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This collaboration began during a performance at Tonic in NYC celebrating the release of Willits' Folding, and the Tea,still one of my favorites on Deupree's 12k label. Willits' style ofguitar processing, a method he calls "folding," involves the digitalreassembling of plucked rhythms and melodies in a way that resists bothfragment pile-up techniques and a tired glitch aesthetic. Theaccurately "folded" results show evidence of computerized cuts, falsestops, and redirections, but each piece also retains the timbre andirregular sustain of the guitar itself, as if Willits' laptop were justanother pedal at his feet, each uncanny alteration arriving seamlessly,swift as the click of a heel. Folding would not be asimpressive, however, if the guitarist's playing were not sounderhandedly melancholic. Without the rolling minor chords of someonelike Fennesz, Willits brings emotion to his music in a more subtle way,producing fragile, staggered tonal clusters, taking on weight only asthey are creased and misaligned during the "folding" process. The "tea"to which his debut's title refers is clearly not the skyward,psychedelic brew filling fellow lap-tarist Joseph Suchy's glass, butmore like a strong herbal black, the kind meant to accompany sittingand staring into surfaces. Taylor Deupree's earthbound approach tomicro-tonal sound arrangement is a perfect match for the concentrated,tactile element of Willits' work. Fostered by the growth of his 12kimprint, Deupree's now-mature style has developed around a minimalistdissection of sound, a mapping of sound particles in a way that, likeWillits', avoids an obsession with glitch-ist process, ordeconstruction per se. Instead, Deupree, along with the expanding 12kroster, favors a highly suggestive magnification of sound events thatfeels wholly related to human gesture and the surrounding world, fullof miniature drama and plaintive tug. Most of the music on Audiosphere 08comes from live sessions where Deupree uses Willits' guitar, run firstthrough the folding box, as source material for his microsoundinvestigations. The live setup creates a kind of circular dialogueresulting in some remarkably focused compositions. Up close, theproduct of the collaboration is predictable: the dominance of Willits'guitar gives the tunes a buoyancy and a more present melodic portionthan Deupree is used to, and the latter's position in the backgroundsituates the guitar's colorful folds in a crisp stew of tiny sounds,ranging from the static skips and jumps more typical of Deupree's solooutput to assertive drones, pulsing as if stripped from the core of aplucked string. At greater remove, isolating each musician'scontribution becomes not only impossible, but a easily forgotteninterference in the enjoyment of these tracks, so much so that the twosolo live tracks also included make for an interesting look at just howmuch one of these guys brings to the table. As a release, Audioshere 08holds up surprisingly well among the intimidating previous output ofits contributors, and as a collaboration, this music is a stunningachievement, a beautiful rounded sound that leaves me hoping this duowill record again.
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Dekorder is a new label/distributor based in Hamburg and founded by thesame people behind the now-defunct Disco Bruit imprint. Kicking offwith an impressive group of 3" discs and 10" records, the label seemsto pick up where Bruit left off, furthering its juxtaposition of thebubbly, cut-and-paste electronica dominating labels like Sonig anddarker digital landscaping characteristic of groups like Jazzkammer andnew Hafler Trio. Dekorder's first release comes from Barcelona-basedmulti-instrumentalist Un Caddie Renvers? Dans l'Herbe who has justreleased a full-length CD on the label, breaking up their 3"/10"streak. If this mini-disc is any indication of the sound of his newermaterial, I can comfortably recommend hunting it down. The music flowsfrom an impressive range of sources, including a number of Sub-Saharaninstruments, cello and guitar, all fed through software to createsparse but effective compositions that develop in a deceptive,half-improvised manner sometimes reminiscent of the work of Sack &Blumm. The sound of the Mbira (thumb-piano) dominates much of thedisc's 20 minutes, cut into elaborate chiming patterns, never gaudy,and invaluable to the continental vibe drifting off most everything.The laptop thankfully sticks to the background of Weird Taste,performing cutting and looping functions almost exclusively, lettingthe soul of the instruments and Un Caddie's breezy playing do most ofthe talking. Even at their most repetitive, the artist's piano andguitar figures maintain a hypnotic, truly cinematic bent thatimmediately separates the music from the majority of small-formatlaptop productions. Un Caddie has many more releases, including severalthrough his own Ooze.Bap label and the newer Dekorder release Like A Packed Cupboard But Quite?, making this 3" the perfect introduction to a refreshing new face that will undoubtedly provide for future discoveries.
