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This German duo must have some understanding of what it means to beuniversal. Their sounds are of sources that are completely unknown tome (though I can describe their qualities) and yet they can evoke asense of comfort and complete familiarity. The way that "Mletkin"begins, I was sure that I was going to face more of the faceless. Thesounds on both of these songs begin darkly, as though the demonic andevil were central to Herbst9's music. As the sounds progress, however,light and simple keyboards play steady one and two note melodies thatfade and drift between eachother. Harmonies begin to phase into thebody of found sounds, sacred melodies, and quiet rattles and soonafter, it's difficult to imagine anything even remotely dangerous orunbearable. Enenylynis a beautiful mixture of the seen and the unseen, the light and thedark, or the mundane and the sacred. "Mletkin" begins as an uneasywhirl through a long and empty shaft; only medical light illuminatesthe walls here and what waits at the end of this drop is black andgrievous. A strange trembling sound fills this shaft until, at last,the fall ends and it empties into a perfect space filled only with themost healing of light. The frog sounds and cosmic rushes of sound allmesh together with the aquatic rumble of enormous caverns and starlightmoans. The movement of the entire song is one of life and death."Mletkin" begins as an undefined mass and, in its attempt to finditself, opens a wound that spills out the most wonderful music. Allthis only to fade away into the undefined again. "Tynemlem" continuesby picking up the aquatic sounds from side one and translating theminto a slightly less dense piece of music. Again, it seems as thoughtHerbst9 likes to move between concepts, never allowing a sense of fearto linger for too long, and never letting the aura of life in thekeyboards stand alone. As a strange mud or thick liquid boils in acauldron, a slow steam builds in pipes layered just beneath the groundand pebbles roll about on the floor through the volition of their ownwill. Just as new and recognizable sounds begin to breathe themselvesto life, a faint and strongly emotional melody begins to cycle in thebackground, growing louder with each repetition. A river of natural andsynthetic roars, groans, and hushes sketch themselves over this melodyuntil the piece collapses over the edge of a waterfall in a sudden andexplosive death. Once again I find this isn't enough: I'm wishing thatthese fifteen minutes could be expanded into a full fourty or fifty.
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Cold northern nights ring through the open air in the form of ferocious roars and distorted whines on this 7" from the heart of Russia. Insanely packaged in the warmth of a two-inch thick, hand-sewn, wool cover and numbered by the duo, the music on VS is sickeningly intense and nauseatingly careful. A full onslaught of boisterous misery might have a frightful effect on some, but Cisfinitum opt to stir fear by mixing near-familiar elements into something completely unfamiliar.Drone Records
I can't be certain, but it sounds like wounded dogs are crying over the horizon and a strange machine is buzzing, maybe grinding something or someone inside those shattered buildings and empty wharehouses. There's a low moan of uneasiness perpetuated by the sounds of "Curve" and they don't go away. Even though the intensity dies down towards the end of the track, it keeps its malady alive in by introducing the terror of silence and the unknown. Pipes drip inside, the trees rustle outside, and in the vicinity is a wheezing entity, moving slowly through the shadows and towards the open window. As though the psychological tension couldn't be any greater, Cisfinitum starts side two with an echo of strange voices caught up in the walls of rot; walls that look like skeletons when viewed from afar. "Curse" begins gently enough but then erupts violently with a cascade of war drums, desperate radio broadcasts, and the most diabolical of laughs. However Cisfinitum records, they obviously have the power to capture to the essence of locations. The mood and dire feel of this whole record imply a kind of horror that can only be summoned via great care and with some amount of Lovecraftian knowledge. Ultimately it is that Lovecraftian sense of the enormous and uncontrollable that Cisfinitum manage to commit to record. The sounds and spaces that they evoke seem infinite and, in that respect, they recall the blank and abysmal fear of what can't be known or understood.
