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The year was 2001. I was in Columbubs, Ohio selling merchandise for a touring band when I only briefly shook hands with a friend of the guitarist, a really charming young gentleman named Brian. The following year, I was completely blown away by the sounds Brian (as Boom Bip) was generating in collaboration with the rap of Dose One in a small concert in Boston. I look back on that one concert night with fond memories as the sound was loud and the feeling was wonderful. Later on that year, he released his album, "Seed to the Sun." After Hollywood caught wind of the phenomenal breakthrough, he was soon composing film scores left and right and nobody ever heard from Brian again. His success was rightfully deserved, however. On the first seconds of that album he wowed the crowd by his sharp sense of musical composition, structure, playing abilities and production smarts, with an electronically-based driving beat layered by live bass guitar playing and thoroughly enjoyable musical progressions. From track to track, the feeling varied (ear-tingling beat-less digital drones of "Pules All Over," a campy drunken trumpet calliope on the brief "Newly Weds," a raspy rap by Buck 65 on "The Unthinkable," and the nasal, beat-poetry prose of Dose One on, "Mannequin Hand Trapdoor I Reminder") but the consistency never faltered. Influenced by hip-hop beats, New Order-esque high-fretboard bass guitar playing, synth pop, sampleadelics and space rock, Boom Bip was indeed a well-rounded child, albeit a bit unfocused at times, yet impressively talented.
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In a word, this quartet's second album is simply "unavoidable," in that the minute the bombastic hippie rock sounds in, all other ambient sounds are eclipsed. It's due to the combination of fuzzy guitar, over-distorted vocals, a messy wash of cheap effects and quiet breaks much like the rustling of wind chimes and dangling outdoor objects in Kansas as the sky grows from blue to black, moments before the tornado rears its ugly head and destroys every trailer in sight. Picture Animal from The Muppets going berzerk on the drums as a crazed LSD-freak screams and can't stop wiggling the whammy bar. Occasional guitar shredding can probably be partially blamed on producer Tim Green, who makes ironic 80s retro-metal with the Fucking Champs. The most charming aspect is probably in its brutal live feel. At moments like the second song, "Return to Heaven," this album could easily be mistaken for a live MC5 session sans singer Rob Tyner. Grab some cheap beer, phone some friends and bring your earplugs, playing this album on a Tuesday night (with the volume on 11) is a great substitution for a lack of killer rock shows in your dull town.
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The name of this musical act should give you a clue about it. Unfortunately the guitar recordings are the most redeemable part of this album. Guitar is the musical project of somebody who refuses to be known as anything other than Digital Jockey. He (this is just a guess here) has a real mastery of guitar effects and layering which is wonderful to listen to, but has been done for years since that unavoidable reference point, My Bloody Valentine. In addition, he has enlisted vocalist Donna Regina on a couple songs and Ayako Akashiba on a few others. While this album will most certainly go over very well with anybody obsessed with 'Loveless' and/or thick-accented Asian girls singing in Enlish, the lyrics are so irritating some times that I can barely make it through each song. "Honey bee, me and me, see sea, bee and me" over and over and over and over again (with two appearances even) gives me frightening visions of Asian girls with long fingernails, digging deep into my skin to climb up my body and chew my eyeballs out. Admittedly, I was enthusiastic about this album after hearing the rich guitar and simple drum sounds of "House Full of Time" on 'Blue Skied an' Clear,' but sadly, that has become the only song remotely bearable to my ears any more.
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While I have been listening to Colin Potter's output (as part of other projects) for years and own a couple Monos releases already, I feel the latest full-length release is clearly a turning point for Darren Tate and Colin Potter as a duo. For years, the two, in various different combinations along with the usual suspects (Andrew Chalk, Jonathan Coleclough, and the circle which extends to Christoph Heemann) have been creating a seeminly endless stream of limited records of lengthy drones: anti-compositional in nature, exploiting sounds for super-extended periods of time. On this, Potter and Tate display a clear evolution in simply 'putting the pieces together,' and for five tracks incorporate the proverbial field recordings and drones with actual compositions, evolving sounds and musical movements gracefully both with and without various pulses keeping strict tempo from introduction through demise. Recorded in 2001, this disc opens with what has almost become a mainstay for these folks: a gradual fade in. The hum on "Intro" doesn't last long, however, as a number of other tones and pulses begin to make themselves heard. Quivering echoes and very, very (almost inaudibly) low undertones mainly propel the spacey "Moon Environment" while tinny pitch-bending, crackling (either leaf-rustling or a fire), and thumping analog synth bass sounds make for a hypnotic aural feast on "Brittle." Unsurprisingly, the purveying visual images I get from this album is a very, very bright night lit by an amazingly large moon. It's the point where night vision takes over and the shadows come alive. The scene could be a forest or a field, relatively close to civilization, but grand enough to seem untouched by modern man. Thankfully nearly all of these pieces end somewhere relatively close to the ten-minute mark, despite the almost unnatural fade of each. There is more, and while I generally dislike fadeouts, I'm somewhat relieved these things don't go on forever. 'Nightfall Sunshine' ends with a marvelous ten-minute piece, "Sunrise," with bird recordings, a subtle synth melody, what sounds like the shivering wiggle of an Arp and the warm drone of an organ. It is the end of the night, the rise to the next day, as animals wake and we, the humans, need to return to reality.
