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After three years of eclectic 7" singles and a couple of Fanny CDs, myfavorite Ant-Zen sublabel Mirex presents its first-ever compilation.Many people seem to worship the Hymen sister label yet neglect thishigh-quality breakcore imprint, although this intense collection willsurely attract new converts to join the ranks of the alreadyrespectable number of devotees. Carbonmarks its unique place in the Ant-Zen tradition by screaming Top 40song lyrics at the top of its lungs, pissing blood all over the rug,and boasting a roster of familiar established names as well as risingunderground scene stars. Here, breakcore displays its many hideous andgoofy faces in true schizophrenic fashion, and while industrial puristsmay revel in the brutality of Hecate and recent signing Subskan, manywill be tempted to cringe over the subversive mash-up experiments ofOve-Naxx and Donna Summer. Those who resist the knee-jerk anti-popreflex and stay open-minded will be aurally rewarded for their efforts.Representative of the style off his full-length From Zero,Enduser's "Basement" creatively fuses a somber Tori Amos piano riff andragga MC toasting with crunchy junglist and hip hop loops. Drop TheLime makes an appearance here with "Chump Killers," a DSP-fucked blendof spastic electro-funk and hyperactive broken beats akin to his workfor the likeminded Tigerbeat6 label. "Kiss Me On The Dancefloor," thephenomenal selection from Sickboy, throws together a maddeninglydelicious, yet undeniably aggressive, update of old school rave. Mirexwould do well to snatch up more of this guy's work for a CD releaseimmediately. Atypical to this release, Line 47's "Taken Away" offers anunusual yet gratifying moment where the noise and mischief are somewhattoned down in favor of melancholy and melody. From Blaerg'sHitchcockian beginnings to End's Morricone-inspired closer, thesetwenty tracks continually pummel the speakers and delight the ears.Though notably lacking any presence of the notoriously prolificVenetian Snares, arguably the biggest name in the subgenre today, Carboncomes out stronger than any breakcore compilation I've heard to date,including those that do include the Snares Man. While I am tempted tocall Mirex "a label to watch," people should have have honestly caughton before now. Jump on the bandwagon now and perhaps the rest of uswill accept you... in time.
- Sickboy - Kiss Me On the Dancefloor
- Line 47 - Taken Away
- Enduser - Basement
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For more than a year, Battles have been making a name for themselvesfor their live shows, by both supporting major players (like Isis,Lightning Bolt, and Fant?as) and headlining tiny sweatholes. Thefourseome hasn't had much trouble packing tight audiences in withouthaving a full-length album out nor having hipster critics gush overthem. It's easily the buzz from feverish fans as Battles could beconsidered the newest supergroup to emerge out of a nameless scene thatreally doesn't exist. Tyondai Braxton is probably the least known ofthe crew, but his brilliant 2002 album, History That Has No Effectis embarassingly underlooked, David Konopka has played with Lynx, IanWilliams with Don Caballero and Storm and Stress, and John Stanier hasdrummed for Tomahawk and Helmet. Together, the sound is diverse,forceful, unavoidable, and their first two EPs are short but strong andsoon to become legendary.
"Tras" opens the two-song single. At under four minutes, it's a perfectintroduction to the band as it's both rhythmically challenging andcatchy as all hell. The precise guitar riffs combined with a TVtheme-like keyboard ditty are a perfect fit for drums that areaggressive enough for a metal record, but, as the drums come equippedwith a super slick sound and an occasional shuffle, are way too cool tobe wasted on brainless hair tossing. "Fantasy" is almost a throwback tothe sampled staccato sounds of Ty Braxton's album with echoesreverberating in time with the rhythm. It's boldly almost completelyabsent of melody yet rich in beats, provided by drum machines, punchysamples, and live percussion. At the eight-minute mark when that 808kick comes in, any speaker in its path is in trouble.
Together with Tras, EP Ccould easily form a complete album. The repetition on the opener "B +T" is deceptively simple: it's pretty and layered with differentmotives, occasional breaks and samples, all which keep the song inperpetual motion. After the short drumless "UW" that could makeKraftwerk blush by its atmospheric twittering, the band comes back infull swing with "Hi/Lo," substituting a low end synth where a bassshould be. "Hi/Lo" may be slower than some of their other loud numbersbut it's no less grand, building in intensity gradually over the nearlyeight minutes, from a small pile of rubble to a mountainous beast.Finishing off the disc are the short "IPT-2" and "Tras 2," eachincorporating what seems like a bit of digital fuckery at first, withthe second one ending with the drummer trailing off on his own. It'shard to not admit that Battles are flirting with traditionally nerdyinstrumental alt-rock/post-whatever styles, and, as a number of groupsthat each member was in before Battles, they are admittedly crafty. Thetrick to the craft is making something interesting enough for the bandto play and attractive enough for the audiences to enjoy it, and withthat, mark my words, Battles are something to watch.
