Back before the Internet and World Wide Web allowed music junkies to connect with others and trade secrets, fans of bands in areas of the world far outside the band's nucleus had to rely on sources like magazines and books for the best information they could get on a group. Despite being a project from former Wire members, the experimental music contained didn't make it a title which warranted an in-print status and copies worldwide were rather scarce. As a young Wire fan, it had been on my personal wish list for years. When I finally discovered it in 1998 as a used record for $30 my heart jumped. I finally found it!
4725 Hits
PIAS America
It's not surprising that the first full-length Gold Chains release isreceiving mixed reviews. Everybody's only used to hearing a GC productin shorter increments—and the reason why that works so perfectly isthat it's complimentary to the unique GC style. Topher LaFata, whobasically -is- Gold Chains is one mad talented motherfucker. His rap isdensely packed, rarely ever pausing to let the music to exist on itsown, while the music is so intricate and involved, changing stylesoften from bar to bar. By the second track he's gone from four on thefloor techno to swinging post-industrial, and nerdy glitch pop all in amatter of minutes. The swapping of styles continues for the rest of therelease, from parodies of big buck rap to jazzy interludes. Couple thiswith rare occurances of lyrical repetition or a "chorus," and tuning into the music demands complete and undivided attention. Only untilrepeated listens are instruments like live drums, piano, and guitarseven audible, since the subject matter of the rap is such an involvedfantasy world that it's hard to pay attention to everything else that'sgoing on. Thankfully lyrics were included this time around. Reading thelyrics without the music is also a fun exercise as they make greatjournal entries or stream of consciousness writing on their own. Topherloves to play with language, with a number of themes which seem toresurface. Themes about San Francisco, society, sex, drugs, money, and"warpping that Cali cooch in Prada" are amusing but crashing 11 songsof that in a row makes this album work best as a record to be paused inthe middle while the listener's got to get up off their ass and go flipit. In a bizarre way, it all makes sense that Topher is an oldindustrial fan, a former punk bass player, and allegedly an intensecomputer programmer. Gold Chains is almost like the prog-rock of modernelectronic laptop rap, as the music is so dense, academicallyflamboyant, technically nerdy, but superbly addictive after its hookshave sunk in. Some people claim that with an expensive video and theright promotion, this guy could be huge, but I think at this point hismusic is far more involved than the general public can handle. I lookforward to the "techno" album LaFata claims to be working on as even anold GC tune like "Burn Babylon" has the fabulous powers of sexy killerhooks. The question remains: if world domination is in the dreams ofGC, is he willing to dumb his music down for the masses? I sure as hellhope not.
It's not surprising that the first full-length Gold Chains release isreceiving mixed reviews. Everybody's only used to hearing a GC productin shorter increments—and the reason why that works so perfectly isthat it's complimentary to the unique GC style. Topher LaFata, whobasically -is- Gold Chains is one mad talented motherfucker. His rap isdensely packed, rarely ever pausing to let the music to exist on itsown, while the music is so intricate and involved, changing stylesoften from bar to bar. By the second track he's gone from four on thefloor techno to swinging post-industrial, and nerdy glitch pop all in amatter of minutes. The swapping of styles continues for the rest of therelease, from parodies of big buck rap to jazzy interludes. Couple thiswith rare occurances of lyrical repetition or a "chorus," and tuning into the music demands complete and undivided attention. Only untilrepeated listens are instruments like live drums, piano, and guitarseven audible, since the subject matter of the rap is such an involvedfantasy world that it's hard to pay attention to everything else that'sgoing on. Thankfully lyrics were included this time around. Reading thelyrics without the music is also a fun exercise as they make greatjournal entries or stream of consciousness writing on their own. Topherloves to play with language, with a number of themes which seem toresurface. Themes about San Francisco, society, sex, drugs, money, and"warpping that Cali cooch in Prada" are amusing but crashing 11 songsof that in a row makes this album work best as a record to be paused inthe middle while the listener's got to get up off their ass and go flipit. In a bizarre way, it all makes sense that Topher is an oldindustrial fan, a former punk bass player, and allegedly an intensecomputer programmer. Gold Chains is almost like the prog-rock of modernelectronic laptop rap, as the music is so dense, academicallyflamboyant, technically nerdy, but superbly addictive after its hookshave sunk in. Some people claim that with an expensive video and theright promotion, this guy could be huge, but I think at this point hismusic is far more involved than the general public can handle. I lookforward to the "techno" album LaFata claims to be working on as even anold GC tune like "Burn Babylon" has the fabulous powers of sexy killerhooks. The question remains: if world domination is in the dreams ofGC, is he willing to dumb his music down for the masses? I sure as hellhope not.
3860 Hits
In addition to some suitably odd printed art cards and scrying mirrors,every live box set also includes a black plastic clamshell containingthis, a tour-only CD available at some of Coil's most recent shows. ANScontains three long tracks of about 20 minutes each, consisting solelyof tones made with the Russian ANS synthesizer. Invented by EugenyMurzin in 1938, only one ANS synthesizer has ever actually been built,and it sits neglected and obscure, collecting dust in the basement ofMoscow State University since 1958. Coil were given access toexperiment and record with the strange machine, and their experimentsare chronicled on this disc. ANS is a "photoelectric" instrument thatproduces music via a completely unique process. The user must inscribea series of line drawings that represent visible sound waves onto aseries of glass discs. The shape, location and nature of the drawingsdetermines the sound that the synthesizer produces, which encompassesthe entire range of audible sound, 720 pure tones. Unfortunately, thefascinating history and musical theory behind the ANS instrument isultimately far more interesting than the music Coil has managed to makewith it. While there are many dramatic points of convergence buriedwithin these abstract, long-form compositions, the overall effect is ofdilettantes noodling around with an unfamiliar piece of equipment thatreportedly takes years to properly master. Though there are some partsof ANS that are reminiscent of Time Machines, none of thesepieces has the trance-inducing intensity of that album's minimalistdrones. Reportedly, Coil are remixing and expanding ANS into anofficial double album release scheduled for later this year. Perhapswith a bit of the signature Coil touch added to these naked tones, thismaterial will come alive. As it stands, ANS is a fascinating but musically non-compelling tangent into the avant-garde realm of theoretical music.
