ballard, Miller creates a cinematicambience of high-contrast black and white, like a German expressionistfilmmaker let loose in a recording studio. Just listen to the hypnotic,swirling maelstrom of noise and dark, grainy atmospherics on "BlueStep." Perhaps because of its relative obscurity, Minimal Man's debutalbum has weathered the sands of time gracefully, and with legendaryacts Suicide and Tuxedomoon currently attempting to destroy theirlegacies with mediocre reunion albums, The Shroud Of soundspositively refreshing in comparison. LTM's Boutique label has done anexcellent job on this reissue, including hard-to-find tracks from twoearly 7" singles and an impressive eight-minute track called "ShowerSequence" from a Subterranean cassette compilation. The bookletreproduces some of Miller's excellent paintings and contains a detailedbiography of Minimal Man. I'm guessing that this disc is the first in aprojected series of Minimal Man reissues, and I am looking forward togetting my hands on the rest of the discography. -
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