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Now this is what electronic-tinged folk is supposedto sound like. After all the hype that this sub-genre has received,after countless hit-and-miss or just plain miss releases, let it beknown that Davide Balula gets it right. Pellicule is his debutfull-length and it shows a tremendous gift for melody and mixing it alltogether just so, with no glaring errors or flaws from which pointsshould be deducted. Balula doesn't just write songs: he createsatmospheres for his little organisms to cohabitate or war against eachother or form parasite-host relationships. The emphasis is on the notesthat are played, and what is used to create them is almost incidental.Most tracks do not even feature vocals, and it's of little consequence,as the warm tones and noodling devices still sound like the outpouringof a very genuine heart. When there are words they are in English orFrench, and those on the album's opener are convoluted and random atbest, but then that's kind of the point. This is supposed to be musicthat requires examination before its ultimate purpose is realized.Every time I listened to this record I picked up something I hadn'theard before, and it differed when I was playing it in my car, on myhome stereo, or on my portable with headphones. These are just pure,sweet, guitar-based laments with pulsating beats and processed breaksgalore. At the end of it all, it's a compelling and heartfelt creation,one that is sure to infect anyone who takes it on.
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Jah Wobble has long sought inspiration from afar but here he turns his attention back to his homeland. With local singer Liz Carter and longtime collaborators Jean-Pierre Rasle and Chris Cookson, Wobble re-tools medieval and Victorian era songs in his own image. And that is key for this is a Jah Wobble album through and through despite the subject matter, his tireless dub inspired bass lines underpinning Rasle's pipes, Cookson's guitar and loops and Carter's hearty vocals. Ewan MacColl's "Cannily Cannily" is the lone contemporary song. It bounces along nicely but its words and references are so rooted in history they're lost on me. All of the traditionals are fine but "Banks Of The Sweet Primrose" is the loveliest of the lot as Carter's longing vocal is backed by a haunting pipe drone, gently caressed acoustic guitar and a lulling bass line. "The Unquiet Grave" is a perfect example of the musings on life, love and loss within these songs: "cold blows the wind to my true love and gentle drops the rain / I only had but one true love, in the green wood he lies slain / I'll do as much for my sweetheart as any young maid may / I'll sit and mourn all on his grave for twelve months and one day". It's notable that the four instrumental interludes written by Wobble and Cookson are like-minded but noticeably different. The garish electric guitar squealing in "They Came With A Swagger" detracts from the proceedings but "English Reprise" ("Cannilly" revisited) more than makes up for it with ghostly slide guitar. English Roots Music is another winner from the prolific Wobble, simply one of nine from the past three years by my count.
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Frenetic electronic music just makes me want to get in the car, step on the gas, and push my poor American-made contrivance to its limit. Damn the pedestrians in my town, damn them to hell, as I slam the right pedal to the floor and turn on the windshield wipers like some crazed Kurgen-like beast with a cackling laugh and no remorse. Then, as I am rudely awakened from my fantasy by my alarm clock, I realize it was just the music that put my brain in this state. It's Tim Perkis' Motive, and it is villain music of the finest caliber.
Originally released as an MP3 album in 2002, it now gets a more proper release via Praemedia, and it deserves a dedicated airing from any fan of experimental electronic music. Perkis' work has always been cogent and influential, and his ventures into sonic landscapes and braver instrumentation are especially noteworthy. On Motive, it would appear the purpose is to place the listener into various modes, where they are willing subjects capable of producing work of the master. The computer skips and epileptic beats meet with scratches and blurbs that coagulate and split almost simultaneously. And that's just the first track. Elsewhere the pulses are subdued, with car alarm-like whistles and hums augmenting the somewhat odd progression of noise. It's like the work of some genius mad scientist in the realm of mind control or neural implants, and what you're hearing is the signals that are sent to the drones. It may make your foot twitch, it may make your head jerk, but it will certainly cause your ears to perk up at attention. This is the work of a true artist, and it is bound to be both adored and misunderstood.