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4185 Hits
MEGALITHOMANIA!With each box set, Coil includes a CD-R of their performance at theMegalithomania! Festival. This disc cannot be purchased separately, andis available only as part of the limited edition box. It's a very nicebonus indeed, as this performance is unique among Coil's live history,and marks a sort of turning point for the group. Megalithomania!was a celebration of sacred sites and standing stones as expressedthrough history, folklore, art and sound. Basically, everything thatJulian Cope was on about in his mammoth tome "The Modern Antiquarian."For this special event, Coil performed a long, drawn-out permutation on"The Universe is a Haunted House," turning the piece into a slowlyevolving ambient sound sculpture involving the ghostly sound of waterdroplets, quietly droning synths, and a particularly spectral vocalimprovisation from Balance. As reported by many people who attended theevent, there seemed to be a strange rift between Balance and Sleazy,evidenced by John's agitated screaming: "Why are you here? Why are youhere?" Balance's statement that "we are the alien" could be read as atribute to the extra-terrestrial builders of Stonehenge, or as afurther statement of his growing alienation from his long-time partner.A few days after this performance, Peter and John announced that whileCoil would continue, they would no longer describe themselves as acouple. Sad, indeed, but these personal matters cannot overshadow avery unique and powerful performance. As the tension and mutationcompounds over the 40-minute length, Balance's alien incantations fightfor prominence with Thighpaulsandra's thick slabs of stoned-Druidsynthesizer. The recording is spotless, highlighting all of the ghostlyminutiae of this one-of-a-kind Coil show.
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3918 Hits
Threshold House
When it was announced that Coil would play their first live show inNorth America on August 18, 2001, I was shocked by what seemed like anincredible series of synchronicities. I had long considered Coil to beone of my favorite bands, but I thought there would be little or nochance of ever seeing them play live. Though they had recently begunplaying select concerts at some classy venues and festivals in Europe,they just seemed far too shadowy, eccentric and English to ever graceAmerican shores. Strangely, the day announced for the concert was notonly my birthday, butmy 23rd birthday, a number commonly involved with synchronicity, and anumber often mythologized by Coil themselves. Also, before hearing theannouncement, I had already planned a trip to New York City tocelebrate my birthday. It seemed as if mysterious forces had aligned into make certain that I would not miss this Coil performance. However, Idid not have very high expectations for the concert itself. Sure, Coilwere mind-bending and transcendent on record, but how could theircomplex, studio-hermetic sound possibly translate into a meaningfullive show? Coil's liveperformance is a revelation; a powerful, dramatic explosion of dynamicenergy, every bit as impressive as their recorded output, but somehoweven more potent and overwhelming. The absolutely massive soundachieved by Sleazy's digital programming, Thighpaulsandra's soaringsynthesizers and Jhon Balance's possessed outbursts clearly neededproper documenting on record. Recently, Coil inaugurated abackwards-unfolding series of four live CDs, each documenting adifferent "age" of their constantly evolving live show. To thosewilling to shell out nearly $200, Threshold House also offered alimited box set of all four discs, together with two extra CD-Rs and"art objects" allegedly "loaded with magickal intent".
When it was announced that Coil would play their first live show inNorth America on August 18, 2001, I was shocked by what seemed like anincredible series of synchronicities. I had long considered Coil to beone of my favorite bands, but I thought there would be little or nochance of ever seeing them play live. Though they had recently begunplaying select concerts at some classy venues and festivals in Europe,they just seemed far too shadowy, eccentric and English to ever graceAmerican shores. Strangely, the day announced for the concert was notonly my birthday, butmy 23rd birthday, a number commonly involved with synchronicity, and anumber often mythologized by Coil themselves. Also, before hearing theannouncement, I had already planned a trip to New York City tocelebrate my birthday. It seemed as if mysterious forces had aligned into make certain that I would not miss this Coil performance. However, Idid not have very high expectations for the concert itself. Sure, Coilwere mind-bending and transcendent on record, but how could theircomplex, studio-hermetic sound possibly translate into a meaningfullive show? Coil's liveperformance is a revelation; a powerful, dramatic explosion of dynamicenergy, every bit as impressive as their recorded output, but somehoweven more potent and overwhelming. The absolutely massive soundachieved by Sleazy's digital programming, Thighpaulsandra's soaringsynthesizers and Jhon Balance's possessed outbursts clearly neededproper documenting on record. Recently, Coil inaugurated abackwards-unfolding series of four live CDs, each documenting adifferent "age" of their constantly evolving live show. To thosewilling to shell out nearly $200, Threshold House also offered alimited box set of all four discs, together with two extra CD-Rs and"art objects" allegedly "loaded with magickal intent".
LIVE FOUR
LIVE THREE
This documents a Spring 2002 show performed inBologna. It was an interesting period for Coil performances, asThighpaulsandra temporarily left the line-up to tour withSpiritualized. To make up for his noticeable absence, Peter and Johnenlisted Mike York and Cliff Stapleton to fill in with hurdy-gurdy andBreton pipes. This new, exotic instrumentation adds an unstable,organic element to the performance that works well with the setlistchosen for these shows. The disc opens with the ritualized workout of"Anarcadia: All Horned Animals." If you've heard The Remote ViewerEP, these ethnic-inflected drones will sound very familiar, notentirely dissimilar from Taj Mahal Travellers or The Magic Carpathiansat their most psychedelic. "Amethyst Deceivers" is here again, one offour slightly variant versions available in the box set. The classictrack "Slur" from Horse Rotorvator is given a faithful rendition, butBalance's voice is not quite equal to the job of singing this one, andMarc Almond's backing vocals are sorely missed. Balance dedicates "ACold Cell" to all the prisoners of the world, as well as those "inprisons of their own making." It's always been a haunting song, and thelive version enhances its lonely, melancholic atmosphere. Track six isan accomplished recreation of "Paranoid Inlay" from Musick To Play in the Dark 2,even though the tracklisting on the back of the digipack omits itcompletely. "Sick Mirrors (Version)" is a meditation on the concept ofremote viewing utilizing dense Middle Eastern melodies. The songseamlessly segues into a frighteningly intense version of "A.Y.O.R.,"the second of three songs in this set that may have been destined forCoil's long-promised-but-never-delivered Nothing Records album, nowreferred to as The World Ended a Long Time Ago. "Backwards"ends the set, a joyous psychosexual EBM bacchanalia, with Balanceuttering some of his most transgressive lyrics: "Fuck me inreverse/Normal is perverse/Everything's backwards." This disc would beperfect were it not for a rather nagging problem with the mixing, whichseems to favor Balance's vocals and pushes much of the music into amuddy, nebulous background. Even with the technical difficulties, Live Three is an essential chronicle of one of Coil's most inspired shows.
