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Though I've heard the formula before, it's impossible to disregard this album. Despite being another quiet and minimalist approach to electronic soundscaping, there's something special about the way these songs play themselves out and, in some cases, the integration of just a few key sounds adds up to startling beauty. Lido Lato is a double CD release from Greece's Poeta Negra label.Poeta Negra
The CDs differ from each other in slight ways. The first disc is a purely sound-oriented amalgam of synthetic pops, hisses, hiccups, and blurs while the second disc sounds like it could be performed live by a group of individuals (given the right equipment). "Amymoni P." and "Shaker S." begin the first disc with a wavering blend of distorted plastic expanding into infinity and a churning series of pseudo-melodies that barely escape the speakers. They're a perfect statement of intent and while I've heard similar compositions before, Coti has a unique way of arranging the sounds so that they play with eachother in ways that are unavoidably hypnotic. "Beben G.," for instance, rolls along in exactly the same way from beginning to end, but Coti adds a whole spectrum of sounds over this radiating harmony and ends up producing the illusion of movement. The manner in which the crystaline pops and hums fall in and out of existence is somewhat breathtaking and repeated listens only add to its beauty. There are numerous examples of excellent aural trickery to be heard throughout the first disc. It would have, by itself, stood comfortably as a great album with many highlights, but the second disc is the most attractive thing about Lido Lato. "Neige P." is the more rhythmic cousin to disc one's "Amymoni P.;" where one moans and bellows, the other skips along in staccato before loosening up and bleeding away in a whisper of piano and reverberation. The mixing of acoustic and electronic sound sources on disc 2 is absolutely superb. "Partito Per Sempre" coughs and eases along with the sound of escalating whines and old upright pianos hooked up to life support. The instruments never stand away from their buzzing counterparts, but they add an element that would've made the first disc even more exceptional and unique. "Beben P." stands out in my mind as one of the finest and most endearing songs I've heard this year. A simple melody played on what sounds like a toy keyboard gallops along clumsily over the sound of a baby attempting to sing and playing with wooden or plastic toys. I found myself pressing the back button on this song more than a few times before moving on to the final two pieces. "P. Strtch" closes out the album with the purity of strings moving like water over a faded and delicate ringing that escapes into the atmosphere. The way the violins and cellos take over the synthesizers and laptop productions is as elegant as can be and it serves as the perfect ending to an album that showcases the depths electronic music can reach. 
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Greg Dulli has always been able to pull off an entertaining cover nowand then when he takes his traveling band on the road. For their latestrelease, he's decided to record a whole album of songs he didn't write,and, based upon comments on his website, some of the choices might bewholly on dares from friends. It's a refreshing collection, as Dullidoesn't stay just in one genre, or interpret the songs all in the samefashion, which makes for some real gems and a few missteps, in trueDulli tradition. The album opens with a rather mellow number in"Feeling of Gaze," a Hope Sandoval tune that could easily have beensultry with her, but Dulli makes it his melancholy own. Then it's "TooTough to Die," which he also manages to pull off despite occasionalcracks of voice, and the record starts to move into "I can't believehe's a man, and he's still killing these songs by women" territory. Thenext one is the real killer, though: "Hyperballad" is not exactly asong that would seem well-suited to his style, but with the Singersit's a proud, soaring, and glorified take on Björk's tune ofself-destruction. "Hyperballad" is also the first complaint, as themixing on the chorus is almost ruined by the distortion coming throughthe speakers. Somehow, the whole package is not ruined and the songrises above anyway. As does "What Makes You Think You're the One," eventhough Dulli's vocal sounds just a twinge off for the whole song,calling back to "Band of Gold" from the Uptown AvondaleEP. That's part of the reason to admire Dulli and his effort, though,as he doesn't seem concerned with sounding like the best rendition ofthe song ever, just sounding passable and putting out a version of thesong he likes, even though it may tweak the ears a bit. It's all worthit on something like "Real Love" — yes, the Mary J. Blige version — or"Black is the Color of My True Love's Hair," which was released on asingle all its own last year, but its inclusion makes the set completeand a little sweeter. By the time Gershwin's "Summertime" comes around,the album takes a real sharp dark turn. That's Dulli's style exactly,and though these songs may jar here and there they do make a mark.