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In a way that is noble, isolated, and romantic, the strings and voicesof Tom Carter, Christina Carter, and Heather Leigh Murrary craft musicas though it were made for lost souls and restless spirits. There is anuneasiness in the wobble and sway of their plucking and weaving thatradiates uncertain photographs and blurred figures. Without a doubtthere exists this haunting dimension to the Charalambides' music, butto mistake their music for stringed ghastliness is to miss half thebeauty of Joy Shapes.Christina Carter serves as some kind of medium between this world andthe next, where mountains blur in the distance, disappear, and leaveonly sand in the wake of their death. This world crafted out of slideguitars, chimes, voices, and various string instruments has nocertainty, belonging to the spirit of improvisation and illusion. "HereNot Here" wails away as Christina Carter chants "The rains shines / Andthe sun falls / Here is here / Here is not here." A theme ofdeceptiveness is already established in the early lyrics and it becomesall the more evident in the spring-like rumble of guitars that slowlyecho into the darkness near the end of the song. The vocals often comeaway sounding as though they belonged to some ancient Greek comedywhere the hero dies tragically and the lyrics tell of his passing intothe next world. There are shrieks and cries throughout the record; someare intelligible and others act as part of the instrumentation. Thoughthis all sounds like it might belong to tragedy and fear, "Joy Shapes"changes the direction of this record and opens up a door of uncannybeauty. "Joy Shapes" drops like a focused lense over the mistylandscape the Charalambides' had painted over the previous thrity-twominutes and rings like water ripples over the surface of a pond. Theinteraction of the guitar, the delicacy now present in Carter's voice,and the story-like lyrics all represent something from this worldwithout spoiling the fragile mystery that occupied the first half ofthe record. As "Natural Night" progresses though its trembling fingersand whale-like waves of sound, calm washes over everything and astrange pearl-light marks the descent of dread and the rise of peacefulunderstanding. The closing "Voice For You" put me under a spell of lovethe instant I heard Christina Carter's voice unmasked and smiling frombehind the veneer of its previous enigmatic allure. The droning ofCarter's voice into an instrument, the slow rumble of the approachingend, and the keyboard-like crooning of electric guitars all twist andturn until they explode and wrestle to a slow and natural end. Allalong this music had been a focusing from the realm of unease and doubtto the harmonies of love and oceanic rhythm. The Charalambides might beplaying a strange music that completely lacks any familiar songstructure or easy point of reference, but it is honestly affectionate,somehow familiar, and warm to its core.
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The delayed echoes of pretty guitars with thumps and rhtyhms washingover the first few tracks make this album sound like a dead ringer forBlack Dice. However, Bringing Up Babyis the latest time-forgotten gem of the United Dairies label to bereintroduced to the public. Originally released by Steven Stapleton'slabel in 1981, the reissue of this CD was not an effortless move. Notonly are the original masters unavailable, but the original members arenowhere to be found (hence the note inside urging communication withthe musicians). The French label Fractal has done a fantastic job bycommissioning a mastering job from an excellent vinyl copy, usingscratch reducing technology, and making it sound far better than therecording I made from the record for personal enjoyment. Additionally,Fractal has honorably used all the original artwork from the cover andrecord itself in this CD issue. The duo of Matt Mullen and Jim Friedmanrecorded only this one album as Musique Concret and one known track fora Come Organisation compilation and then vanished without a trace. Sideone of the original record consists of four parts of "Incidents inRural Places." Here, soundscapes are created with guitars, delays, lowfrequency bass, slowed down effects, backwards manipulation, andoccasional sounds from old records and lullabies trying to push theirway through the surface of twisted effects much like somebody trying tocrawl to the surface after being buried alive. Side two opens with thethunderous prog-rockin'-your-foundation "Organorganorgan," where themusicianship is flaunted by dueling solos on a truly evil soundingfuzzy organ. It closes with the nearly 14 minute track "Wreath Pose atSacrifice" which could easily be appreciated by any early NWW fan. It'san opus with numerous movements, opening with sounds of pots, pans,twisted metal, and what could be tooth brushing accompanied by very fewreal instruments making a faint melody, continuing with the ripping,distorted sounds of what could be explosions and wind, giving way tothe climax with all the distortions alongside a groovy drum machineloop, and ending with warped old music bleeding through a fuzzy AMradio. This CD happily sits on the shelf next to other UD classics likeMasstishaddhu, aching for the day they're joined by equally ashonorable reissues of Robert Haigh and Asmus Tietchens.