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LIVE TWO
Coil's Moscow performance in the Fall of 2001is documented here, soon after their brief stateside visit. Like theNYC show, the Moscow performance went under the banner "ConstantShallowness Leads to Evil," a tight, energetic performance highlightingCoil's most confrontational material. This is my personal favorite ofthe four periods of Coil's live shows, simply because Coil seemed atthis stage to be perfectly in control of their audience, skillfullyheightening tension and confounding expectations, all the whilesubliminally projecting their bizarre brand of personal empowermentpropaganda onto the unwitting observers. This Moscow performance seemsto be the absolute zenith of the "Constant Shallowness" show, which iswhy the bad mix on tracks like "What Kind of Animal Are You?" is verydisappointing indeed. The officially sanctioned bootleg CD-R recordingof the NYC show actually boasts superior audio, which is surprisingconsidering Coil's usually scrupulous attention to their productionfidelity. Still, this performance is very impressive, especially thepitch-perfect rendition of Horse Rotorvator's "Blood From the Air." Thefinal, apocalyptic blowout of "Constant Shallowness Leads toEvil" begins with Balance satirically answering some vicious rumorsprinted in a Russian publication: "We've heard that some of you mayhave read that we eat human flesh. However, we only do this onreligious holidays." Coil then launch into a lengthy noise assaultspecifically formulated to exorcise you of demons and brainwash you ofall your previous learning,leaving you vulnerable for Coil's subliminal psychobabble. "God pleasefuck my mind for good!" screams a wrecked Balance, stealing a line fromCaptain Beefheart's "Making Love to a Vampire With a Monkey on MyKnee." If you manage to make it to the end of this exhausting set withyour sanity intact, you may truly grasp Coil's final motto "Persistenceis All."
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LIVE ONE
The last in the live series is a 2-CD set beautifully packaged in afoldout digipack. The two discs document the first two Coilperformances of the new millennium, focusing on their Time Machinesmaterial. It must have been terribly exciting for the audience at theRoyal Festival Hall in April of 2000 to hear the opening tones of"Everything Keeps Dissolving," this being Coil's first true liveconcert other than some sallow, abortive attempts made in the early80's. Coil no doubt practiced for months, as they show no signs ofunease in unveiling their polished live presence. Disc one originallysaw limited release as Time Machines Live only available with mail order copies of Musick to Play in the Dark 2.It's swell for this material to be widely available, as it is truly agreat concert and a flawless recording. At this early stage in Coil'sperformances, John Balance had not yet adopted the dancing, screaming,extroverted lunatic personality he was to unveil in later shows.Therefore, the three tracks that make up the London show contain nolive singing, just a series of enraptured electronic oscillations thattwist around the brain, wiping out all thought but an extreme sense ofdislocation and confusion. "Queens of the Circulating Library" utilizessamples of Thighpaulsandra's opera-singing mum Dorothy Lewis, togetherwith digital arpeggiations and sexy purrs from a wounded synthesizer."Chasms" flirts close to Tangerine Dream territory, a swirlingcirculation of warm synthesizer tones that unfold like a Russianscience fiction film. Disc two comprises Coil's terrific performance atBarcelona's Sonar festival in June of 2000. It repeats the same songsfrom disc one, but adds three new songs to the setlist, including thefourth and final permutation of "Amethyst Deceivers." Bill Breeze playsviola throughout the entrancing set, adding some beautifulneo-classical flourishes. "TheUniverse is a Haunted House," a line taken directly from Burroughs' Naked Lunch, is present in a much more nascent version than the one heard on Live Four.Unfortunately, this disc suffers from two problems. First, the audiosource used for this release was not made from the soundboard, but israther a recording by a member of the audience. While pains have beentaken to clean up the sound, the audio does suffer from the technicalproblems inherent in bootleg recordings, including annoying audiencechatter and trebly distortions. Second, although the digipack lists sixtracks, the CD only contains five tracks, the last two apparentlyhaving been accidentally merged. Still, this is a rather impressivebootleg recording, and these problems can easily be forgiven and theconcert still enjoyed. We hear Jhon Balance step to the front for thefirst time, delivering a series of blood-curdling screams on "Elves,"once again making a play for the title of the most warped vocalist inmusic today.
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4738 Hits
If "prog-esque overblown, overlong self-indulgent wankery" sounds like a bad thing or if comparison with Tales From Topographic Oceans carries un-cool implications then this CD may not be for you. I doubt that there remain many Brainwashed readers who still subscribe to the NME's Exclusion Principle, i.e. that to like The Fall you have to revile Yes, and it is to those thus enlightened readers that I'd recommend Just Drums.
3914 Hits
RRRecords
Forget every "rule" of noise, do away with any preconceptions concernedwith the genre, and prepare for something just a bit different. Thereare silences, sonic abberations, variations in pitch, timbre, andduration, and a wide palette of moans, groans, and explosions used allat once. Variety and intrigue is the name of the game on Moonlight In Vermontand Emil Beaulieau is chess master (if you will). Sure, there'spunishing, unrelenting, cascading, headache-inducing assaults to befound on this disc, but there's also dynamic elements. Most noise I'veheard ends up sounding like one mass of destruction hell-bent onchewing concrete. Beaulieau's noise is different because he is capableof using sonically opposite sounds together. It could still eatconcrete for breakfast, though. The first half is a nuclear melt-downaccompanied by random samples (like a flute), electric stabs of rhythm,and the sound of unholy wails. If this is what a moonlit Vermont soundslike, I'm staying the hell out unless I have a shotgun and a smallarmy. It's a truly scary summit that is reached before the fifth track(all of them are unnamed) acts as an oxygen tank and restores somesense of direction and balance. What sounds like a backwards guitarhums in the background whilst changing tones, punchy gasps of static,and roaring winds pour through the speakers. It makes getting submergedbeneath the final two tracks a bit easier. Beaulieau's recorded soundhas as much character as his live performances have but it's twistedand shaped in different ways. Sounds just don't start and stop; they'realive and full of nuance. The last I checked, Moonlight was only available on the tour but with some luck perhaps it'll show up at RRRecords, soon.