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I know what you're thinking, "Didn't EMI already release The Original Sound of Sheffield last year?" Yes, they did, and, in fact, their Cabaret Voltaire collections (including the 'Conform to Deform' box and 'Remixed' CD) contained a plethora of material previously unavailable on compact disc. This collection, despite the subject being dear and close to my heart, contains no music previously (or currently) unavailable. The timespan focuses in on the most essential songs from the pre-Some Bizzare/Virgin days when the Cabs were still a three-piece. To Mute's credit, this serves as a great documentary of how they evolved, chronologically, from their tape-noise punk days (with classic single tracks like "Nag Nag Nag" and popular album favorites like "No Escape" through the more structured beat material (with the timeless "Yashar" which still gives me chills) which led up to the Virgin trilogy.
 
I would even go as far to say that this would most certainly match a mix-tape of Cabs that I would make for a friend if I wanted them to hear the most important tracks in this period of their career. Completists and fans might appreciate the thick booklet, newly unearthed photos, and a brief interview with Richard H. Kirk contained herein, but the grey text on black-and-white print is exceptionally annoying. Sometimes I wonder if compilations like this are just a vehicle for record companies to employ Designers Republic. As much as I love the music, I can't recommend this in good conscience. Had this been a budget release, I might have a different take, but for people who are interested in good introductions to this period of Cabaret Voltaire music, 'The Living Legends' collects nearly all of the Rough Trade singles and odds-n-ends from this time and compliments the albums without overlap. Now that EMI owns both Virgin and Mute, it would be nice if there was a collection that gathered all their 7" single release versions from inception through the end, possibly even coupled with a DVD to include all their videos too. As it is now, however, the market is completely oversaturated with Cabaret Voltaire compilations and music snobs insisting it's all good for you.
 
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Just when I was about to abandon all hope of possessing a dub record to play while kids in Jar-Jar Binks outfits come knocking on my door this materializes!
In actuality, however, this is not an illogical step in the evolution of Tino, as, well, when you look through sound effects records of the 1960s, horror sounds seem to have been a big trend, forgotten faster than you can say 'Dear Dead Delilah.' In addition, must we remind you that "Tino is, like, Mr. Halloween," according to Rayanne from the TV series, 'My So Called Life' (episode 9). Obscure references aside, Tino has expectingly grabbed a number of obscure sound effects, music, film and TV samples, gently mixed with fiendish Rastafarian samples and served on a sturdy dub plate, and the result is as tasty as fine pumpkin pie. Guest appearances include Wolfman, the Loch Ness Monster, zombies, and numerous unnamed ghouls. Quick, cue the theremin for the ghost appearance as the lady screams and the rhythms roll on. It's just that fun. In the end, much like the other Tino records, a number of samples are provided for your own personal use. Of course, this time it's a little scarier,... Muhahahahahahahahaha.
 
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The south London sextet Delicate AWOL has other projects besides their recently released 'Heart Drops From the Great Space.' They run a label called Day Release Records and they play in the band Rothko, sometimes referred to as their "alter ego." On 'Heart Drops From The Great Space,' Delicate AWOL craft a baroque arrangement of jazz, post-rock, and classical, perhaps plucking unique pieces from the spheres of their other projects outside the band. The layers throughout the album are largely twofold, though: jazz and rock. Third and fourth minor layers are the chamber-pop strings and the electronic glitches which pop up in some songs. But every now and then, all of these layers evaporate along with their relevant instruments and leave bare the skeletal side of the band, which is often more honest and true and delicate than the rest. On "That Terminal's Down," the bass guitar, drums, and horn-tooting eventually give way to simply shimmery chimes and Caroline Ross's vocals, and it sounds lovely. These sparer parts on the album are unfortunately infrequent, but when they do arrive, they do so stylishly and with panache. Throughout the record, the jazz layer of Delicate AWOL is slightly abrasive, largely because the horns suggest that this album should be labeled as a lounge rock album. But I think there is more going on here than just background music to Scotch and cigarettes. It peaks out from behind the velvet curtain occasionally, when it hears the horns subdued, the strings muted, and the rhythms dissipated. Appreciation of Delicate AWOL is developed through these built-in contrasts, though this renders some of 'Heart Drops From The Great Space' much more listenable than the rest.
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All the noises and frequencies on this record have been produced using self-constructed equipment, resulting in a sound not very far away from early analog synthesizer experiments or a tone generators humming. These home made drones are divided into three parts, add up to a total of 46 minutes, and are nicely packed in a miniature album-like gatefold sleeve. Two of the three parts were mixed, edited and mastered with fellow Australian Oren Ambarchi (and Section Two with Scott Horscroft). Without this name dropping, however, I doubt this disc would have been released. There are no warmly welcomed richly layered textures or multi-level sound structures, instead, the result is, on numerous levels minimal (minimal in conception and minimal in effect). The balance between disturbing and hypnotizing sounds is so well-kept that it lacks a certain excitement besides the hidden gimmick—a subliminal overdrive when the speakers start to crackle as the mastering job pushes the CD output level in the red zone of the LED display. Somehow this release leaves me slightly puzzled with an isolated feel. From the start to the end, Walls musically guides us through the middle of nowhere without any clue or destination. I like my music to be a bit more expressive or excessive but for more settled minds this might be a welcome refreshment in noisy drone ambience.