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With this year's eigth Piehead release the Oregon-based ml havecuriously decided to crank out a full-length homage to the music ofspooky film director and composer, John Carpenter. Many may not knowthat Carpenter often likes to write the music for his films, givingcampy classics like Big Trouble in Little China and Dark Startheir appropriately stiff and synth-heavy backing. ml, on the otherhand, are more known for their tricked out beats and goofy sense ofhumor that place them firmly in the west coast new electronicpsuedo-dance family these days, so while it's not what I expected fromthe former Thine Eyes guys, it's not hard to imagine either. I'm notsure how noble it is to crib someone else's style so deliberately thatit becomes a tribute, but somehow Man Is The Warmest Place To Hidemanages to be both fun and faithful to the source without ever soundingcheap. Well, it's no cheaper than a John Carpenter score so it seems tobe working on that level. The music is all a series of simple themeswith a filmic overtone that makes them moody but not overlycomplicated. While the sounds don't come from a Carpenter film, it'seasy to see them working with one. Most of the timbres are liftedstraight from vintage synths (or vintage synth emulators as may be thecase) and the sound design is intentionally not clever or obtrusive.The few places where the guys resort to more recent sounding filtersand patches actually take the songs out of that full-on Carpenter worldand help bridge the gap between goofy experiment and music that'sactually enjoyable on its own. Ml have never established a firm styleto my ears over the years. They tend to blend in with other acts fromthe Pacific northwest who trade in quirky, laptop-fueledpost-industrial beat making and so it's a little ballsy for them to putsomething like this out that gives most of the stylistic cues up tounseen source material. I'd like to see more people try this sort ofthing, if only to see what talented musicians can do with an artificialbut well-understood set of limitations. The obvious question is: is therecord worth listening to outside of the context of the John Carpenterangle, and I'm not sure about that. I suppose the answer lies in howmuch you like John Carpenter's music. It definitely feels a littlecheesy if you take away the idea that it's an homage, but if you knowgoing in what it's all about, it's quite a fun thing to spin. As itstands though, this is my favorite batch of ml songs to date, and I'mnot sure what that means for the rest of their discography. What itmeans for now is that Piehead scores again with another release we'renot likely to have seen without this special series, which is prettyawesome.
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With this year's eigth Piehead release the Oregon-based ml havecuriously decided to crank out a full-length homage to the music ofspooky film director and composer, John Carpenter. Many may not knowthat Carpenter often likes to write the music for his films, givingcampy classics like Big Trouble in Little China and Dark Startheir appropriately stiff and synth-heavy backing. ml, on the otherhand, are more known for their tricked out beats and goofy sense ofhumor that place them firmly in the west coast new electronicpsuedo-dance family these days, so while it's not what I expected fromthe former Thine Eyes guys, it's not hard to imagine either. I'm notsure how noble it is to crib someone else's style so deliberately thatit becomes a tribute, but somehow Man Is The Warmest Place To Hidemanages to be both fun and faithful to the source without ever soundingcheap. Well, it's no cheaper than a John Carpenter score so it seems tobe working on that level. The music is all a series of simple themeswith a filmic overtone that makes them moody but not overlycomplicated. While the sounds don't come from a Carpenter film, it'seasy to see them working with one. Most of the timbres are liftedstraight from vintage synths (or vintage synth emulators as may be thecase) and the sound design is intentionally not clever or obtrusive.The few places where the guys resort to more recent sounding filtersand patches actually take the songs out of that full-on Carpenter worldand help bridge the gap between goofy experiment and music that'sactually enjoyable on its own. Ml have never established a firm styleto my ears over the years. They tend to blend in with other acts fromthe Pacific northwest who trade in quirky, laptop-fueledpost-industrial beat making and so it's a little ballsy for them to putsomething like this out that gives most of the stylistic cues up tounseen source material. I'd like to see more people try this sort ofthing, if only to see what talented musicians can do with an artificialbut well-understood set of limitations. The obvious question is: is therecord worth listening to outside of the context of the John Carpenterangle, and I'm not sure about that. I suppose the answer lies in howmuch you like John Carpenter's music. It definitely feels a littlecheesy if you take away the idea that it's an homage, but if you knowgoing in what it's all about, it's quite a fun thing to spin. As itstands though, this is my favorite batch of ml songs to date, and I'mnot sure what that means for the rest of their discography. What itmeans for now is that Piehead scores again with another release we'renot likely to have seen without this special series, which is prettyawesome.