Forget every "rule" of noise, do away with any preconceptions concernedwith the genre, and prepare for something just a bit different. Thereare silences, sonic abberations, variations in pitch, timbre, andduration, and a wide palette of moans, groans, and explosions used allat once. Variety and intrigue is the name of the game on Moonlight In Vermontand Emil Beaulieau is chess master (if you will). Sure, there'spunishing, unrelenting, cascading, headache-inducing assaults to befound on this disc, but there's also dynamic elements. Most noise I'veheard ends up sounding like one mass of destruction hell-bent onchewing concrete. Beaulieau's noise is different because he is capableof using sonically opposite sounds together. It could still eatconcrete for breakfast, though. The first half is a nuclear melt-downaccompanied by random samples (like a flute), electric stabs of rhythm,and the sound of unholy wails. If this is what a moonlit Vermont soundslike, I'm staying the hell out unless I have a shotgun and a smallarmy. It's a truly scary summit that is reached before the fifth track(all of them are unnamed) acts as an oxygen tank and restores somesense of direction and balance. What sounds like a backwards guitarhums in the background whilst changing tones, punchy gasps of static,and roaring winds pour through the speakers. It makes getting submergedbeneath the final two tracks a bit easier. Beaulieau's recorded soundhas as much character as his live performances have but it's twistedand shaped in different ways. Sounds just don't start and stop; they'realive and full of nuance. The last I checked, Moonlight was only available on the tour but with some luck perhaps it'll show up at RRRecords, soon.
6713 Hits
Kitty-Yo
Think back to 2001 and try to remember Max Hecker's first album.Remember how it teetered dangerously on the borderline of campybrilliance and revolting sappiness? Unfortunately, for his secondfull-length album, Hecker has fallen over the line, completely onto theside of sappiness. Gone are the edgy guitar distortions, swirlingcalliope-esque melodies and brilliant acoustic guitar fingerpicking.What we're left with is a weak collection of soft-rock rejects withwimpy guitar solos, not even edgy enough to earn rotation in hotelelevators. Sure, Hecker's crybaby falsetto voice was never rugged tobegin with, but the music now is unchallenging and the words areoverrepetitious and almost completely brainless. On Infinite Love Songs,words like "Hide your cheeks with dirt / come and wear my shirt," werejust an example off the top of my head of the somewhat attractivelybizarre word choices, while hearing "Hold me now / heal my wounds," inthe song "I am Falling Now" here is a perfect example of a pitiful messof a man of whom I have absolutely no sympathy for. The closest thealbum gets to the glorious marriage of chaos and order is probably theblurry noise in "My Friends," but the noisy section is haphazardlysandwiched by a MOR film theme-ish piano and synth melody. "My Love ForYou Is Insane," however, is a completely new direction in garbage witha revolting generic drum 'n bass loop and more whiny lyrics. PerhapsI'm just a snotty, jaded critic, but hints, subtlety, and abstractsurrealism gain far more ground with me in a pop framework thanunchallenging, overtly simplistic narrative prose. I guess what itboils down to is that I'm more keen on Tim Buckley than ChristopherCross.
Think back to 2001 and try to remember Max Hecker's first album.Remember how it teetered dangerously on the borderline of campybrilliance and revolting sappiness? Unfortunately, for his secondfull-length album, Hecker has fallen over the line, completely onto theside of sappiness. Gone are the edgy guitar distortions, swirlingcalliope-esque melodies and brilliant acoustic guitar fingerpicking.What we're left with is a weak collection of soft-rock rejects withwimpy guitar solos, not even edgy enough to earn rotation in hotelelevators. Sure, Hecker's crybaby falsetto voice was never rugged tobegin with, but the music now is unchallenging and the words areoverrepetitious and almost completely brainless. On Infinite Love Songs,words like "Hide your cheeks with dirt / come and wear my shirt," werejust an example off the top of my head of the somewhat attractivelybizarre word choices, while hearing "Hold me now / heal my wounds," inthe song "I am Falling Now" here is a perfect example of a pitiful messof a man of whom I have absolutely no sympathy for. The closest thealbum gets to the glorious marriage of chaos and order is probably theblurry noise in "My Friends," but the noisy section is haphazardlysandwiched by a MOR film theme-ish piano and synth melody. "My Love ForYou Is Insane," however, is a completely new direction in garbage witha revolting generic drum 'n bass loop and more whiny lyrics. PerhapsI'm just a snotty, jaded critic, but hints, subtlety, and abstractsurrealism gain far more ground with me in a pop framework thanunchallenging, overtly simplistic narrative prose. I guess what itboils down to is that I'm more keen on Tim Buckley than ChristopherCross.
3574 Hits
One Little Indian
Someone needs to tell the rock stars who like to listen to punk thatlistening to it does not qualify them to play or record it. The Finger,whose double album is only available on import but will soon beavailable on these shores, cannot record under their real names due tocontractual obligations. However, recent interviews and coy commentsmade by Ryan Adams and Jesse Malin reveal them as two of the cohorts inthis punk ensemble. So, to avoid problems with their respective recordlabels—who might not take kindly to their mild-mannered signings comingout with a blistering punk album—the members adopt "clever" pseudonyms,such as Jim Beahm, Warren Peace, and Rick O'Shea. The music inside isjust as trite as the names they came up with. Both albums total about35 minutes, and feature probably the most trite lyrics a punk recordhas ever had. On "Vendetta," vocalist Beahm shouts repeatedly "Vendettais my pleasure!" and on "Collar," he emotes "I give... you my leash...and I'll keep the collar!" Even though it seems impossible, it goesdownhill from there, like the latter 95 minutes of any Luke Perry film.Not that all punk had deep and meaningful lyrics; hell, most of themyou were lucky if you understood a word. On this recording, it justshows how painfully out of their element the contributors are. Everysong is about the punk lifestyle, not the regular socio-politicalstance or vital satire shown by the Sex Pistols or the Buzzcocks. Everysingle song falls flat, so thankfully they're all very short, with mostlasting a minute or less. A word to this lot: if you're going to ripoff a genre, even for fun with your buddies on a weekend, make it anearnest take, not some half-baked album about the atmosphere you thinkexists around it.