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The chimes, clicks, and percussive beats heard on The Mobius Band's 'Three' EP are an old chestnut. We have heard them before. Perhaps not in this setting, not in this wood. But we know them, just as you know the guy who seems to show up at every show you attend. The Mobius Band surround their slyly standard indie rock songs with a swirl of electronics. The tactic is more successful in some songs than others. Most noticeably, the instrumental songs on "Three" have a hard time distinguishing themselves because the synth effects and the beat processors which The Mobius Band use are nothing new, and nothing novel is done with them. The more successful songs, like "Arrow," have at their core simply a strong rock song, regardless of the electronics dancing around them. And that is what the electronics really amount to: sonic flourishes on top of rock songs, dressing on salad. The electronic instrumentation feels superfluous, though in a live setting it admittedly could add color to improvisational parts. On record, it ends up tasting rather like a stale Tortoise song, which is already likely covered with bacterium. When The Mobius Band fire up a long instrumental track, I tend to forget about them. When the Mobius Band sing, I am more apt to listen.
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The first time I put on Merzbow's Venereology CD, I was prepared for "noise", but the instant that it started, I literally thought that my stereo had somehow exploded at the same time rendering the most abrasive and physically jarring sound ever to come out of my speakers. I thought I was prepared for "noise", but as it turned out, I had just been expecting "noisy". No friends, Merzbow is Noise, with a capital N even. So the prospect of Merzbeat, Merzbow's excursion into beat-oriented music is of course worth at least a casual listen. For a man who's mastered and then run into the ground the concept of solid noise as music, working with beats actually seems more experimental and exciting than taking on yet another palette of screeching feedback and squalor. And Merzbeat indeed sounds experimental. The first two songs never establish anything other than the sense that the artist is toying with the idea of running beats through distortion effects. Thanks, but this has been done, and if the beats here were in themselves compelling, Merzbow's take on them would likely be interesting, but for the first two long tracks, we are left with simple, repeating beats passed through various filters and eq settings until there is no longer any doubt that the experiment is no longer interesting to listen to, musically speaking. On the third track, the epic Shadow Barbarian (Long Mix), Merzbow finally hits his stride, taking what he's learned from the first two attempts and abandoning almost all of the rules that made them sound like second-rate DHR b-sides. At about ten minutes into Shadow Barbarian, the true Merzbow surfaces as the beats give way to rhythms made of near pure noise. The compositional schema of applying a cyclical, linear path of effects settings to a constant loop is still present, but now the tracks begin to survive on pure brutality alone. Synths and guitars round out the sounds that are inevitably drowned out by bloody wails, but all of that is gravy by the time Looping Jane (Beat Mix) kicks in to a voracious breakbeat that pummels through walls of feedback. When you think it isn't getting any louder, it gets louder. Tracks three through five are alone worth the price of admission if you are fan of beats or noise or both. Then, regrettably, we sit through 60 (count them) SIXTY, three second tracks of silence to get to the "hidden track" that is so graciously unhidden for us by the liner notes. Burried on track 66 is the most curious anomaly of the record: a remix by renouned beat-master Jack Dangers, on a record called Merzbeat, that is beatless! It's such a letdown that the trademark Dangers' beat work didn't mix it up with the signature Merzbow noise that I can't even describe this song other than to say every time I have tried to listen to it, I have scanned through it waiting for a beat to come in. Let's pray there's a remix.
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Twine's latest release should prove to those still skeptical that electronic music need not be so self-referential. A fair number of releases by Twine's various contemporaries focus the lens inward so much that the technique of making music becomes the message the music conveys. Worshipping the glitch and abusing the ones and zeros are certainly useful modes within which many artists have produced stellar works. Thankfully though, Twine leave the acoustic mirror at home and choose to focus more on using electronic means to covey something else entirely. Sure, Recorder has more than its fair share of clicky rhythms, shuffling distortion, and production trickery that moves drones and digital blips around in space like a blender, but what it also has is soul. The opening track, None Some Silver frames an acoustic guitar passage with just enough buzz and synthetic blur that you know this isn't Mississippi Delta music, but it doesn't lose the feeling of a creaky rocking chair on a southern porch. Twine uses subtle shifts in the background of tracks to move them forward and the ambience is melancholy, but not overbearing. Simple rhythmic patterns that usually stop just short of being beats roll through some of the tracks, while others like Player Piano rely more on oddly filtered samples and that signature sample pop of intentionally sloppy loop points to create a kind of rustic-electro feel. Resonant filters are used freely to taint the sounds, draw them out of their original source environments, and into the rusty landscape that Twine creates here. The album ends much like it began, as a drawn out organ melody drifts into space, with the sun fragments of stories surface and recede, and a looped bit of static serves as the night song of binary cicadas on a hot August evening.
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