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The latest in a long line of excavated rarities from the golden age ofKrautrock (1968-1975), Damenbart's storied and obscure album finallygets a proper CD reissue on the Psychedelic Pig label. Though thealbum, true to its namesake, was recorded in 1971, it never saw thelight of release until 1989, when it was issued on the DOM Elchklanglabel. The tapes for the legendary unreleased album were given to Dr.P. Li Khan and Christoph Heemann of HNAS in 1987, after beingdiscovered in Spain by a former associate of the band. Damenbart was atrio consisting of Erwin Bauer on synthesizer, organ and guitar; BerndBarth on synthesizer, effects and vocals; and Tina S. on lead vocals.Their sound was unpredictable and mercurial, characterized by thick,amorphous atmospheres formed by layers of droning synths and stacks ofoverdubbed vocals, with intermittent forays into rhythm and frequentleft turns into cavernous, echoplexed noise. Impressionen '71is the literal wet dream-cum-reality for fetishists of Germanprogressive and kosmische, encompassing all the outre' musical elementsthat collectors yearn for. "Innovative Schwingungen" (trans:"Innovative Oscillations") begins with a loop of Tina S. intoning thesong's title, as scattered drums fly around the stereo channels andstacks of oppressive synth and keyboard are compounded, with excessivephasing and metallic flanging lending a consistently drug-damaged airto Damenbart's psychotic invocations. At about the six-minute mark,aggressive blasts of battering-ram noise signal a brutal descent into abarrage of industrial rhythms. It's actually amazing how muchDamenbart's proto-industrial noise has in common with the laterstrategies of 80s underground artists like HNAS and others. In fact,their gothic-tinged synthesizers sound positively anachronistic attimes, forcing me to wonder if Damenbart were somehow able to get holdof prototypes of technology that wouldn't be on the market for at leasta decade hence. "Blumen im Haar" ("Flowers in Hair") uses synthesizedpanpipes, flute, gently strummed guitar and a galaxy of productiongimmicks to create a sinister fireside magickal rite in Germany's BlackForest. "Marihuanabrothers" is positively terrifying: a nine-minutewall of amorphous noise with undifferentiated blasts of mindbendingdistortion. In addition to the four long tracks of the original LP, theCD also includes four bonus tracks unearthed from the same recordingsessions. "Space Invocation" finds the band in full Tangerine Dreammode, and "Baum der Erkenntis" is a twisted, chaotic explosion ofmulti-tracked insanity. Impressionen '71 certainly earns itsreputation as one of Krautrock's long-lost gems, not least because thewhole thing is a very ingenious hoax perpetrated by Heemann and Khan.HNAS are, in fact, the true musicians behind the album, and theycreated everything from photos and biographies of the band, toextensive press notes, in an attempt to put one over on unsuspectingKraut enthusiasts. Way to go, guys.