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Esmerine are being called a gy!be off-shoot as the core members — BruceCawdron and Beckie Foon #151; have played on various releases relatedto the Montreal collective. At the same time that the label gets them acertain amount of attention, I think it belittles the power of theirmusic at the same time, as this is not just a plaything to occupy sometime while the members wait for a new gy!be or Silver Mt. Zion record.Through very simple means, Esmerine have concocted one of the mostmoving records I've heard, mostly using simple percussion and cellowith some guest musicians to round out some of the compositions. First,there is beauty in the music itself, as the cello has the ability toextract tears from even the staunchest individual. Next, the perussionis mostly marimba or light drumming, which keeps a nice pace, but alsocuts the more overbearing moments of the strings with a slightlylighter tone. Mostly, though, the compositions themselves arebreathtaking, with moments of pure heartrending glory. There aremoments of bombast that hint at some heavy firepower, but Esmerinemostly lock it away; like offering a glance at the weapon, knowingthere's a larger psychological impact than brandishing it every fiveminutes. "Red Fire Alarm" starts off quiet, then builds to a boisteroustete-a-tete between all instruments. Eventually, the song lies down fora nap, slowly fading off into a deep sleep. The epic journey of thesecond track may turn some off, but the interplay of the strings withthe very quiet drone behind them is quite stirring. Elsewhere, there isthe lighter feel of "Tungsten" and the experimentation of "Luna Park"and "The Marvellous Engines of Resistance" to offer a smattering ofstyles with equally pleasing results. As the album finally nears itsend, the true demons finally come out, and it's worth every measure. Asound debut, and much more than some of the buzz words make it out tobe.
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Finally, after a year and a half, the mercury prize for album of theyear, a stabbing, and endless amounts of hype-slipping across theAtlantic Ocean about a true slice of the U.K. Garage scene (unlike theamusing, but hardly definitive Original Pirate Material)landing stateside and demolishing the anemic backpacker underground,Dizzee Rascal has arrived. While it's difficult to say that anythinglavished with so much unyielding praise could ever live it down, Boy in Da Cornerdoes quite a bit to support it. It is a brilliant collection of bangersthat can be at times furious and frothing, and other times insightfuland contemplative. Rascal doesn't' fall prey to the run of the mill hiphop clich?, giving issues like violence and sexuality their due with amore sensitive eye than most. When others fall prey toself-contradiction and self-involvement, Dizzee finds a consistency andbalance, a sense of control-not bottled or volatile but reigned in,precise and deftly employed. His tracks are punctuated with off kilter,upside down beats that sound like they're coming from water damageddrum machines and synthesizers. They fall on top of each other in afilthy collision of thin, piercing claps of metallic shards and wobblynotes with a thick and heavy low end. The thick East London accent thatdominates his delivery decimates the sleepy flow of mainstream rapperslike 18 Cent as well as the squeaky bleats of American undergroundcounterparts like Aesop Rock. Rascal doesn't cop out and slack on hisbeats for the sake of his lyrics or mumble his way through his tracksto show off his production. His voice is ingrained in the music, asaggressive an instrument as the concussive pipe bomb percussion thatpropels him. "Stop Dat" is a knives-out assault, spitting lyrics acrossan adrenaline-fueled crush of ominous clashes and crunches. Everyslit-eyed glance and sized up plot comes across in his venomous accent."I Luv U" pairs Dizzee with the clearly annoyed vocals of JeanneJacques, trading chorus lines Positive K style over throbbing IDMbeats, and shows that Mike Skinner wasn't exactly telling the truthwhen he said "round 'ere we call 'em birds / not bitches." Along with"Jezebel," this track explores the male female interaction with askeptical and critical eye, lampooning careless sex andirresponsibility while bemoaning the devastating (and cyclical) resultsof teenage promiscuity. "Do It" is a sincere, contemplative piece whereDizzee reveals himself, going deeply into personal insecurity, fearsand doubts and closing with the decidedly upbeat notion that "you cando anything." Boy in the Corner is a devastating salvo thatwill leave Rascal's contemporaries (particularly those in the UnitedStates) shell shocked and dazed. This record will sit at the head ofthe pack and give everyone a target to aim for, whether it is toemulate it's successful formula or kill it with something even moreforward looking and fresh. Hopefully his example will provoke otherhip-hop, rap, garage, grime innovators to come forth and show whatthey've got, and serve as a warning to all those who are alreadystagnant that it's time to fix up and look sharp.