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Two pieces of vastly different music occupy this 7" and the sheer gracethat they are handled with evidence a superior composer behind it all.The first side is full of escalating violence and phased aggressionechoing up and through a bottomless pit filled with something toodesperate to even name. Its slime worms its way up through dirt andhidden, underground passages until it finally surges to the top andexplodes in a glorious and suicidal display of sound and fury. Thesecond side is a consideration of the night and its chilling aura. Apiano rolls delicately about the air while a moonlit mountain exhibitssome strange behavior in the distance. The trees blow slowly, soundssnap and wheeze in the distance, and time begins to slow down. Thesetwo tracks couldn't be much different. Solielkraast is evidently aone-man project from out of Nantes, France. The noise and abrasiveelements of "Zoyd Kraast" come as a complete contrast to the frailty,delicacy, and intricacy of "Eesdaia." While many beatless orsound-collage records might maintain a constant tone so as to establisha mood and use it to its full potential, Solielkraast reaches foropposite poles and ends up getting a firm hold on both of them. Notonly are two excellent extremes presented on this release, but both arecalculated and arranged to near perfection. The trembling and robustpiano playing on "Eesdaia" is pure fear and dread come to life and itsconsiderate role in this song makes it one of the most extraordinarypieces of strange music I've heard this year. It isn't just the musicthat is spectacular, however. The vinyl itself is orange with yellowdustings and it comes inside a handmade cover by Solielkraast. Thisrelease has provided as much as a 7" can, but I'm aching for more thanjust these 17 minutes.
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Tribute albums fall into different categories. There's the serious, professionally assembled tribute albums with a cast of well-known well-respected players on a firmly established or hip record label (see Blue Skied an' Clear and A Tribute to Spacemen 3); there's the abominable releases where a cast of has-beens and never-have-beens are found together unbeknownst in some cash-in-quick scheme (see the entire Cleopatra catalogue); there's the fanboy ones where a group of friends just decide to do something for kicks and trade it amongst themselves (see nearly any email list); then there's the painful, uninspiring ones which are posing as a professional tribute but wind up with more bad contributions than good ones (see For the Masses and A Means to and End). We Could Live In Hope isn't simply a Low tribute, it's a song-by-song cover of Low's very first full-length album (with two versions of "Words.") With a cast of people like Red House Painters' Marc Kozelek, His Name is Alive with Dan and Liz from Ida, A Northern Chorus, and Jessica Bailiff, the disc seems promising, but it's got some harsh problematic recordings which hold it back.Fractured Discs
Kicking off a record with a weak, out of tune and false accent-touting Daniel G Harmann version of "Words" is a complete mistake and gives me little hope for the rest. While Pale Horse and Rider add a pedal steel to "Fear" and A Northern Chorus go deep in their version of "Slide," the disc is already turning out to be a bit too samey. These are obviously people who have been so influenced by Low already in their own music, that nearly every album is a tribute, making a cover tune almost completely redundant. Most of the tunes, while pleasant, suffer from a lack of originality and simply go in one ear and out the other. Mark Kozelek is a saving grace, however, as his fingerpicking and rearrangement of "Lazy" turns it into a completely different song, however, this hope is almost immediately shattered when the first notes of Kid Dakota's "Lullaby" makes it sound like they want to be Low. Idaho's Coldplay-ish "Rope" makes me want to find one and the second version of "Words" is flat, tired, depressing, and drags on way too long (and coincidentally with some absurd accent). Thankfully the album ends on a very inspiring note, as His Name Is Alive with Nanang Tatang present a very graceful version of "Sunshine," which, actually isn't a Low cover, but that tune we all sang in kindergarten. (I also have the sneaking suspicion this is simply a Warn Defever remix of a song which appeared on Elizabeth Mitchell's You Are My Sunshine album a few years back, but I can't prove it at this point.) Luckily We Could Live In Hope escapes being the worst kind of tribute, but it comes dangerously close. If I just make my own CD-R and only use Halou's version of "Words" instead of the other two here, it's going to sound much better. 
samples:
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With this year's eigth Piehead release the Oregon-based ml have curiously decided to crank out a full-length homage to the music of spooky film director and composer, John Carpenter. Many may not know that Carpenter often likes to write the music for his films, giving campy classics like Big Trouble in Little China and Dark Star their appropriately stiff and synth-heavy backing. ml, on the other hand, are more known for their tricked out beats and goofy sense of humor that place them firmly in the west coast new electronic psuedo-dance family these days, so while it's not what I expected from the former Thine Eyes guys, it's not hard to imagine either. I'm not sure how noble it is to crib someone else's style so deliberately that it becomes a tribute, but somehow Man Is The Warmest Place To Hide manages to be both fun and faithful to the source without ever sounding cheap. Well, it's no cheaper than a John Carpenter score so it seems to be working on that level. The music is all a series of simple themes with a filmic overtone that makes them moody but not overly complicated. While the sounds don't come from a Carpenter film, it's easy to see them working with one. Most of the timbres are lifted straight from vintage synths (or vintage synth emulators as may be the case) and the sound design is intentionally not clever or obtrusive. The few places where the guys resort to more recent sounding filters and patches actually take the songs out of that full-on Carpenter world and help bridge the gap between goofy experiment and music that's actually enjoyable on its own. Ml have never established a firm style to my ears over the years. They tend to blend in with other acts from the Pacific northwest who trade in quirky, laptop-fueled post-industrial beat making and so it's a little ballsy for them to put something like this out that gives most of the stylistic cues up to unseen source material. I'd like to see more people try this sort of thing, if only to see what talented musicians can do with an artificial but well-understood set of limitations. The obvious question is: is the record worth listening to outside of the context of the John Carpenter angle, and I'm not sure about that. I suppose the answer lies in how much you like John Carpenter's music. It definitely feels a little cheesy if you take away the idea that it's an homage, but if you know going in what it's all about, it's quite a fun thing to spin. As it stands though, this is my favorite batch of ml songs to date, and I'm not sure what that means for the rest of their discography. What it means for now is that Piehead scores again with another release we're not likely to have seen without this special series, which is pretty awesome.