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The California of the 1960s was a breeding ground for eccentric characters: psychedelic prophets, cult leaders, crank scientists, charlatans, fringe artists, bizarre self-taught musicians and psychotic burnouts. Some individuals, it seems, were able embody all of these archetypes at once; and of these, at least one managed to record and release an album. Bobby Brown's 1972 LP The Enlightening Beam of Axonda is a holy grail for collectors of rare psych, and one of the most idiosyncratic works to emerge from the West Coast petri-dish of psychedelics and self-motivated outsiders.Akarma
The LP was originally issued in a small run on Destiny Records, and today trades hands for absurdly inflated prices, which makes this deluxe digipack CD reissue on Italy's Akarma label a particularly welcome release. Bobby Brown has the misfortune to share a namesake with the notorious R&B artist and Whitney Houston/crack abuser, making Google searches problematic to all but the most persistent. This Bobby Brown was a blonde, blue-eyed flower-child surfer from Sacramento who traveled up and down the West Coast throughout the 60s, 70s and 80s, performing live at acid-drenched beach parties and hawking his records from the back of a van. Brown played more than 18 self-built instruments — harps, bells, zithers, woodwinds, sitar and percussion — all arranged into an ingeniously constructed series of cross-triggered racks that surrounded him during live performances, making it possible for him to play several instruments and sing simultaneously. His voice stretches across six unusually expressive octaves, vacillating lysergically one moment and perfectly mimicking the sounds of a theremin the next. It's tempting to try to fit this "Universal One Man Orchestra" into a framework including other outsiders such as Harry Partch and Moondog, but the Axonda album resists such easy categorization. It's a concept album, relating the journey of a spiritual adept named "Johnny" from his pastoral Hawaiian home, across the globe and eventually into the cosmos. Johnny makes contact with the God-machine Axonda and its clear beam of consciousness light, which reveals to him the future of mankind — the reconciliation of all world religions and a merging into pure, perfected Godhead. It's undeniably hokey and quite often banal, but Bobby Brown's sincerity sells it, hypnotizing with trippy, beatific melodies and an unorthodox marriage of exotica, island music, Indian raga and African rhythms. Brown's speaker-vibrating bass and oceanic tenor coos perfectly express his impossibly utopian philosophies, coasting along with multi-tracked instrumentals and overdubbed vocals, pausing between songs for spoken-word narrative transitions. Brown's painstakingly scribed liner notes are reproduced in this edition, full of hilarious boasts about his explication of the fictional scientific concept of "the Bray" — "an original contribution to the field of Religion & Science...not yet discovered by other humanoids" that will one day "lead to the most significant change in the history of humanity (plus total religious unity)." Perhaps Bobby's ambitions were ultimately unrealistic, but The Enlightening Beam of Axonda is an original and uncompromising work of art, and a valuable contribution to the field of outsider art. 
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After months of waiting, the final album from legendary rock bandGuided By Voices is now released, no doubt provoking water coolerdiscussions about the band's career in the offices of entertainmentmagazines everywhere. Fans have been divided for some time, too —though many buy the records on principal despite misgivings —particularly about Pollard's higher fidelity obsession since 1997's Mag Earwhig!.The record, then, has the unfortunate position of having to provide acloser for over 20 years of music in just fourteen songs, and for themost part it accomplishes this goal. There are plenty of tracks thatfeature the classic Pollard lyrical strangeness ("You're gonna fuck upmy make-up/you're gonna make up my fuck-up"), and a full complement ofmixing styles, so there's a summary of the band's style and functions.Sadly, it just doesn't have the magical realization that everyone hopesfor in a final album, but these sort of things rarely do. To expect aband to be able to sum it all up in those songs — the highs, lows,strife, stress, exhilaration, and passion — is a bit much, but thereshould be some hint of why this is the end. And there isn't here, thatI can find. What there is to be found is another quirky and catchygroup of songs, right out of the gate with "Everybody Thinks I'm aRaincloud (When I'm Not Looking)." Chiming guitar, Pollard'sdouble-tracked vocals, and solid backing make the song a rollickinggood time, and there is an overwhelming feeling of being let down andlonely by choices one has made. Perfect opener. Then the murderingdarkness of "Sleep Over Jack" takes over, and it's even more deliciousthan the opener, an almost modern day Sweeney Todd. It's thiswarring personality that consumes most of the record; a strugglebetween the light and dark sides of emotion, with no clear winner. Notthat there has to be: to choose between "Gonna Never Have to Die" or"The Closets of Henry" and "Tour Guide at the Winston ChurchillMemorial" or "Sing For Your Meat" would be impossible, anyway. That'sthe mark of a truly great album, where every song carries the wholealbum's weight and doesn't buckle. In that regard, this is the bestlegacy Pollard and Co. can hope for, including returning member TobinSprout, who recorded parts for the record, as well. This is what theywere adept at providing for their fans: whole albums of great songs.Once again, they succeed, and though it's not the last we'll hear ofthe band's members, it is this band that will be missed. Farewell, GBV,and thanks for the memories.
