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Pele have always produced instrumental music that stuns and impresses, their live shows are never to be missed, and 2000's The Nudeswas a solid record with practiced musicianship and quality melodies.They're also incredibly autonomous, as guitarist Chris Rosenau is atalented recording engineer, so they can record anywhere with littlefuss. Their music is also quite feral in nature, as though it is a wildanimal that needs taming. Pele don't make music, they attack it, andthe story is no different on Enemies. In fact, they've steppedup the violence and are going for broke. These songs have a psychoticenergy, a fervor, that drives them along at a breakneck pace but alsohas the good sense to take a break now and then. The lineup is the sameas The Nudes with one very nice addition in Jon Minor oncomputer. His contributions are what really make this album shine, asthe strange voices and wirey noises give this music a new edge on theold blade. Rosenau's guitar has a fairly similar tone to the one it'shad previously, and the band is as cohesive as ever, even with thestrangeness of Minor's contributions. "Crisis Win" opens the album withJon Mueller's manic drumming and hand claps, and just unleashes on theears for a full eight minutes. Elsewhere, "Hooves" and "HospitalSports" show a new ambient Pele, with Minor's computer talents at theforefront. The energy is what makes their music so compelling, though,as when it returns on "Hummingbirds Eat," you can't help but crank thevolume and get moving. "Cooking Light," a nine-minute shuffle closesthe album, and captures the beautiful improvisation of the band at itsbest. This album is an old friend, a warm blanket, the glove that fitsevery time. With Minor, Pele is a new and brave band with a lot ofground to cover.
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While the latest release on Chemikal Underground is from a small groupof loud Glaswegans with soft tendencies, it bears a very importantdisclaimer that "this album does not feature members of any bands whoare more successful than we are." The group should need no referencepoint aside from themselves by this time, as their first album, 2001's A Story in Whitewas easily one of the best rock albums that year that most people neverheard. If there are any expectations, Aereogramme have nobody to blamebut themselves. Once again, the album opens with a raucous thud,"Indescretion #243," where the band firmly grabs your attention fromwherever it is with distorted guitars, loud drums, and vocals fromsinger/guitarist Craig B as fiery as his Scottish red hair. Notentirely unlike the opener from the last, it's not an entirelymemorable tune but it sure infectioulsly takes hostage of the psycheand stops all trains of thought. "Now that we've got your attention,let's give you something wonderful,..." is their familiar motive. Likeone of my favorite songs from 2001, "Post Tour Pre Judgement," the bandproceeds onwards with the second tune, "Black Path," which could easilybe one of the most fantastic songs currently out. It's through thisthat the band introduces their softer side without being any lessbombastic. Here, bells, strings, and special effects all add to thegrandeur of this humble quartet with stadium rock pipe dreams in a songstill tougher than any hair band ballad. While the experimentation withelectronics, fancy-schmantzy time signature changes, odd answeringmachine messages, and strings continues along with the occasionalscreams and quiet breakdowns throughout the record, I'm sadly leftthinking most of this album is technique over substance. While theirability and skills (both in performance and production) have becomenoticably stronger, I'm aching for some of the catchier songs like"Hatred," that would get stuck in my head days after hearing it. Notfor one minute is this album predictable. From the synthetic rhythms of"A Simple Process of Elimination," to the deceptively thrash opening of"Older," there's always an element of mystery as to what's lurkingaround the corner. This is somewhat refreshing for somebody who getsbored easily, but, adversely, can be hard to really get a full grip on,making the songs more difficult to really sink in. Songs like thealbum's other power ballad, "In Gratitude," really break through likeblinding rays of sunshine after a murky, tumultuous thunderstorm, butin the end, I think I'd choose to be more patient for a bettercollection of deeper songs that don't always sound like a thrash bandtrying to see how many wall hangings they can vibrate. Don't get mewrong, there isn't a low point on this album anywhere, but perhaps Imight have just expected something different. They will be touringagain in the next couple months and after seeing them three times onthe support of the last album, I can't recommend the live show enough.(Additional note: music videos are still available to view at thelabels' web sites.) -
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It's hard to talk about this album without referring back to thephenomenal track from 2001, "(This is the Dream of) Evan and Chan" byDntel, as that was the first collaboration between Death Cab forCutie's singer Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello, the one-man powerhousebehind Dntel. This was possibly one of my favorite songs from one of myfavorite albums of 2001, where chaos and mayhem was tied together by afrail, unobtrusive voice, quietly singing an almost nonsensical cartoonstory. Naturally, this type of collaboration, which yielded results noless than monumental, opened the opportunity for future works betweenthe two entities with potentially similar results. The end result,however, this disc, has got to be one of the weakest pieces ofelectronic dribble since Anything Box. I swear, I've heard numerousrougher, tougher, more ballsy recordings from other electronic maleduos like the Pet Shop Boys, Soft Cell, and Electronic. Even Erasuresounds like a mannish testosterone-fuelled rockhouse compared to ThePostal Service! Whereas Tamborello's music as Dntel was clearly notwritten for the sole purpose of being the backdrop of vocals, it wasnot dependent on a singer, the music could have clearly stood alone.The disjunct rhythms, distorted sounds and unpredictable melodies whichcommanded attention are all completely gone and forgotten, as the musichere sounds like a half-assed attempt to make lame pop ditties. Themelodies are dull and unchallenging, whipped together with presetkeyboard sounds and only a minimal amount of thought put intoarrangement. Gibbard's vocals certainly don't help much, as by thethird track I'm feeling nauseous. The addition of female vocals seemsboth pointless and generic as girls (ironically each named Jennifer)don't usually take the opportunity to harmonize, but simply sing thesame notes as Gibbard, only an octave higher. The album's titlecouldn't be more appropriate, as the two could have easily madesomething incredible, but in the end, decided to simply give up.