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- Martin Pavlinic
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Though it seems easy to write charming and triumphant pop anthems, Howard Hello show how that's just the problem; it seemseasy. Just as playing minimal soundscapes in the style of Tarentel(whose Kenseth Thibideau leads Howard Hello) seems like no more thanholding 2-3 note patterns for ages, attempts I've seen by less skilledpeople prove otherwise. Howard Hello succeed when they work with thetextures and avoid the hooks. On mostly instrumental songs like "FalseHope" and "And as always, Night turns into day," gorgeous analogkeyboard warmth stumbles around sparse song structures and delicatefemale backing vocal textures, creating a playful but melancholy world.The problems arrive when the lead vocals make attempts at anthemic popmusic. For the most part, they don't ironically play on tropes to showhow clever they are, but it's almost more problematic. They write popsongs as if they figured that to make the music different from the moreexperimental fare they're better known for, they need to dumb it down.Instead of focusing on intricacies, they throw down piles of half-bakedhooks that repeat ideas that were tired before they even sang them. Theseeming climax of the album, the six and a half-minute "Way To Go,"brings the problem to a whole other level. I can't decide whichpossibility is worse: did they purposefully try to create a trite"triumphant" singalong in the vein of "Freedom '90" by George Michael,or did they really think what they were doing was interesting on itsown? The completely incongruous-sounding closing track, "Ending," doesa nice job of saving them, clearing the palette with a sweet acousticmelody and wide-eyed vocals, but the pain of the previous song hasalready erased much of the nice things that started the record off.
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The debut release by this Louisville, KY, musician is cut from a verysimilar grain as the recent works by Jon DeRosa and Nathan Amundson,though with the added twist of a very clever sense of humor. Barnesdoesn't take himself too seriously on these songs even though they areof the most intimate sort, recorded over a year in his bedroom likesome indie-folk Moby. He does wear his influences a bit too proudly onhis sleeve, though, even covering "Anyway..." by Rivulets and thankingthe obvious objects of comparison in the liner notes. I'll forgive thatany day, though, when the work is this full of promise and yetbrilliantly quirky all in the same moment. Barnes plays all theinstruments on Acrobat,which basically amounts to guitar and minimal percussion, but thesimplicity of this music and his vocal presence make it seem like somuch more. The title track is sickeningly sweet but with a morbid edge,as the narrator falls for a girl like an acrobat who plummets from thewire. Barnes sings about her picking up his limbs and putting them backin their sockets before the vultures come and it's still the sweetestsong about love I've heard this year. The songs run the gamut ofemotions and situations, from swerving into oncoming traffic on "GamesWe Play on Road Trips" to unrequited love that turns to murder on "waitFor Her" (incidentally, any folk song that actually uses the word"shiv" soars to the top of my list instantly). Barnes is notnecessarily an innovator, but his debut album is accomplishednonetheless; not too shabby for a 21-year-old college dropout.