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Yeah is one of two new platters of tasty wax from DFA Records, certainly the most name-checked label since anyone gave a shit about Warp Records. James Murphy's LCD Soundsystem hasn't released a new 12" single since 2002's "Losing My Edge," even though private edition tracks like "Tribulations" and "Where Is Love?" have been popping up on file-sharing services over the past year. Rather than officially releasing one of the aforementioned tracks, Murphy's Soundsystem has crafted a new track aimed straight at clubs: a massive, obnoxious punk-disco meltdown destined to be the set-closing favorite of DJs everywhere in coming months.
The song is irresistibly epic, beginning in familiar snotty dance-punk territory and gradually transforming into a jagged, overamped slab of retro acid mayhem. The appropriately titled Side A is called "Yeah (Stupid Version)," which begins with cookie-cutter disco basslines and snares, with Murphy et. al. intoning the irritating, repetitive lyrics over and over. Gradually, the track builds momentum and slowly replaces its organic elements with acid-house artillery. By the end, the pupil-dilating synths and ricochet rhythms are riding roughshod over the blissed-out dancefloor. Side B contains the "Pretentious Mix," which transorms "Yeah" into a sophisticated excursion into urbane, metropolitan electro-disco, not miles away from Metro Area's R&B-inflected lounge music. I liked this one a lot, and it makes me wonder if LCD Soundsystem might be able to pull a full-length LP out of their collective ass at some future point. 
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DFA's other 12" release comes in the form of a double-sided vinyl from Delia L. Gonzalez and Gavin R. Russom. "El Monte" is one of the most convincing evocations of the synthesizer throb of Kraftwerk and Tangerine Dream I've ever heard. Plenty of artists aim for this—Anthony Rother, Pete Namlook and the entire FAX label roster come to mind—but few ever come close the intrigue and majesty that Gonzalez and Russom accomplish with this 15-minute mindbender. Hearing it, I immediately contacted my local planetarium to arrange a cosmic laser-light show synchronized to El Monte's dark electro-progressive pulses. They hung up on me, but that doesn't change my feelings about this track. Beginning in a rainstorm and ending in a dark alien jungle landscape, Gonzalez and Russom's dark, propulsive synths swoop and rotate, gathering momentum in the same way as Tangerine Dream's classic "Circulation of Events." The DFA Remix of "Rise" cannot help but be something of a letdown after Side A, but Murphy and Goldsworthy manage to balance their dance-friendly instincts with Gonzales and Russom's retro-space arpeggiations, turning in a good approximation of The Orb circa "Blue Room."
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Robin Saville and Antony Ryan return with their fourth album (and thirdfor Morr) since their inception in 1996. In keeping with their previouswork, Meet Next Lifecombines warm textures with cool soundscapes to create a thoroughlybalanced album of lush, often touching instrumental melodies that arenever overwrought. While their last record, Lucky Cat wasslightly more minimal, their latest finds the band carefully expandingtheir horizons, particularly in terms of diversity. The first track,"Birds Over Barges," brings crystalline acoustic guitar to the mix,adding a gauzy dimension to the sounds of the analogue synths. Fromthere, the songs slide and drift languidly into one another, andalthough the overall sound of the album is subtle and understated, ISANmanages to avoid lapsing into monotony. "One Man Abandon" and"Snowdrops and Phlox" are winsome lullabies, while "The Race To BeFirst Home" is winsomely playful with its jubilant xylophone sounds.The haunting title track, which brings Meet Next Life to a close, is strongly reminiscent of Brian Eno's Apollo.The best of the bunch, "Gunnera," amazingly brings all these elementstogether in what is definitely the signature piece of the album. I findit apt that ISAN chose black and white butterflies to adorn the coverof Meet Next Life as it speaks volumes about their gossamer simplicity. It is a record that is as elegant as it is modest.