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Providing less variation than this election year's candidates are, apiano/organ player and a drummer play music that, with few exceptions,relies on a formula of presentation and peculiarity to succeed. Thefirst thing that caught my eye is the rather distinct and beautifulpainting that adorns the cover of this album. It is painted by theClayton Brothers of L.A. and has a carnival appeal to it. The hands andfaces of figures are distorted and bring to mind visions of a morefocused Ren & Stimpy or maybe just a slightly less disturbing MarkRyden. The music is reminiscent of the ways carnivals have always beenportrayed in the movies. For the most part an organ dominates themelodic progression of the album and steady, almost military-like drumsundercut this dry movement of cheap thrills and train-wreck amusements.When the opening track began I was fairly thrilled; the obvious musicalreference to freak-show attractions promised quite a lot, but Luther& Toby deliver very little. Slowly the over-simple combination ofmusical elements becomes lackluster. There are moments when nothinghappens despite the fact that I know an organ is emitting a series ofnotes. Towards the end of the record, on songs like "Aluminum Lady" and"144,000," Luther & Toby manage to strike just the right mood bymoving away from their love of the strange and absurd. Gorgeousmelodies and shifting rhythms sweep together in a dramatic fashion andconjure up a need for repeat listens. But two or three songs aren'tenough to save an album that tried too hard to present a particularimage. No matter how engaging an initial idea can be, it's hard to makea record based on that idea alone or at least it's very difficult to doso without the music becoming samey in very quick fashion. While thephotographs in the booklet and the promise of "Lucrezia Borgia Waltz"made it seem as though Luther & Toby were going to ride down along, untrampled road, the majority of the album simply meditates on asuperficial and ultimately uninteresting image. If there are circusoddities and strange twists of genetic code to be found in the worldthis album only hints at them. At the last moment, on the closing "OhSore Sore Song," there is a vast emptiness opened up and a group ofvoices sing a tune that could've only been heard in local taverns andfor just a moment there is something truly engaging about the albumthat suggests a past or a history of someplace unique. The song is,unfortunately, only a minute and six seconds long. I don't want to sayLuther & Toby are a one-trick pony, but there's no differencebetween dressing an album like this in rich pictures and looselydeveloped concepts and dressing up a bunch of rich boys, giving thembad haircuts, and calling them "rock n' roll."-
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I can't shake the feeling that Shirts and Pistolsis Hardman's version of "Shits and Giggles," as this album plays like acollection of oddball in-jokes and quirky jams thrown together for fun.Toying with pop song melodies and structures, Hardman wrangle upconvincing electro-pop tunes that owe less to the punk ethos ofelectroclash than to psychadelia and surrealist non-sequiturs. Songsabout superheroes share the disc with tracks that juxtapose the variousmeanings 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 andrepeating vocal phrases that drift out of consciousness. On the otherhand, tracks like "18's Fabric" touch on a kind of groovy,digitally-enhanced folk that's full of free verse poetry, acousticguitars and vibes. Whether they are playing with bluesy tones, straightup electronic pop, or something a little more leftfield, the songs arealways tight and short, leaving the album with a bit of a compiled,schizophrenic feel. In fact, a few of the tracks just kind of stopdead, as if the experiment that spawned them was suddenly brough to ahalt. This is, if ever there was one, a studio album where accomplishedproducers and musicians have afforded themselves the time and means tojot down whatever ideas might strike them. With that approach, thereare inevitably a few tracks that could be trimmed without losing much,but nothing is so long as to overstay its welcome. It sounds a bitself-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 can't shake the feeling that Shirts and Pistolsis Hardman's version of "Shits and Giggles," as this album plays like acollection of