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- Michael Patrick Brady
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The members of the Love Depression were 17 and 18 years old when theyrecorded this album in their native Venezuela in 1968. They were loversof rock music, and like many teenagers they started a band to paytribute to their idols. Unlike a lot of garage bands that have beenuncovered by a number of compilations, The Love Depression does not domuch to aspire to "lost classic" status. With only one original songthat bows at the temple of Cream and Hendrix, and eleven covers ofvarious hits of the 1960's, The Love Depressionis a strong contender for the least essential release of the year.Their repitoire revolves around the hits of their era (and much ofclassic rock radio today). From "Crossroads," attributed to RobertJohnson in the credits yet clearly more informed by Eric Clapton, to"Stone Free," it's a pretty mundane ride through the jukebox. There aresome surprises, like the appearance of Otis Redding's "Sweet SoulMusic," and some inexplicable choices like Cream's "Toad" complete withextra-long drum solo. It's not exactly up to Ginger Baker standards.Take that however you wish. When singer Jesus "Torito" Toro throwhimself into Procol Harum's "Whiter Shade of Pale," it's difficult tosort through the mixed emotions that the song provokes. On the onehand, there is the disappointment of having to endure the tunelessrendition. On the other hand, I found myself becoming angry. The onlymotivation for releasing this that I can conceive of is so these trackscan be relegated to ironic mix tapes or goofy soundtracks so everyonecan laugh when he pushes through the lyric about "sissteen vestalbirrrrgins" through his thick, Venezuelan accent. Musically, theycapture the song decently, but it's hardly anything special. I don'tknow if it's the sense of earnestness in which they perform "WhiterShade of Pale," or the memory of the original song in my mind, but bythe song really did affect me. Not in a transcendent, revelatory waythat so-called lost classics should, but in a rather gloomy way,skeptical about the potentially sneering motivations and intentionsbehind the release. Their cringe inducing cover of Percy Sledge's "Whena Man Loves a Woman" manages to produce an effect I like to call"sympathetic embarrassment," the feeling you get when you areembarrassed for the performer, but god bless them for getting up thereand trying it. These performances are usually followed by loud, yetuneasy applause. The Love Depression sounds like a moderately talentedcover band whose singer does his best to work around those foreignpronunciations and his unfortunate tendency to bleat and slur thewords. There's something to be said for culling the archives forridiculous, obscure records that serve no other purpose than to amusemodern tastes. Usually they involve singing Christian puppets oroverblown, pretentious "what were they thinking" acts. The LoveDepression seems like a bunch of guys who just wanted to have funplaying their favorite songs, and though they don't exactly stand thetest of time, I don't think they deserve excess ridicule. If youdisagree, I have an old cassette of my high school band doing a musicalversion of T.S. Eliot's "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" thatsegues into "Born Under a Band Sign" I'd be willing to sell you. Ihonestly hope no one uncovers that in thirty years.
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LPD fans are once again rewarded for their patience with the issue of a classic cassette-only release. Traumstadt 1is an important artifact in the history of the Dots and the wait waswell worth it. The original release was the first in a series ofcassette issues that started off by reissuing earlier deletedcassettes. It was later followed up with other live and studiocomilations and even one with all new material. Most of which hassurfaced through various CD compilations like Stained Glass Soma Fountains, Under Triple Moons, The Legendary Pink Box, Prayer for Aradia, and the live CD-Rs released on Terminal Kaleidoscope. This one contains the full releases of both Apparition and Atomic Roses, each which first surfaced in 1982. Much like the release of Basilisk,the remastering job is simply amazing, given the original sources werevery primitive cassette recordings. Additionally, the annoyance ofhaving a multitude of songs sharing a track is present again. Atomic Rosesopens with what was side one of the original tape release. "Part 1" isa collection of six songs, including "Closet Kings," which appeared on The Legendary Pink Box,"Sex," (an alternate version of "Violence," with the words completelydifferent), the charming "What's Next," some playful noodlings andbackwards bits. "Hauptbahnhof," (also appearing on The Legendary Pink Box)opens "Part 2," which also includes "Passing Thought" and two earlyversions of "Atomic Roses." While a number of these songs are familiarto LPD fans, it's an almost voyeuristic treat to hear them in thecontext of their original work without the overbearing hiss thataccompanies the original quiet recordings. One of the remarkableobservations any Dots fans can also make from these recordings is howtight the band actually was at such an early point, with a talentedbass guitarist, Roland Calloway matched with subtle, primitive synths(uncredited to the Silverman - perhaps he wasn't actually on theserecordings), drum machines and Edward Ka-Spel's refrained voice. Apparitionis equally rewarding, but more sounding like cute bedroom demos,opening with cheesy video game samples and cheap Casio-like keyboards.Included in each of the mixes are early versions of "God Speed," "ThePlague," and the only appearance of "Premonition 3." Despite Atomic Roses listing the members including Barry Gray on guitar and Patrick Paganini (Wright) on violin, it isn't until the songs on Appraritionthat the two are prominently heard. It's this combination which laterevolved into the sounds on early LP releases that captivated labelslike Play It Again Sam and overseas licenses from WaxTrax!, Caroline,and eventually Soleilmoon. The disc closes with a bonus track, "NoBell, No Prize (Version Ridiculous)," only previously available on anobscure various artists cassette compilation and surprisinglyappropriate (given the history of LPD reissue) as it's from the sameera as the rest of the material contained. Once again, Beta-Lactam'sfont choice leaves much to be desired, but they did get the artworkfrom original releases, which is nice to see. Truth be told, I'm muchmore a fan of straight up reissues like this than aforementionedcompilations tossed together from various sources which often omitsongs here and there. There's still more stuff left in the vaults fromthe Dots, like Traumstadt 4, Chemical Playschool 1 & 2, and other odds and ends so let's hope this campaign doesn't end here.