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Russell's original singles — released under a variety of monikers such as Dinosaur L, Loose Joints and Indian Ocean — frequently trade hands for exorbitant prices. He worked with all the important figures of the nascent disco scene, notably Walter Gibbons and Larry Levan, and he co-founded the influential Sleeping Bag records. But more importantly, his work from this period is hauntingly beautiful, showcasing artistic focus, inspiration and genius rarely heard in dance music. Aside from the odd track appearing on recent compilations such as Strut's Disco Not Disco series and Soul Jazz's New York Noise, the bulk of his catalog has remained hopelessly out of print for two decades. Soul Jazz moves to rectify this situation with the release of The World of Arthur Russell, an essential disc collecting 11 of Russell's greatest avant-disco sides. As if this weren't cause enough for celebration, Soul Jazz made the smart decision to avoid rehashing the Russell tracks already made available on recent compilations, and they include many extended versions and alternate mixes that are particularly rare. It's far from an exhaustive collection, but the brilliant re-mastering and sequencing make for ideal listening, so it's hard to complain. The peculiar genius of Arthur Russell's idiosyncratic masterpieces is enticingly intangible, and cries out for deep listening and deconstruction. Tracks like the "Schoolbell/Treehouse" and "In The Light Of The Miracle" have an oceanic soulfulness that is entirely uncanny. Russell's palette is deceptively simple: clipped percussion and polyrhythms, scattered horns, the odd guitar or cello part, impressionistic keyboard improvs and the liberal use of echo. Arthur Russell was clearly influenced by the production techniques of dub reggae, unsurprising for an artist who entitled his personal album of solo cello compositions World of Echo. Russell takes his dub influences into previously uncharted waters, however, into psychedelic territories alien to the dance floor. When Russell himself contributes vocals, his bizarre, throaty delivery is pregnant with soul and detached sexuality. The stunning "Let's Go Swimming" utilizes odd time signatures with its skewed percussive throbs, forming an unstable foundation for Russell's space-cadet muttering. The chorus echoes and reverberates, bouncing off itself and forming concentric whirlpools that resolve themselves with each atonal swell of keyboard. There is a jarring, unobvious quality to this music that makes it unpredictable; I never really know what's coming next, a true rarity in beat-oriented dance music. "In The Light Of The Miracle" is a 13-minute plus epic, vaguely African percussion and elliptical melodies which leisurely transform into a laidback tribal groove that truly hypnotizes. The abstract sexuality of "Pop Your Funk" uses fingerpicked cello as a basis for a series of random instrumental fills that hold together tenuously, constantly threatening to fall apart, but miraculously forming a tight, tense groove. The more dance-friendly Paradise Garage favorites, like Larry Levan's remix of "Is It All Over My Face?" and Francois Kevorkian's mix of "Go Bang" are clear progenitors for the diva-driven house music that dominated the 1980's. Most classic disco, even the most flawlessly realized tracks by Giorgio Moroder or Cerrone, is ultimately self-referential and dependent upon its connection to borrowed nostalgia for the excesses of Studio 54. Arthur Russell's work stands virtually alone in its ability to transcend the familiar tropes and imagery of disco - it is music wholly redolent of windswept cornfields, banks of luminous whispering clouds, vast undulating oceans and the ghostly echoes of outer space.
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I can think of no instrument capable of drones as complex, distinct, orprimitive as those generated by the pipe organ. The experience ofsitting below a great organ's clustered form, letting its breath washthe length of a cathedral, can be compared to viewing one ofRembrandt's late self-portraits, watching as each square-centimeterteems with an infinity of golden life, an inner millennium findingperfect equivalent in the sustained blast of an organ note. As if itstextural prowess and sacred acoustics were not enough, the organrepresents also a milestone in the mechanization of musicalinstruments, making it a prime target for this kind of tribute, avirtual who's-who of Touch's roster, some of the most recognizablenames in electro-acoustic music, all willing to shed their respectiveskins and make some music created with, or inspired by, organ sounds.Thankfully, most everyone included manages to come at the pipes in athoughtful and largely unique way, making Spirean endlessly interesting, if not always enjoyable compilation. Therange of different approaches, which in many cases depart significantlyfrom their composers' tested styles, proves both a blessing and acurse, where the sequencing of the two discs inevitably interferes withthe enjoyment of the individual tracks. Many interesting pieces seem toend prematurely or appear dwarfed by the enormity or lavishness oftheir surroundings. The contributions of Philip Jeck and Leif Elggren,shorter tracks focusing on solitary, largely unadulterated organblasts, fail to stand out among the longer, similarly fundamental orminimalist approaches of Biosphere and BJNilsen. Likewise, some of themore concept-oriented inclusions end up sounding much better on paperthan on disc, one example being Finnbogi P?ursson's "Diabolus" in whichthe artist's homemade single-pipe organ creates a low-frequency toneinterval that in Medieval times was referred to the "devil in music"but is barely audible here. In contrast, other loosely-conceptual worksmake for some of the best material, like Z'EV's woozy "If only thatlove let's letting happen," based entirely on samples of Bach's organmusic found via a Google search, and Toshiya Tsunoda's ambient"Layered," produced by a homemade shortwave radio organ set outside ona midsummer night. Generally, tracks on the second disc make for themost enjoyable pieces because they are long enough to become thicklyatmospheric, to fill the room with the same arresting, monumental calmthat great cathedral organs produce. BJNilsen (aka Hazard) actuallycomposed "Breathe" for performance at St. Mary's Church in WarwickEngland. The half-hour piece, a simple, unfolding drone spanning hugeintervals on organs constructed as early as 1898, is one of Spire'smost spare works and one of its most impressive. Other highlights fromthe disc include an Oren Ambarchi and Tom Recchion piece originallyreleased on a limited IDEA 7"; it makes sense here because Recchionplays Hammond on the track, though it is admittedly more in line withAmbarchi's solo work that anything particularly "organ-inspired." Spireends with new music from field recording guru Chris Watson whose windrecordings become an allegory identifying the organ with the elementalor divine act of harnessing the air, as well as associating theinstrument with a image of majesty that seems wholly justified at theclose of such a compilation.