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After concentrating on other projects for most of last year including film soundtracks, remixes and sessions for other artists such as Tori Amos and Afro Celt Sound System, Wobble returns with a new solo album on his own label. Perhaps it's too solo.
Fly begins promising enough as a few of the (unimaginatively numbered) tracks float Harry Beckett's mildly effected muted trumpet over a typically massive bass guitar groove and programmed beats, three being especially jazzy. "Two" is a solid, up-tempo pop number if you don't pay too close attention to Wobble's daft, half sung lyrics and concentrate instead on the driving bass and backdrop wails of trance veteran Cat Von-Trapp. But from here things get surprisingly bland, first with a soundtrack-like mid-section. Sandwiched between the aimless organ and piano progressions of tracks "Four" and "Six" is an inane spoken story, a near eight minute waste of space that won't stand-up to repeated listening. "Seven" brings the bass and beat back but some synth, pipes and flutes do little to spice up the rhythm. "Nine" reclaims the glory with a bouncy bass line, recalling classic Public Image a bit, and supple sax layers by Charlotte Glasson. The finale simply retreads the vibe of track one for a tedious nine and a half minutes. Altogether, Fly lacks purpose, focus and flavor. Wobble fares better in full-fledged collaborations like Shout At The Devil, with Temple of Sound, Passage to Hades, with Evan Parker and Molam Dub, with Molam Lao, not to mention his short-lived stint in The Damage Manual.
samples:
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After their brilliant 1995 album, Sargasso Sea, the band seemed to start losing focus, and the quality of their records took a downturn. The resulting output was often mediocre and meandering. On Dark Island, however, they have once again come into their own, recapturing the cohesion and clarity of their early work. Pram's overall sound is generally the same: it's as if the band were locked in a toy store after it closed for the day, and recorded an album with anything they encountered that could produce noise. Add to that the light, endearingly imperfect vocals of Rosie and her lyrics that read like pages torn from someone's diary of dreams. What makes Dark Island not only different, but more successful than previous works is that it manages to be diverse while maintaining a sense of wholeness. Opening the album is "Track of the Cat," a playfully exotic instrumental piece layered with echoing, slithery rhythms which parallels a later track, "Sirocco," which would have been perfectly at home in one of Jess Franco's late '60s psycho-sleaze movies. The film noir styling of "Penny Arcade" and "The Pawnbroker" precede the gleeful "Paper Hats" and the moody yet warm "Peepshow." Chimes, whistles, xylophones, and lilting keyboards can be found in every nook and cranny. "Goodbye," the eighth track, starts to wind Dark Island down with a lullaby which stands out as one of the best songs the band has ever done, and the delicate cosmic twang of "Leeward" sounds as if it could have come directly from Brian Eno's Apollo. Pram have truly outdone themselves on this delightful record.
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In print once again is the CD edition of "Sumac," a 71+ minute extended version of the same track which originally appeared on a one-sided transparent 12" single released in 1997 by Robot. For the duration of the track, a solid bass tone underscores while unidentifiable flying objects and whispery homemade wind instruments play and reverberate madly.Integrated Circuit
At loud volumes, the experience is nothing short of intense. Listening to the full duration, however, is most certainly an exercise in patience and stamina. What makes this recording so eerie is perhaps the fact that it's actually going backwards, something that's not strikingly clear until the last moments, where it seems every phantom instrument, shrouded in effects, reveal themselves only in time for everything to come to a sudden, and unexpected halt.