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I'd never heard of the Monkey Power Trio before their latest and eighthrelease, and that may not be all that surprising. For the past eightyears, the band has met in a common location to play and record for oneday together. No live shows. No rehearsals. One day together for thepurposes of recording a seven-inch single that they will releasethemselves. They do this without any real knowledge of the instrumentsthey take into their hands even. In what may be the greatest inverse tothe theory that poor concept equals poor output, however, these popgems continue to improve with each release. The MPT honor theiroriginal gimmick fervently, insisting they will hold to it until allthe other members are dead and the sole remaining member records a soloalbum.This stuff is just too bizarre to pass up, even though the melodies andmusicianship are clearly in the amateur category. "I Love My Life" is asimple declaration with lyrics about strolling the streets of Athens,GA, and a crumhorn that won't hurt the beautiful babies, but thenregresses into simple rock chords and screams of the title. "Mike Smithis Evil," on the other hand, is a strange mellow trip into the problemof its namesake, complete with the "evil" vocal delivery and oddsynthesizer. It's juvenile, but all in good fun, and represents thefinest melody the band possesses on the release. Side B is more of thesame, with "Almost Clear" taking a few cues from scientology andexperimentalism to create a dreamlike wash, and "Systematic Problem"dissolving it all in a wash of noise and childlike banter. As it fadesout, it's reminiscent of when the PRMC would play records backward atpress conferences in order to prove satanic messages were within.
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The recent hype surrounding German labels like Shitkatapult and BPitchControl has failed to implicate these labels? English brother, AIRecords, an imprint that has achieved a similar, and consistentlyexciting blend of vintage electro, house, and IDM as of late. New Townis the first AI dual-format compilation, and all-exclusive, it servesas the perfect introduction to a label whose reputation is clearly notdue to the relative obscurity of its earlier releases. The compprovides an archly fluid listen; it's an impeccably picked and pacedjourney through the AI roster. I was so involved during first listenthat I had to scan some of the gaps later to check if the disc was acontinuous mix. (It is not.) The music travels from the balls-out,trance-induced techno of Andy Freer who opens the disc, to ADJ's grittyatmospherics, to SWF's aggravated ghetto tech and back in the span ofonly a few minutes. The sounds of Detroit and vintage Warp mingle mostbeautifully in tracks by label posterboy Claro Intelecto. Intelectoappears twice in New Town, first with the eerie, Drexciyanelectro of "Delete," a song grounded by a single, oscillated, andpositively electric synth note, and next with the light, syncopatedrhythms of "Breathless," which threatens to drift into sweet oblivionif not for groaning bass underneath it all. Other tracks like Fold's"Donna Hectic" integrate unlikely machine drones into low-level,foot-stomping electro that remains thoroughly accessible; T.R.I.P.'s"Donald Plays Techno" sees cold atmospheric strains butting in on anot-so-subtle disco groove. The common thread, though, is always thesongs' emotional resonance, which suffers no shortage on New Town.While other electronic labels may rely heavily on conceptual odditiesor alien sound sources to make their records go, AI seems to have itsheart planted firmly on its sleeve. Whether or not this is due to the(somewhat) overstated influence of certain Warp artists may be open todiscussion, but this cannot detract from the simple irresistibility ofeverything included here. New Town could be the best, most soulful electronic compilation I've heard all year.