Someone needs to tell the rock stars who like to listen to punk thatlistening to it does not qualify them to play or record it. The Finger,whose double album is only available on import but will soon beavailable on these shores, cannot record under their real names due tocontractual obligations. However, recent interviews and coy commentsmade by Ryan Adams and Jesse Malin reveal them as two of the cohorts inthis punk ensemble. So, to avoid problems with their respective recordlabels—who might not take kindly to their mild-mannered signings comingout with a blistering punk album—the members adopt "clever" pseudonyms,such as Jim Beahm, Warren Peace, and Rick O'Shea. The music inside isjust as trite as the names they came up with. Both albums total about35 minutes, and feature probably the most trite lyrics a punk recordhas ever had. On "Vendetta," vocalist Beahm shouts repeatedly "Vendettais my pleasure!" and on "Collar," he emotes "I give... you my leash...and I'll keep the collar!" Even though it seems impossible, it goesdownhill from there, like the latter 95 minutes of any Luke Perry film.Not that all punk had deep and meaningful lyrics; hell, most of themyou were lucky if you understood a word. On this recording, it justshows how painfully out of their element the contributors are. Everysong is about the punk lifestyle, not the regular socio-politicalstance or vital satire shown by the Sex Pistols or the Buzzcocks. Everysingle song falls flat, so thankfully they're all very short, with mostlasting a minute or less. A word to this lot: if you're going to ripoff a genre, even for fun with your buddies on a weekend, make it anearnest take, not some half-baked album about the atmosphere you thinkexists around it.
3785 Hits
Homesleep
Over more than a decade of splurging fast guitar strumming and melodicsynchronised shouting, Trumans Water have proved themselves to be aforce for the ridiculous side of rock music. Yet again they crashmeteorites for troglodytes and yammer silly of the joys of resistance.Original guitarist Glen Galloway has rejoined mainstays the Branstetterbrothers Kirk and Kevin for recording and writing but doesn't tour withthem because he wants to stay home with his family. (Kevin now lives inParis.) Some of this album shows them at their most straight ahead anduncomplicated, kicking out the jams on tracks like the hotwired-heartopening salvo "Rock of Gibralter," "Some Things Feel Rough," and acover of the Flesheaters "Pony Dress" that'll have old fans bouncingaround and wondering how they lost track of the band. It seems to be acommon problem for them, mostly because almost every album comes out ona different label but it doesn't help that their website is a littleout of date. Maybe they were just too busy flooding the roads ofEurope. "Rock of Gibralter" is one of their catchiest tunes and unlikeNick Cave's unrelated MOR ballad of the same name it probably isn'tabout to get requested by servants of government. More likely it'llremind Thurston Moore not to sleepwalk to disconnection. "Say Hi to theLie Machine" is another fairly straight ahead rocker, propelled by drumclatter but pulled left by tunings that make people who work in guitarshops turn blue. The verse of "Airs Smudgy Blanket" even recalls "IFall" by The Damned, and Trumans Water manage to capture the spark ofsuch early punk bands but avoid cliche and retrogression by crankingthe weirdness levels and ditching corny rawk speak in favour of theirown tower of babbling tongue. This is the band that introduced ageneration of indie rock fans to Faust with their cover of "SadSkinhead," and the almost epic "When Diet and Exercise Fail" has asimilar momentum of magic roundabouts spinning absurdly out of control.Is that a theremin wailing above? They get out the sax to meander andobliterate a telephone recording of a woman ranting on the last track,but as speed flags here, interest wavers. There's certainly enough ofthe old Trumans Water magnetic energy to keep things moving and thisalbum is as good a starting point for the curious to step into theirtrip as any. There are still the more chaotic moments, like the openingof "Pulverizer Bear," which also ranks high in the celebratory dementedsynchronized shouting stakes. Dramatic lurching spells are neithercreated nor destroyed, but dangerous stunts for "Trapeze Sharks" arefun to hear. Trumans Water might be some kind of antidote for an ailingspirit, most represented by a stomach covered by airs smudgy blanketwhen diet and exercise have failed.
Over more than a decade of splurging fast guitar strumming and melodicsynchronised shouting, Trumans Water have proved themselves to be aforce for the ridiculous side of rock music. Yet again they crashmeteorites for troglodytes and yammer silly of the joys of resistance.Original guitarist Glen Galloway has rejoined mainstays the Branstetterbrothers Kirk and Kevin for recording and writing but doesn't tour withthem because he wants to stay home with his family. (Kevin now lives inParis.) Some of this album shows them at their most straight ahead anduncomplicated, kicking out the jams on tracks like the hotwired-heartopening salvo "Rock of Gibralter," "Some Things Feel Rough," and acover of the Flesheaters "Pony Dress" that'll have old fans bouncingaround and wondering how they lost track of the band. It seems to be acommon problem for them, mostly because almost every album comes out ona different label but it doesn't help that their website is a littleout of date. Maybe they were just too busy flooding the roads ofEurope. "Rock of Gibralter" is one of their catchiest tunes and unlikeNick Cave's unrelated MOR ballad of the same name it probably isn'tabout to get requested by servants of government. More likely it'llremind Thurston Moore not to sleepwalk to disconnection. "Say Hi to theLie Machine" is another fairly straight ahead rocker, propelled by drumclatter but pulled left by tunings that make people who work in guitarshops turn blue. The verse of "Airs Smudgy Blanket" even recalls "IFall" by The Damned, and Trumans Water manage to capture the spark ofsuch early punk bands but avoid cliche and retrogression by crankingthe weirdness levels and ditching corny rawk speak in favour of theirown tower of babbling tongue. This is the band that introduced ageneration of indie rock fans to Faust with their cover of "SadSkinhead," and the almost epic "When Diet and Exercise Fail" has asimilar momentum of magic roundabouts spinning absurdly out of control.Is that a theremin wailing above? They get out the sax to meander andobliterate a telephone recording of a woman ranting on the last track,but as speed flags here, interest wavers. There's certainly enough ofthe old Trumans Water magnetic energy to keep things moving and thisalbum is as good a starting point for the curious to step into theirtrip as any. There are still the more chaotic moments, like the openingof "Pulverizer Bear," which also ranks high in the celebratory dementedsynchronized shouting stakes. Dramatic lurching spells are neithercreated nor destroyed, but dangerous stunts for "Trapeze Sharks" arefun to hear. Trumans Water might be some kind of antidote for an ailingspirit, most represented by a stomach covered by airs smudgy blanketwhen diet and exercise have failed.