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I can't shake the feeling that Shirts and Pistols is Hardman's version of "Shits and Giggles," as this album plays like a collection of oddball in-jokes and quirky jams thrown together for fun. Toying with pop song melodies and structures, Hardman wrangle up convincing electro-pop tunes that owe less to the punk ethos of electroclash than to psychadelia and surrealist non-sequiturs. Songs about superheroes share the disc with tracks that juxtapose the various meanings of "Hardman" using porn and preacher samples with equal gusto. When they want to, as on "100 Years," the duo can craft hypnotic, organic electro-trip pieces that hum with strings and reverb and repeating vocal phrases that drift out of consciousness. On the other hand, tracks like "18's Fabric" touch on a kind of groovy, digitally-enhanced folk that's full of free verse poetry, acoustic guitars and vibes. Whether they are playing with bluesy tones, straight up electronic pop, or something a little more leftfield, the songs are always tight and short, leaving the album with a bit of a compiled, schizophrenic feel. In fact, a few of the tracks just kind of stop dead, as if the experiment that spawned them was suddenly brough to a halt. This is, if ever there was one, a studio album where accomplished producers and musicians have afforded themselves the time and means to jot down whatever ideas might strike them. With that approach, there are inevitably a few tracks that could be trimmed without losing much, but nothing is so long as to overstay its welcome. It sounds a bit self-indulgent at times, and borders on being too intentionally weird, but somehow Shirts and Pistols manages to stay endearing and interesting for 17 tracks.
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I had been wondering when we'd see the first of the post-Sigur Ros releases to emerge. It's been several years since Iceland's finest wowed listeners just about everywhere and I always imagined that the result would be an avalanche of artists trying to recreate the feeling of being swept up in the epic, weepy tones of bowed guitars and reverb-drenched organs. Julian Fane, a 21-year old Canadian solo artist is the fist thing I've heard that immediately and unquestionably calls forth that otherworldy music from the north, but he does a lot more than that. The release is a bit odd for Planet µ, a label that's made its name more on dancey and not-so-dancey but still beat-centric eclectic electronic artists like Venetian Snares, Jega, Bit_Meddler and so on. Still, there is an undercurrent of strong electronics throughout Special Forces that tips Fane's hand as someone familiar enough with the glitch-beat sound of his contemporaries to know how to pique the µ-Ziq fans' interest. The beats certainly don't take center stage though, as they click and thump under waves of rich and fuzzy synth tones, manipulated acoustic instruments, and occassionally Fane's own voice. It's at this point that my opinion of the record is decidedly split. For most of the tracks, the wintery strings and crackling percussion work well and provide moments of real (and not just emulated) beauty. But when Fane steps in to sing in an unintelligible falsetto, the album tends to derail for me into a place where just sounding like other people's records turns in to trying to recreate them. The first two songs with singing are actually pleasant and well-balanced. While the high-pitched whiny vocal style so reminiscent of Thom Yorke and Jónsi Birgisson isn't my favorite, it doesn't detract from the lush soundscapes into which Fane plants his voice. However, successive songs with vocals deteriorate quickly into what sounds likea parody—this is Jimmy Fallon's impression of Hopelandic and it's funny, but it's not supposed to be. Thankfully, the vocal tracks are far-outweighed by the rest of the album's solid instrumentals. I can certainly forgive the young composer's few vocal missteps on an otherwise excellent debut on which he has created another perfect winter soundtrack for the broken-hearted.