Possibly the reason why this fetches for such a high price at online auctions is its striking similarity to drone recordings by Chalk with Organum years before this. While this is a marvelous recording, I don't recommend paying exorbitant prices for it and now that it's in print again, it's not necessary.
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Amidst the flurry of 21st Century Throbbing Gristle activity quietlycomes something new from Genesis P-Orridge. The appearance of this 7"is modest enough—black vinyl with no more than credits on the whitelabel and a see-through sleeve—but what's hidden within the grooves ismuch more colorful. Side A is a collaboration with Carl Abrahamsson andThomas Tibert, now known as Cotton Ferox (formerly known as WhiteStains circa their 1990 collaboration with P-Orridge on At Stockholm).The foundation of "Word Ship" seems to be ethnic percussion loops as anambient haze fills in patches like a fog. Genesis matter-of-factlyanswers his own questions, like "where do you live?," "I travel,""where are you from?," "I just travel," "where were you born?," "I'malways traveling," "what do you do?," "I travel," and finally, "wherewould you be?," "traveling." The track taps the same sort ofpsychedelic dream vibe of Psychic TV's under appreciated Trip Resetalbum from 1996. The "Cosmopolitan Dub" is altogether differentmusically with more sound effects and chorus-effected beats. Side B isby Thee Majesty, GP-O's post-PTV group with Bryin Dall on guitars andLarry Thrasher on percussion and samplers. "Soul Searching" wasrecorded on Alcatraz, oddly enough, and complements the sound of theother side nicely. Genesis recites words in a narcotic deadpan over adirge and deep drum loop reminiscent of PTV's quasi-tribal-technoperiod. What a pleasant surprise. I'm happy to hear Genesis and friendsfurther explore these auras. Side B also includes 23 (of course) lockedgrooves, recycled matter from the songs, by Deftly-D of VoidstarProductions. More blasts from the past are on the way as much ofPsychic TV's back catalog is being reissued by the UK's VoiceprintRecords, beginning in March.
- Genesis P-Orridge & Cotton Ferox "Word Ship"
- Genesis P-Orridge & Cotton Ferox "Word Ship (Cosmopolitan Dub)"
- Thee Majesty "Soul Searching"
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In the 1990s, the Young Gods could have been found releasing albums onsizable international record labels and touring with big acts likeMinistry. Things have been relatively quiet, however, in the last fiveyears for the Swiss-based 21 year old group. Various side projects byAlain Monod as Al Comet and Franz Treichler with Heaven Deconstructionwere indicative of a split, but after recruiting Bernard Trontin ondrums in 1999, the Young Gods began working on this, their sixth studioalbum. Treichler's vocals are more tamed now than before, set against acrystal clear produced version of futuristic space rock. More thanever, the Young Gods sound like The Doors of the space age or apsychedelic version of their fellow countrymen, Yello. Comparisonsalone, however, don't do them justice. The Young Gods explore aslightly creepy, unsettling urban atmosphere. Starting off withstraight-forward drum and bass-influenced electronic rock in"Lucidogen," they get more and more into their own strange breed ofmodern psychedelia. The album builds in a suspense song after songuntil it reaches its peak with "Toi Du Monde," the album's longesttrack. Here, a heavy beat is paired with whispered French and Englishvocals, resulting in a crushing sound with irresistable grooves, andperhaps an attempt for the "Young" Gods not to appear middle-aged, whencompared to the light-hearted instrumental, "Love 2.7." Hopefully,there won't be another 3-4 years until the next album as it seems theYoung Gods have only begun to build up steam again.
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With last year's Octopus Off-Broadway,Parlour showed their rare ability to set your cerebral cortex ablazetrack after track. The album just never let up. In keeping with thistheme, Tim Furnish and Co. release Googler, only nine monthsafter Parlour's debut, not letting fans of the first album catch theircollective breath. From the looks of things, Parlour may be able tokeep up this pace. All of these tracks were recorded three to fiveyears ago, suggesting that this group has a lot of music in the canwaiting merely for polishing and mixing. It's anything but canned,though: Googler is certainly a polished release. Again, Parlouris able to keep me glued to the speakers with infectious grooves andtrippy elements. From the first track, it's almost business as usual on"Jololinine," where interweaved guitar lines and thudding bass lay thegroundwork for percussions, both real and sampled. "Distractor" isalmost a departure, with a workhorse beat and driving energy, driven byan almost manic bassline and steady powerful drums. Then it's back toclassic Parlour: "Over the Under" is the Spider-Man theme of the 21stcentury—an underneath-the-skin builder with great effects and hypnoticrhythm. Parlour just make it all sound so easy. Maybe too easy. Some ofthe same tricks on Octopus are also here, with "Hop Pife,"containing the same eerie effect from the first track on that album butextending it out far further and with greater success. Thus, eventhough you may hear some of the same elements you've heard before, themusic never bores you. "Pife" is one of the album's best tracks, thesoundtrack to any number of my future dreams with no explanation, andalso its longest. The album closer, "Svrendikditement" brings it allhome. Distorted beat samples, keyboard washes, and xylophone make forstrange bedfellows, but it's still utterly compelling. I call it a vastimprovement. The song "Over the Under" is available in its entiretyover at Temporary Residence.com if the 60-second samples below don'tsatisfy.