3741 Hits
Darla
Maquiladora are the modern equivalent to The Band, recording slower,soulful rock music with an all-encompassing country influence. Theyswitch vocalists, vary between dense and sparse compositions, andthroughout each release, they plunge deeper and deeper headlong intoterritory that both soothes and expands the reaches of humanconsciousness. This music doesn't so much play through the speakers butswirl and mist out like a vaporous mist that the ears inhale. There areawkward moments like vocal stumbling and strained falsetto, but inlistening to the record as a whole they hardly matter. On Dreaming,they found quite a cast of characters to assist in their endeavors.From Blackheart Procession member Phil Jenkins, to a few of the AcidMothers Temple roster, the guests add interesting flourishes. With thecore members' strong songwriting, it makes for the most cohesive andexpansive record Maquiladora have mustered yet. "Sudden Life" opens therecord with an almost "Money for Nothing" approach: minimal sounds arejoined by tom drumming and, eventually, guitars and eerily treatedvocals. It's honestly enough to make me rise off the ground, soaringtowards the sky. As the album progresses, the lyrics paint a delicatepicture of loss, hope, and the world around us all. The trio of shamansthat are Maquiladora sound in tune with the elements, and it informsthe sounds their instruments and voices make. They describe themselvesas desert music, but on What the Day Was Dreaming, they provethat setting too barren for music as full of life as this. Dreams willbe haunted, and the day will be colored with shades of this music,making it a just little warmer and brighter.
Maquiladora are the modern equivalent to The Band, recording slower,soulful rock music with an all-encompassing country influence. Theyswitch vocalists, vary between dense and sparse compositions, andthroughout each release, they plunge deeper and deeper headlong intoterritory that both soothes and expands the reaches of humanconsciousness. This music doesn't so much play through the speakers butswirl and mist out like a vaporous mist that the ears inhale. There areawkward moments like vocal stumbling and strained falsetto, but inlistening to the record as a whole they hardly matter. On Dreaming,they found quite a cast of characters to assist in their endeavors.From Blackheart Procession member Phil Jenkins, to a few of the AcidMothers Temple roster, the guests add interesting flourishes. With thecore members' strong songwriting, it makes for the most cohesive andexpansive record Maquiladora have mustered yet. "Sudden Life" opens therecord with an almost "Money for Nothing" approach: minimal sounds arejoined by tom drumming and, eventually, guitars and eerily treatedvocals. It's honestly enough to make me rise off the ground, soaringtowards the sky. As the album progresses, the lyrics paint a delicatepicture of loss, hope, and the world around us all. The trio of shamansthat are Maquiladora sound in tune with the elements, and it informsthe sounds their instruments and voices make. They describe themselvesas desert music, but on What the Day Was Dreaming, they provethat setting too barren for music as full of life as this. Dreams willbe haunted, and the day will be colored with shades of this music,making it a just little warmer and brighter.
3444 Hits
Fat Cat
Fat Cat have compiled two discs that show them to be one of the mostdiverse and eclectic labels in the UK. I'd be surprised if you can'tfind at least a few tracks here to enjoy. The bait of a previouslyunreleased and fairly low key slice of Sigur Ros ambience opening thesecond disc is probably strategically placed to lure in their fans.Soon they'll be smacked about the ears by Xinlisupreme's anthemic synthsoaring "Murder License" which does distortion battle with Black Diceto see who can be the fattest cat. The Japanese duo win on brute force,but Black Dice know "Things Will Never Be the Same" for post-Boredomspsyche-stews after the "Murder License" has ben revoked. Mum's "GreenGrass of Tunnel" still retains its child like wonder and beauty afterso many plays and Party of One's bratty "Shotgun Funeral" is by fartheir best song and the only one I really need from them. Other albumexcerpts that ought to intrigue are the perky opener from David Grubbs'Rickets and Scurvy and one of the more concise and engaging tracks from Set Fire to Flames' low key desolate Telegraphs in Negative.Fennesz is always welcome round here and his "Badminton Girl" is awistful, exhausted summer evening memory fading, representing the FatCat split 12" series. Matmos, Duplo Remote, Kid 606 and Com.A also havea track each lifted from their splits, each shimmying on with fractureddancefloor moves. This does however beg the question of why they don'tcompile the split 12" singles onto CD albums once the singles are outof print. The label's weakest tendency is a penchant for middle roadquasi-avant pop and I could happily live without the sugar coatedtedium of Bjork and Funkstorung, the Emiliani Torrini remixes from TeamDoyobi and Process, and the gag-inducing Grain track. Mice Parade,Transient Waves, Him (misnomered as Seen) and the Dylan Group all coastby pleasantly making little impression. Giddy Motors stick out like ahammered thumb on the other hand, rockin' hard with the flipside of asingle that hasn't been on CD before. Almost everyone should find acouple of surprise tracks from someone they've never heard before thatimpresses. Stromba and Programme were the new finds for me. Strombatake a grooving Tortoise turn and Programme hit hard with a robustFrench rap meets Big Black drum machine onslaught. Sylvain Chauveau'shaunting piano isolation is a beautiful comedown to end the collection.