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How the mighty have fallen. Not that Andre Afram Asmar might really beconsidered mighty, but his last record for Mush was a beautiful mashupof hip-hop and middle eastern instrumentals that worked on any numberof levels and preserved a sense of genuine respect for all of thesounds it culled. Enter Circus, the MC who manages to take AAA'sproduction and run it into the ground with half-witted rhymes and adeadpan vocal delivery that recalls a suburban, middle-agedbusinessperson reciting a 'rap' in some corporate skill-buildingseminar. The album has a loose theme that revolves around alienabduction, conspiracy theories, and the Bush administration'swar-waging in the middle east. Unfortunately, the serious themes andstupid themes are given just about equal billing, but its all played ina straight-faced way to render none of it funny or effective. The beatsand samples that Circus drowns out might be worthwhile on their own,but it's impossible to separate the voice from the songs. I'll neverquite understand how people who have an ear for quality music and deftMCs can listen to something like Gawd Bless the Faceless Cowardsand feel that it's adequate or even fun to listen to. Inane rhymesdelivered flatly over beats and samples about UFOs might make for a funparty record amongst friends, but only really close friends who aren'ttoo critical, or who are really drunk. Someone got in the car with mewhen this record was on and the first question he asked was 'is this ademo someone sent you?' No, but maybe if someone had heard the demofirst, they could have steered it somewhere productive. As it is, steerclear.
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How the mighty have fallen. Not that Andre Afram Asmar might really beconsidered mighty, but his last record for Mush was a beautiful mashupof hip-hop and middle eastern instrumentals that worked on any numberof levels and preserved a sense of genuine respect for all of thesounds it culled. Enter Circus, the MC who manages to take AAA'sproduction and run it into the ground with half-witted rhymes and adeadpan vocal delivery that recalls a suburban, middle-agedbusinessperson reciting a 'rap' in some corporate skill-buildingseminar. The album has a loose theme that revolves around alienabduction, conspiracy theories, and the Bush administration'swar-waging in the middle east. Unfortunately, the serious themes andstupid themes are given just about equal billing, but its all played ina straight-faced way to render none of it funny or effective. The beatsand samples that Circus drowns out might be worthwhile on their own,but it's impossible to separate the voice from the songs. I'll neverquite understand how people who have an ear for quality music and deftMCs can listen to something like Gawd Bless the Faceless Cowardsand feel that it's adequate or even fun to listen to. Inane rhymesdelivered flatly over beats and samples about UFOs might make for a funparty record amongst friends, but only really close friends who aren'ttoo critical, or who are really drunk. Someone got in the car with mewhen this record was on and the first question he asked was 'is this ademo someone sent you?' No, but maybe if someone had heard the demofirst, they could have steered it somewhere productive. As it is, steerclear.
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Some of my favorite releases of the last year or so come from the US indie hip-hop contender, Mush. Their recent find, a Japanese import called Neutrino, is being sent out with a sticker comparing the release to DJ Krush, claiming that Krush isn't the only player in Japan's instrumental hip-hop scene. That may be true, but Krush is still a few moves ahead of the rest of the pack if Neutrino's eponymous release is any indication.
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Some of my favorite releases of the last year or so come from the US indie hip-hop contender, Mush. Their recent find, a Japanese import called Neutrino, is being sent out with a sticker comparing the release to DJ Krush, claiming that Krush isn't the only player in Japan's instrumental hip-hop scene. That may be true, but Krush is still a few moves ahead of the rest of the pack if Neutrino's eponymous release is any indication.Mush
The tracks are classic Mush: slow and moody with a nod to hip-hop and jazz record sampling, but with a sophisticated touch and layered production style. These don't sound like tracks in search of an MC, but rather they function as whole songs on their own. For nodding background music or the score to a student film about 'urban landscapes', Neutrino is just fine. There's enough warmth and depth to the compositions that they held up to repeat spins as I drove around town and then set up my wireless network at home. However, whenever I tried to focus on the album, it seemed to be built on an all-too-familiar set of rules and loops. It's groovy downtempo stuff, no doubt, but it fails to capture the imagination the way last year's Villain Accellerate record did. This is polite and tidy beat-making, with windchime accents, chirping bird samples and the occassional disembodied voice-snippet that almost lend it a depth worth exploring more. With a shelf full of exceptional releases from other Mush artists, as well as their forebears like the aforementioned DJ Krush, DJ Shadow, and almost all of the early Ninja Tune stable, it's difficult to make room for Neutrino, though he does make enough of a case for giving it a try. 
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Glitchy electronic music about the problems people face in a modernsociety from a husband and wife team sounds frighteningly close to aWill Ferrell-based SNL skit, but this new EP fits that description, andthe results are ripe for absorption.