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Delivery Room is a bargain-priced sampler of new and upcoming releases from the Leaf Label, and reflects the eclectic, modern aesthetic of label boss Tony Morley. Unfortunately, as is often the case with collections such as these, there is a fair amount of substandard material by bands the label hopes to promote, as well as songs that suffer from the lack of context inherent in a compilation.Leaf
The trio of Bill Wells, Stefan Schneider and Anne Whitehead contribute two tracks from their mini-album Pick Up Sticks. These three musicians (and the uncredited keyboardist Barbara Morgenstern) form an avant-jazz ensemble with trombonist Whitehead improvising over Wells' spacious, textured laptop-glitch backdrops. Mexican IDM artist Murcof is virtually indistinguishable from every other artist of his ilk, and Sutekh's mix adds merely another level of boring pseudo-sophistication. In my view, Icarus is one of the more overrated electronica artists currently being heralded by scads of post-hip laptop enthusiasts, and the two cuts included here from his Leaf album I Tweet the Birdy Electric (Walt Whitman puns are oh so clever) don't do anything to change my mind. I know a lot of people who would slap me for saying this, but I'm also not altogether convinced that Manitoba's Up In Flames was an amazing reinvention of the avant-pop wheel (is there an avant-pop wheel?), and the pointless song fragment "Crayon" included here is nice, but disposable. A Hawk and a Hacksaw is the new project from ex-Bablicon, Neutral Milk Hotel and Guignol member Jeremy Barnes, and the self-titled debut is another collection of songs composed and recorded in the French countryside. The two tracks included here are richly detailed, piano-led folk songs with gloriously uncomplicated melodies and a natural sense of development, with interesting touches of outre' production. Perhaps the best reason to buy this compilation is the inclusion of a previously unreleased (outside of Japan) track from Asa Chang & Junray, whose Leaf album and subsequent EP were two of my favorite experimental releases of the last two years. "Parlor," taken from the Senaka EP, is a typically ingenious mix of hicupping, laptop-treated tabla rhythms, trumpets and recordings of Japanese slot machines. 310's "Exumix" is a jazzy sort of downtempo number that might appeal to fans of the Ninja Tune label, but holds zero interest for me. Colleen's "Ritournelle" tried hard to convince me that it was anything other than a looped kindergarten glockenspiel with extraneous glitches and pops, but failed. Japan's Riow Arai contribute one of those instrumental hip-hop things where they keep interrupting and/or mutating a random beat using ProTools presets, thereby producing something that is sure to be labeled genius by someone balder and more European than me. Clue to Kalo sound even more dreadfully dull on "Ignore the Forest Floor" than they did on their first full-length; more Four Tet beats with emo vocals. Ending the collection is a fascinating unreleased track by A Small Good Thing, a tantalizingly indescribably work of evocative cinematic ambience, sounding not unlike a spaghetti western taking place at night in a German POW camp.
- A Hawk and a Hacksaw - Maremaillette
- Asa Chang & Junray - Parlor
- A Small Good Thing - Owl in a Box
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The melodies might be vibrant and the arrangements lush, but nothingcan fix the feeling that there's a lot of counterfeit sentiment beingtossed around this album. I'd like to say I felt something whilelistening to this record, but the vocal delivery and the sappy,over-romantic instrumentation simply sounded too much like a bad radiodrama to be interesting. Fakeopens up with the seven minute creeper, "Born." The vocalist soundslike he is trying hard to say something that is emotionally drainingand utterly important, but he comes across sounding like a 10 year oldboy convinced that he's in love. Speaking of 10 year old boys, thelyrics sound as though they're meant to convey all sorts of meanings(it's the delivery of the singer that makes them sound so important)but I'm not sure I understand what he's singing about on "Born." I'mnot sure I know what's going on in any of these ten songs to tell thetruth. Blow Up Hollywood are obviously reaching for some lofty conceptthat will lift them up above other bands and into the realms of"important" and "socially conscious;" one look at their website and itseems like they've got this grand Zen-influenced statement to make.This teenager-symptom (self-importance?) ruins what talent the bandhas. That self-importance isn't just in the singer's head, though,otherwise I might have been able to enjoy the album for its music. Themusic sounds like a half-assed attempt at mixing the grandeur oforchestral music with the glossy sheen of popular rock n' roll radio.There's absolutely no grit anywhere on the record, that's what makes it sound so damned self-important and phony.There's absolutely no sign of anger, no sign of confusion, or any hintthat maybe pain could take part in these sappy meanderings. That slickand prosthetic production accounts for 90% of what's wrong with themusic. There might be room for this somewhere in a bad movie where theboy finds the girl and they fall in love all over again despite thefact that, while she was away, he was busy with about 10 other girls.Right, suddenly jackass is in love and everything's going to be okayand in the end there's going to be a white picket fence, little cryingbastards everywhere, and a dog attacking the mailman in the front yard.Forgive me for being so angry, but when a mediocre album entitled Fakecrosses my path and then tries to play itself off as ananti-establishment or somehow spiritually fulfilling record thateschews all pretense, I tend towards a complete lack of faith in thehonestly rebellious spirit and begin to think that maybe the last 10years of federally sponsored media mergers has completely killed anyreal chance of music inspiring righteous indignation and civildisobedience ever again.-