Fat Cat have compiled two discs that show them to be one of the mostdiverse and eclectic labels in the UK. I'd be surprised if you can'tfind at least a few tracks here to enjoy. The bait of a previouslyunreleased and fairly low key slice of Sigur Ros ambience opening thesecond disc is probably strategically placed to lure in their fans.Soon they'll be smacked about the ears by Xinlisupreme's anthemic synthsoaring "Murder License" which does distortion battle with Black Diceto see who can be the fattest cat. The Japanese duo win on brute force,but Black Dice know "Things Will Never Be the Same" for post-Boredomspsyche-stews after the "Murder License" has ben revoked. Mum's "GreenGrass of Tunnel" still retains its child like wonder and beauty afterso many plays and Party of One's bratty "Shotgun Funeral" is by fartheir best song and the only one I really need from them. Other albumexcerpts that ought to intrigue are the perky opener from David Grubbs'Rickets and Scurvy and one of the more concise and engaging tracks from Set Fire to Flames' low key desolate Telegraphs in Negative.Fennesz is always welcome round here and his "Badminton Girl" is awistful, exhausted summer evening memory fading, representing the FatCat split 12" series. Matmos, Duplo Remote, Kid 606 and Com.A also havea track each lifted from their splits, each shimmying on with fractureddancefloor moves. This does however beg the question of why they don'tcompile the split 12" singles onto CD albums once the singles are outof print. The label's weakest tendency is a penchant for middle roadquasi-avant pop and I could happily live without the sugar coatedtedium of Bjork and Funkstorung, the Emiliani Torrini remixes from TeamDoyobi and Process, and the gag-inducing Grain track. Mice Parade,Transient Waves, Him (misnomered as Seen) and the Dylan Group all coastby pleasantly making little impression. Giddy Motors stick out like ahammered thumb on the other hand, rockin' hard with the flipside of asingle that hasn't been on CD before. Almost everyone should find acouple of surprise tracks from someone they've never heard before thatimpresses. Stromba and Programme were the new finds for me. Strombatake a grooving Tortoise turn and Programme hit hard with a robustFrench rap meets Big Black drum machine onslaught. Sylvain Chauveau'shaunting piano isolation is a beautiful comedown to end the collection.- Duplo Remote - Cusp
- Seen - Slow Slow Slow
- Crescent - Spring
3588 Hits
Hit Thing
Dual lives, fraud, Nice, satanic ritual, artistic theft, mightyWurlitzers and trade unions—this CD has got them all. The captivatingstory behind this reissue on CD of George Montalba's first two LPs istoo long and complex to get into here but is well documented in thesleeve notes for the curious. The background adds a certain aspect offun to this disk that is much like the Simpson's, that is, it can beenjoyed on several different levels. There's the 18's exoticainstrumental aspect with its pang of goofiness that I, for one, find isalways a plus. There's the material being played: stomping rhythms andstrong melodies that have you singing along in no time, mostlyarrangements of very familiar material from Saint-Saëns,Rimsky-Korsakov, Falla, Borodin, Tchaikovsky, Grieg and Sousa, to namea few. Much more than all that is Montalba's (actually his name was BobHunter) brilliant arrangements for organ and two percussionists. Hisplaying on the genuinely fabulous, mighty and majestic Wurlitzer pipeorgan is a delight and it's all captured expertly and lovingly in hi-fimono. The music is enormous in every way: dynamics, richness andvariety of tone color, opulent expansiveness and dazzling showmanshipin borderline bad-taste. It has an intensity (there's enough organtremolo here to supply half a dozen or more 50s horror flicks) thatwill make some cringe, others smile, and most weary if not taken inappropriate doses. My advice is to pause the CD at half-time, take anap, a shower and a cup of coffee (in that order), and then resume.Putting the smug perspective of hindsight aside, Bob Hunter's versionsof these tunes really are spectacular—his mastery of different styles,playful combinations of familiar and exotic, restraint and lack thereofadd up to some genuinely fascinating listening in the manner of, say,Quincy Jones. For a listening recommendation, perhaps what it comesdown to is how you enjoy cheese—if you like your cheese rich, funky,exotic, made with artesian perfectionism and well aged then GeorgesMontalba's Mighty Wurlitzer is what you crave.
Dual lives, fraud, Nice, satanic ritual, artistic theft, mightyWurlitzers and trade unions—this CD has got them all. The captivatingstory behind this reissue on CD of George Montalba's first two LPs istoo long and complex to get into here but is well documented in thesleeve notes for the curious. The background adds a certain aspect offun to this disk that is much like the Simpson's, that is, it can beenjoyed on several different levels. There's the 18's exoticainstrumental aspect with its pang of goofiness that I, for one, find isalways a plus. There's the material being played: stomping rhythms andstrong melodies that have you singing along in no time, mostlyarrangements of very familiar material from Saint-Saëns,Rimsky-Korsakov, Falla, Borodin, Tchaikovsky, Grieg and Sousa, to namea few. Much more than all that is Montalba's (actually his name was BobHunter) brilliant arrangements for organ and two percussionists. Hisplaying on the genuinely fabulous, mighty and majestic Wurlitzer pipeorgan is a delight and it's all captured expertly and lovingly in hi-fimono. The music is enormous in every way: dynamics, richness andvariety of tone color, opulent expansiveness and dazzling showmanshipin borderline bad-taste. It has an intensity (there's enough organtremolo here to supply half a dozen or more 50s horror flicks) thatwill make some cringe, others smile, and most weary if not taken inappropriate doses. My advice is to pause the CD at half-time, take anap, a shower and a cup of coffee (in that order), and then resume.Putting the smug perspective of hindsight aside, Bob Hunter's versionsof these tunes really are spectacular—his mastery of different styles,playful combinations of familiar and exotic, restraint and lack thereofadd up to some genuinely fascinating listening in the manner of, say,Quincy Jones. For a listening recommendation, perhaps what it comesdown to is how you enjoy cheese—if you like your cheese rich, funky,exotic, made with artesian perfectionism and well aged then GeorgesMontalba's Mighty Wurlitzer is what you crave.
5332 Hits
Thirsty Ear
This entry in Thirsty Ear's ambitious Blue Series finds the series'headmaster stepping out once again to explore the realms of both thefamiliar and the unfamiliar. Shipp's reputation as a complex composerin avant and free jazz make him a prime choice to lead the Blue Seriesendeavor, and not content to simply orchestrate the undertaking, he hasseen fit to step up to the plate with his own solo and guest spots. On Equilibrium,he touches on traditional jazz structures as well as free-jazzexplorations, often augmented with accents of the urban and electronicmodern. "Vamp to Vibe" does just as it says, with Khan Jamal's vibestrickling over Shipp's vamping, seesaw chords with a confidence andfluidity that is astonishing. Jamal is given free reign to work hiswonders all over Equilibrium and his addition to Shipp'scoterie of distinguished and talented musicians is a masterstroke."Nebula Theory" is a free jazz excursion with the band members slowlydrifting apart, tenuously held together by strands of notes that breakand reform lending the track an amorphous quality that uses silence aseffectively as sound. "Cohesion," like "Vamp to Vibe," relies heavilyon a deep groove provided by Shipp's left hand and bassist WilliamParker. The ensemble digs deeply here, and the funky feel of the piecebenefits from the contributions of the programmed breakbeats ofelectronic producer FLAM. His additions are subtle, never seeking tosteal the spotlight from the ensemble, but they give the pieces adistinct energy, flirting with urban and club beats that breathe newsoul into the already lively jazz compositions. He and livepercussionist Gerald Cleaver work to act as a propulsive force, neverletting the potential for conflict or excess disappoint the potential.Shipp leaves his mark all over "The Root," with FLAM sitting out onthis more spacious piece. It is a virtuoso moment on Equilibriumwith Shipp conjuring a flowing melody from his piano that captures theattention, unbound yet never meandering. "The Key" bounces, lettingParker's bass, Jamal's vibes, and FLAM's synths and breaks all shineout, each of them seizing a portion of the piece and making them oozewith ingenuity and makes this a particular highlight on the disc. Thefinal track, "Nu Matrix," is another composition of sound and silence;patience and satisfaction. It stretches the ensembles interplay, eachcomponent loosely bonded and nearly independent. Equilibriumfinds strength throughout its duration, effectively trying its hand ata variety of sounds and ideas, and convincingly making them feelnatural together. The mix of traditional, free avant, modern, andexperimental fusion results in a remarkably compelling whole that won'tfrighten off new listeners, but rather draw them deeper into the idealsthat have come to comprise the Blue Series.