Clairecords
Keyboards and vocals by JeannetteFaith are the base, and then Wes Steed takes it to a whole other levelwith computers and homemade synths, resulting in a sound that is notjust songs, it's a whole atmosphere. The techniques are used to greateffect in creating a feeling of absolute detachment, like a dependenceon computers for everything in life just so it doesn't require effort.The titles could be articles in Reader's Digestor some corporate pamphlet, and as such they belie the elegance ofwhat's inside. When sounds escape the speakers, though, the mood isrealized immediately, and an almost menial state of mind takes shape,like drone-esque office work. Troubadours used to sing about thestruggle of the working man #&151; farmers, mechanics, factoryworkers — in angry tones meant to seize attention and changeperceptions. This music is about the new under-appreciated orendangered species due to workload or stress at work or at home: thedesk jockey. Rather than knock people out with brute force, this is acoaxing way of encouraging results. This is a new step for the duo,since their last album did not deal with themes anywhere near this, butthey are perfectly suited to the task. Lyrics like "how many red eyeshave you taken?" and "home is where the heart breaks" float out onFaith's processed voice, immediately cutting in and burrowing for along stay. This is a bubbly and cheery-sounding record on the surface,but beneath it there is pain and longing. I couldn't stop listening,and it is now the preferred soundtrack for my mundane day jobexistence. Maybe I'll find the hidden message and escape, and I thinkthat's exactly what these songs are meant to persuade the listenertowards.
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The liner notes read "No computers or electricity were employed in themusic making process." How that is possible baffles me, so I figure itmust be a joke or a half-truth. On the other hand, how a record wasmade rarely matters to me more than how it comes out sounding and Rooting for the Microbesis a bit of a mixed bag in that respect.
Load
A consistent barrage ofwailing scratches and interstellar waves covers up, for a majority ofthe album, strangely distorted natural sounds like accordians, bells,clocks, and laughter. This combination of failing equipment andindefinite references to some kind of ghost world run by clowns staysfairly interesting from beginning to start; but Nautical Alamanac'sformula rarely changes. The rigid structure of each song somehowbecomes apparent through all the smoke and noise half way through thealbum and makes the remainder feel like a repeat of the first filteredthrough some altered dimesion. I can't help but think that this randomassortment of sounds is somehow comedic at its heart, maybe just a bitsurrealist. The assault of scratches, wheezes, and whines are neverthreatening and, even at loud volumes, never inspire any kind ofmadness or unbearable torment. The spasmodic current of the album neverallows for a consistency to build; any residue left behind by one soundis immediately destroyed by the following. "Cross Dementia" doesnothing short of spread laughter and the closing "Ocularis" only windseverything down to a calm and and slightly more silent end. So what'smissing? When the hidden track(s?) finally end and I'm left sitting inmy room, I feel like Nautical Almanac forgot some important ingredientsin their noise soup. For all their wackiness, Nautical Almanac somehowmanages to tell the same joke over and over. Where another group orindividual might succeed in making nonsense noise by severely wideningthe sound palette, Nautical Almanac stays static, relying on thegimmick of "no computers, no electricity" (if that is actually thecase) to carry the album. It boils down to this: the noise just soundslike noise. It has no compositional value and just seems like ahindrance on some of the other sounds that are trying to be heard. Hadsome more variety been packed into the noise end of the album and thencombined with all those excellent samples of the recognizable world, Rooting for the Microbes would have come away a lot more addicting than it is now.
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Good or bad, dark ambient albums rarely get much of a rise out of me.While I can usually appreciate an artist's attempts at creating acertain mood or feeling, I have heard enough "haunting sonictapestries" over the years that it takes a lot to impress me. The glutof releases from obviously untalented bedroom producers in this genrecertainly doesn't give a reason to get excited. While by no means arevolutionary work, As Giants Watch Over Us,the third Ad Noiseam release from James Keeler, benefits from itswillingness to use intrusive sounds among its more subdued spookydrones. "Empire Of The Snake" opens this lengthy album with ominoustextures peppered with sudden bursts and prolonged sections ofswirling, unruly synthesized noise. Breaking from this style, the titletrack exudes a type of frozen paranoia amid the screeching, voicesnippets, and sampled dramatic symphonies. "The Fiddler And The Fool"creeps along much like an updated version of a old horror movie score,shifting gears around three minutes in to dissonance and backwardsloops. The emotive and atmospheric "Reversing Magnetism" plays outbeautifully, with delayed and stretched tones morphing over clickingstatic and low bass. Running over 70 minutes long, at least a few ofthese thirteen somewhat similar tracks could have been whittled down orcut altogether. Nonetheless, both the Cold Meat Industry set as well assound design connoisseurs may find some reward from As Giants Watch Over Us.
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