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- Claro Intelecto - Breathless
- ADJ - Mashup
- T.R.I.P. - Donald Plays Techno
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The new album from Laika couldn't have arrived in a more a timelymanner for me and the rest of the Boston-based fans. As I listened tothe first song, "Girl Without Hands," words from the chorus sprung out:"White snow is falling down / falls down hits the ground," as NewEngland's first snow of the season fell. Laika's fourth album, like thefirst snowfall of the season (as anybody who experiences snow knows),is beautiful, but somehow doesn't quite stick the first time.Stylistically, Whatever I Am I Am What Is Missingfalls in line with its predecessors: chunky yet elegant instrumentation(live, electronic, sampled and programmed) balanced out by Fiedler'sairy vocals and poetic lyrics. However, at ten songs, the new album ismore concise than the almost overpacked Sounds of the Satellites and more cohesive than the drifting Good Looking Blues, and this is where it truly succeeds. Overall, it also has a richer, more mature sound. The only place where Whatever I Am seems to be lacking is in the strength of its songwriting. Laika settheir own standard for brilliance in this area with tracks like"Looking for the Jackalope," "Uneasy," or "Breather," all of whichimmediately leap out even after just one listen. Only "Alphabet Soup,"with its lilting chorus even approaches being a fresh out-of-the-boxattention-grabber, while the other songs tend to fade into thebackground and get lost amongst each other. This is not to suggest thatthe songwriting is poor, but simply that there isn't as much that makesfor as compelling a listen as what Fiedler & Fixsen haveaccomplished already.
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For the last five years, The Magic Carpathians Project have released ahandful of superlative but criminally ignored albums ofethno-psychedelia. The core of the group is vocalist Anna Nacher andinstrumentalist Marek Stycynski, who was the leader of the seminalPolish psychedelic-progressive rock band Atman for 25 years. TheCarpathians are augmented by a constantly revolving line-up of guestmusicians. Their sublime Ethnocoretrilogy impressed me with its haunting melodies and deep psychedelicdrones, based on cross-germinations of traditional folk of their nativePoland together with indigenous music and instruments from around theglobe. The Magic Carpathians utilize transcendental combinations ofharmonium, hurdy-gurdy, accordion, guitar, violin, sitar and Carpathianwoodwinds harmonized with more modern conceits such as vintagesynthesizers, tape loops and field recordings. Their unique hybridseems perfectly in line with the nomadic gypsy culture of Carpathia.The gypsies originated in India and traveled throughout the world,settling in the Middle East, Africa, Eastern Europe, Great Britain andSoutheast Asia, gathering disparate cultural influences along the way.The Carpathians' mindbending new album Euscorpius Carpathicusadds Outer Space to the list of regional influences, concentrating onsparse cosmic settings, atmospheric production and haunted vocals. It'sa conscious move away from the massive drones of previous releases.This is clear from the opening track "Fishyfish," a loosely improvisedassemblage of Chinese and Slovakian flutes set against the galacticripples of an EMS VCS311. The ghostly "Lavender, Satin &Gingerbread" features the fragile vocals of Anna Nacher, recallingBjork's intimate delivery on Vespertine. For "Pawpaw Girl" themulti-tracked vocals are at the fore, as a meandering bass and a forestof gentle chimes answer her plaintive intonations: "Straight to thegarden/until I find/a way below the surface/below the waterfall". "FatMoon" is the album's most evocative track, a 12-minute ambient lunarorbit featuring delicately reverberating guitars and eerie saxophonesqueals that leave vaporous trails of ectoplasm in their wake."Amp.ass" is an atonal clamor of chaotic free-jazz, assisted by thenoisy distortions of an overloaded guitar amp. The tense, forwardmomentum of "Water On the Hill" operates as an invocation to nature,cyclical layers of trancelike guitar ornamented by synthesizedbirdcalls. With Euscorpius Carpathicus, The Magic Carpathianshave expanded their already impressive musical scope even further,without losing that essential spark of creative intuition thatconsistently impregnates their music with its uniquely spectral beauty.
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