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After two excellent albums that marked a daring new direction, it seemsthat Nick Cave has decided to stop and smell the roses. This album ismore a reflection on the twenty years of music he has made with the BadSeeds than it is a step forward. Instead of picking up where 2001's No More Shall We Partleft off, Cave has attempted to craft an album that marries the rawsound of his earlier releases with his more refined recent efforts. Theresult, unfortunately, is a schizophrenic album whose best songs sufferdue to a lack of cohesion.
It's not that Nocturama is badfrom start to finish, what really plagues it is its uneven quality.Cave fails in properly directing the Bad Seeds to create a mood to thealbum. While the opening tracks are very solid, they hold too close tothe path set by the last two albums and make little progress. Thestrikingly rocking (and horrible) "Dead Man in My Bed" provides anawkward pit stop in the middle of the album. This song sees Caveregress light years lyrically, and muscally it sounds as if he istrying to force himself to reclaim the explosive energy of earlyreleases. While it is a relief that he immediately retreats back to thecalm and collected sound he has clearly become more comfortable with,Cave's placement of this track right in the middle makes the album adifficult listen. This track would have worked better if placed towardsthe end of the album, as is done with the intense closer. "Babe I'm OnFire" is a great success and gives evidence that despite, "Dead Man,"Cave is still able to rant along perfectly when the Bad Seeds decide toplay their hardest. Every second of this 15-minute long tirade isabsolutely essential and both astonising and disappointing. For if Cavecould have found the proper bridge from "Wonderful Life" to "Babe I'mOn Fire," instead of a messy collection of occasionally uninspiredsongs, then this would have been a much better record.
Nick Cave has raised the bar so high that expectations demand a great album, not simply just a few great songs. Nocturamawas recorded in seven days and it shows. The Bad Seeds at their bestare not spontaneous but deliberate, lets hope the next one takes thatinto consideration.
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- Michael Patrick Brady
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Tradition and innovation are powerful forces, always tugging, tearingat each other, one struggling to hold on, and the other struggling tobreak free. This is a tension observable right now in our culture, asthe means of producing electronic music becomes available to mostanyone with a personal computer and an idea, these new concepts of whatconstitutes artistic expression often clash with established notions ofwhat makes something real or true. These are cultural growing pains, asensation of vertigo that comes with progress and the flexing ofboundaries. On Death of the Sun,Cul de Sac takes both tradition and innovation and uses themingeniously to create harmony from tension. The members of Cul de Sacbegan by assembling a myriad of sources and samples from antique vinylrecords to ambient forest and city soundscapes. These sources were thenelectronically manipulated and modified to serve as a musical spine forthe piece. Throughout the album, fuzzy, distant voices drift inmomentarily amidst clicks and static. The electronic foundation issolid, and its intricacy makes this an amazing headphone listen. Addingeven more layers of complexity, the members of Cul de Sac respond tothis electronic foundation, counter-pointing the synthetic and thetreated with acoustic instruments like violins, guitars, melodicas, anddrums. Their response was not to canned, prepared pieces, but toelectronic sequences that were played live and on the spot duringrecording. On "Dust of Butterflies," a lone acoustic guitar unfolds amusic box melody that itself is sampled and looped over theelectronically modified snapshot of a five-part harmony found on arecord from 1933. "Turok, Son of Stone" consists of a building chorusof primeval percussion that is visceral in its attraction. Thepercussive theme continues through the dark, insistent "Death of theSun," churning dirt and dust before fading away with an aching violin.The final piece, "I Remember Nothing More" samples a minute of an old78-RPM record of Creole songs released in 1940. The singer, AdelaideVan Wey's voice peeks through the tender acoustic guitar, the vinylscratches and fuzz casting her like a faraway, fading transmission. Theeffect is eerie, listening to her soulfulness repurposed in thismanner. The clash between traditional and innovative comes togetherhere, and for a moment, Cul de Sac has made them one concept, oneexpression of clarity. Death of the Sun is a fascinating album,fusing so many seemingly dissonant threads and melding innovative ideasand techniques with traditional sounds and sensibilities.
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