oddball in-jokes and quirky jams thrown together for fun.Toying with pop song melodies and structures, Hardman wrangle upconvincing electro-pop tunes that owe less to the punk ethos ofelectroclash than to psychadelia and surrealist non-sequiturs. Songsabout superheroes share the disc with tracks that juxtapose the variousmeanings 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 andrepeating vocal phrases that drift out of consciousness. On the otherhand, tracks like "18's Fabric" touch on a kind of groovy,digitally-enhanced folk that's full of free verse poetry, acousticguitars and vibes. Whether they are playing with bluesy tones, straightup electronic pop, or something a little more leftfield, the songs arealways tight and short, leaving the album with a bit of a compiled,schizophrenic feel. In fact, a few of the tracks just kind of stopdead, as if the experiment that spawned them was suddenly brough to ahalt. This is, if ever there was one, a studio album where accomplishedproducers and musicians have afforded themselves the time and means tojot down whatever ideas might strike them. With that approach, thereare inevitably a few tracks that could be trimmed without losing much,but nothing is so long as to overstay its welcome. It sounds a bitself-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 first became aware of Minit through a 7" on Tonschacht, a label whoseuniform white-on-black sleeves have since become trusted markers ofshort-form, lo-fidelity electroacoustic works from a new vanguard ofinternational artists. "Bootleg" was the label's first release, and itcaptured my eye mainly because of the note: "inspired by and conceivedfor Chicks on Speed." Based on the starkness of the sleeve design andartist name, I had expected a darker, more cynical version of Chicks'jaunty, metro-centric electro. I wanted to hear a song like their"Night of the Pedestrian" stripped of its role-play humor and takeninto the streets for real; I wantedMinit to take electroclash from hot pink heels back to Suicide country,back to rhythms cold and gritty, stuck against the city's pulse. Thisdid not happen exactly. Minit sound nothing like Chicks on Speed.Instead, they play densely textured, drone-based music structuredgenerally around trad Minimalist ideas of simple and understatedmelody. Latticed field captures, robust organic loops, and stackedsynthetic vibrations combine to create immersive environments ofcertain constancy, but within which textural breakthroughs do occur.Like most works with a tendency towards explicit Minimalism, apart-for-the-whole aesthetic is available here, and any section ofthese four lengthy songs has potential to reveal a small, shimmeringworld of harmonic variations and sliding, evaporating tones. Tocontradictory effect, the music (especially the title track) also seemsto move towards specific melodic ascensions, approaching, at severalplaces, throbbing arabesques fit for a full orchestra. These betrayalsof subtlety, these breaks in the level planes created by so muchtextural detailing, create the unique paradox that helps Minit standout in a glut of like-minded musicians and becomes the only plausibleparallel to Chicks on Speed, a group whose success certainly relies onparadox and odd juxtaposition. For all its stasis and flat expanses, Now Right Heredoes not shy away from easily emotive forms, often leading songs intothe kind of swelling, post-rock flirtations associated with people likeGodspeed You Black Emperor!. Bits of Now Right Here remind me of the overpowering-yet-concise melancholy of William Basinski's Disintegration Loops.However, rather than keeping these moments of catharsis containedbehind the ever-widening sense of loss and distance that is unavoidablein the Basinski pieces, Minit works through a kind of reverse processin which the grandiose sections are slowly pieced together almost likeby-products of the music's droning surface play. The peaks or"destinations" in Minit's music are always anticipated though neverquite required, a special quality that keeps their records fresh forrevisiting and more than makes up for the relative familiarity of thegroup's sound. (It's worth mentioning also that two of this disc's fourtracks appeared on two recent Australian-scene compilations, Variable Resistance and Motion, though this one is probably worth checking out for its 20-minute title cut alone).
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