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- Z'EV - If only that love lets letting happen
- Toshiya Tsunoda - Layered
- BJNilsen - Breathe
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A single exposure to the brainstem-severing breakcore experimentationof Xanopticon's debut album led me to ask a vital yet curious question:Who needs drill 'n bass anymore? At this point on the electronic musictimeline, the recent output of once innovative and influentual artistslike Aphex Twin and Squarepusher pales in comparison to their earlierwork, creating a demand for new blood to take their place in thespotlight. Like his Hymen and Mirex labelmates Venetian Snares andFanny, Xanopticon's Ryan Friedrich seems poised to join, and perhapseven lead, this new world order. The dizzying array of spastic loopsand patterns on Liminal Spaceare composed of fractured beat shards and subtle atmospheres onceburied in the pit of a rogue sampler, but now unearthed. From the firstsquirming bleeps and belching kicks of the opener "Constant," itbecomes remarkably clear how the next 53 minutes are going to turn out.With a crisp and serious sound more akin to Autechre than Mu-Ziq,Xanopticon spews barrages of ferocious percussion at breakneck temposwith few reprieves along the way. Not suprisingly, melody plays asubtle and often subdued role here for the most part, taking a backseatto the hard pounding drumwork. There is little time to catch yourbreath during the microsecond-long dark ambient pauses that peppertracks like "These Days" and "Drunxpla." However, "Symphwrak" standsout as the true highlight of this release, starting off with a eerieminute of chilling chord progressions that serve as precursor for thenow-standard Xanopticon mayhem. Along the way, bizarre buzzing swirlingsynths force themselves into the forefront of the track for as long asthey can, overall truly embodying what could possibly be classified aspost-acid music, if I were to create a new subgenre on the fly. As Isaid here back when I first heard his contribution to 2002's Masonic compilation, Xanopticon is the new Venetian Snares. Hell, I think he might be even better. -
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There's a level of innocence and melodic clarity present on this discthat makes me wonder why it hasn't received more recognition. Then thedetermining factor hits me: this is too sweet, almost comical in itslazy strolling. Greg Davis obviously has an ear for gorgeous sounds anthe ability to craft elegant stretches of sound, but unfortuneately itseems as if he doesn't have the ability to create a coherent record.All the instrumentation is from traditional (i.e., non-electronic)sources and then warped and rearranged in various manners by way oflaptop. The heart of each instrument is present in the mix so eachinstrument is readily identifiable; the sound of rain, birds singing,and other environmental sounds make their way behind the instrumentsand then... nothing. Almost all of these songs have absolutely noprogression and if they do, it takes six minutes or so for any movementto happen. "Improved Dreaming" begins with the charming sounds of a toymusic box chirping away above the sounds of a cartoonish galaxy full oftwinkling stars and wisps of astral dust and then flows into the soundof woodwinds sighing out an exquisite melody... over and over and overagain. The whole thing runs six minutes plus but it could've had a morestunning effect at perhaps half that length. One track wouldn'tnormally bug me so much, but there's so much excellent happening thatit angers me at how dull it becomes because of repetition. And theproblem is infectious. I could do without the singing, too. While thealbum might intentionally have a whimsical feeling, the vocals don'tadd to that, they simply sound cheesey and a bit out of place. Curling Pnd Woodshas a lot of excellent spots, but those excellent spots wear offquickly. I recommend it in small doses; two tracks at a time is morethan enough too keep the sweetness level low and the monotony at aminimum. These tracks could've captivated me had they been released asa series of EPs or singles.
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