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I had been wondering when we'd see the first of the post-Sigur Rosreleases to emerge. It's been several years since Iceland's finestwowed listeners just about everywhere and I always imagined that theresult would be an avalanche of artists trying to recreate the feelingof being swept up in the epic, weepy tones of bowed guitars andreverb-drenched organs. Julian Fane, a 21-year old Canadian solo artistis the fist thing I've heard that immediately and unquestionably callsforth that otherworldy music from the north, but he does a lot morethan that. The release is a bit odd for Planet µ, a label that's madeits name more on dancey and not-so-dancey but still beat-centriceclectic electronic artists like Venetian Snares, Jega, Bit_Meddler andso on. Still, there is an undercurrent of strong electronics throughoutSpecial Forcesthat tips Fane's hand as someone familiar enough with the glitch-beatsound of his contemporaries to know how to pique the µ-Ziq fans'interest. The beats certainly don't take center stage though, as theyclick and thump under waves of rich and fuzzy synth tones, manipulatedacoustic instruments, and occassionally Fane's own voice. It's at thispoint that my opinion of the record is decidedly split. For most of thetracks, the wintery strings and crackling percussion work well andprovide moments of real (and not just emulated) beauty. But when Fanesteps in to sing in an unintelligible falsetto, the album tends toderail for me into a place where just sounding like other people'srecords turns in to trying to recreate them. The first two songs withsinging are actually pleasant and well-balanced. While the high-pitchedwhiny vocal style so reminiscent of Thom Yorke and Jónsi Birgissonisn't my favorite, it doesn't detract from the lush soundscapes intowhich Fane plants his voice. However, successive songs with vocalsdeteriorate quickly into what sounds likea parody—this is JimmyFallon's impression of Hopelandic and it's funny, but it's not supposedto be. Thankfully, the vocal tracks are far-outweighed by the rest ofthe album's solid instrumentals. I can certainly forgive the youngcomposer's few vocal missteps on an otherwise excellent debut on whichhe has created another perfect winter soundtrack for thebroken-hearted.
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I had been wondering when we'd see the first of the post-Sigur Rosreleases to emerge. It's been several years since Iceland's finestwowed listeners just about everywhere and I always imagined that theresult would be an avalanche of artists trying to recreate the feelingof being swept up in the epic, weepy tones of bowed guitars andreverb-drenched organs. Julian Fane, a 21-year old Canadian solo artistis the fist thing I've heard that immediately and unquestionably callsforth that otherworldy music from the north, but he does a lot morethan that. The release is a bit odd for Planet µ, a label that's madeits name more on dancey and not-so-dancey but still beat-centriceclectic electronic artists like Venetian Snares, Jega, Bit_Meddler andso on. Still, there is an undercurrent of strong electronics throughoutSpecial Forcesthat tips Fane's hand as someone familiar enough with the glitch-beatsound of his contemporaries to know how to pique the µ-Ziq fans'interest. The beats certainly don't take center stage though, as theyclick and thump under waves of rich and fuzzy synth tones, manipulatedacoustic instruments, and occassionally Fane's own voice. It's at thispoint that my opinion of the record is decidedly split. For most of thetracks, the wintery strings and crackling percussion work well andprovide moments of real (and not just emulated) beauty. But when Fanesteps in to sing in an unintelligible falsetto, the album tends toderail for me into a place where just sounding like other people'srecords turns in to trying to recreate them. The first two songs withsinging are actually pleasant and well-balanced. While the high-pitchedwhiny vocal style so reminiscent of Thom Yorke and Jónsi Birgissonisn't my favorite, it doesn't detract from the lush soundscapes intowhich Fane plants his voice. However, successive songs with vocalsdeteriorate quickly into what sounds likea parody—this is JimmyFallon's impression of Hopelandic and it's funny, but it's not supposedto be. Thankfully, the vocal tracks are far-outweighed by the rest ofthe album's solid instrumentals. I can certainly forgive the youngcomposer's few vocal missteps on an otherwise excellent debut on whichhe has created another perfect winter soundtrack for thebroken-hearted.
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