This entry in Thirsty Ear's ambitious Blue Series finds the series'headmaster stepping out once again to explore the realms of both thefamiliar and the unfamiliar. Shipp's reputation as a complex composerin avant and free jazz make him a prime choice to lead the Blue Seriesendeavor, and not content to simply orchestrate the undertaking, he hasseen fit to step up to the plate with his own solo and guest spots. On Equilibrium,he touches on traditional jazz structures as well as free-jazzexplorations, often augmented with accents of the urban and electronicmodern. "Vamp to Vibe" does just as it says, with Khan Jamal's vibestrickling over Shipp's vamping, seesaw chords with a confidence andfluidity that is astonishing. Jamal is given free reign to work hiswonders all over Equilibrium and his addition to Shipp'scoterie of distinguished and talented musicians is a masterstroke."Nebula Theory" is a free jazz excursion with the band members slowlydrifting apart, tenuously held together by strands of notes that breakand reform lending the track an amorphous quality that uses silence aseffectively as sound. "Cohesion," like "Vamp to Vibe," relies heavilyon a deep groove provided by Shipp's left hand and bassist WilliamParker. The ensemble digs deeply here, and the funky feel of the piecebenefits from the contributions of the programmed breakbeats ofelectronic producer FLAM. His additions are subtle, never seeking tosteal the spotlight from the ensemble, but they give the pieces adistinct energy, flirting with urban and club beats that breathe newsoul into the already lively jazz compositions. He and livepercussionist Gerald Cleaver work to act as a propulsive force, neverletting the potential for conflict or excess disappoint the potential.Shipp leaves his mark all over "The Root," with FLAM sitting out onthis more spacious piece. It is a virtuoso moment on Equilibriumwith Shipp conjuring a flowing melody from his piano that captures theattention, unbound yet never meandering. "The Key" bounces, lettingParker's bass, Jamal's vibes, and FLAM's synths and breaks all shineout, each of them seizing a portion of the piece and making them oozewith ingenuity and makes this a particular highlight on the disc. Thefinal track, "Nu Matrix," is another composition of sound and silence;patience and satisfaction. It stretches the ensembles interplay, eachcomponent loosely bonded and nearly independent. Equilibriumfinds strength throughout its duration, effectively trying its hand ata variety of sounds and ideas, and convincingly making them feelnatural together. The mix of traditional, free avant, modern, andexperimental fusion results in a remarkably compelling whole that won'tfrighten off new listeners, but rather draw them deeper into the idealsthat have come to comprise the Blue Series.
3640 Hits
City Centre Offices
As soon as Dictaphone's debut album starts, I'm immediately put into anew world where I am a private detective in a modern neo-noir film. Thestreets are unfriendly in these times, and I am one of those whoprotects the innocent, taking cases for low prices or for freesometimes, just keeping the peace. Every good detective has his crossto bear, and Dictaphone is a perfect backbone to the life of a lonerwho walks a fine line between the light and the dark. M.=Addictionis full of tracks that ooze modern cool, with electronic and livepercussion, guitar, keyboards, and live horns. The beats and groovesare jazz flavored, and the music does lean more towards that genre thanany other, but to call this music jazz would be to rob it of itsmulti-dimensional character. Each track is a different person, adifferent canvas, a different case to be solved. "Tempelhof" is thescorned lover, needy only of answers, walking the lonely streetswondering why the night has cursed her so. The title track is the shotfired in the night, striking an innocent person. Who fired the gun? Whodid they intend to hit? The awkward and sudden silence in the middle ofthe song asks a million questions in one second. It's as though thecompositions call out for justice, for the answers to these questionsthat haunt them. Few tracks have vocals, but those that do carry alittle more mystery, a little more depth, that makes the air theytravel throuh palpable. Oliver Doerell and Roger Döring have creatednot just music, but a storybook of emotions and characters that can beaccessed just by pressing play on the CD player. It is a fascinatinglisten, and I look forward to more cases to solve very soon.
As soon as Dictaphone's debut album starts, I'm immediately put into anew world where I am a private detective in a modern neo-noir film. Thestreets are unfriendly in these times, and I am one of those whoprotects the innocent, taking cases for low prices or for freesometimes, just keeping the peace. Every good detective has his crossto bear, and Dictaphone is a perfect backbone to the life of a lonerwho walks a fine line between the light and the dark. M.=Addictionis full of tracks that ooze modern cool, with electronic and livepercussion, guitar, keyboards, and live horns. The beats and groovesare jazz flavored, and the music does lean more towards that genre thanany other, but to call this music jazz would be to rob it of itsmulti-dimensional character. Each track is a different person, adifferent canvas, a different case to be solved. "Tempelhof" is thescorned lover, needy only of answers, walking the lonely streetswondering why the night has cursed her so. The title track is the shotfired in the night, striking an innocent person. Who fired the gun? Whodid they intend to hit? The awkward and sudden silence in the middle ofthe song asks a million questions in one second. It's as though thecompositions call out for justice, for the answers to these questionsthat haunt them. Few tracks have vocals, but those that do carry alittle more mystery, a little more depth, that makes the air theytravel throuh palpable. Oliver Doerell and Roger Döring have creatednot just music, but a storybook of emotions and characters that can beaccessed just by pressing play on the CD player. It is a fascinatinglisten, and I look forward to more cases to solve very soon.
5713 Hits
Synaesthesia
What starts off as a seemingly random collection of noise gels into anamazing conglomerate of unique sounds and atmospheres. Each unnamedtrack seems to have a consistent theme running beneath the random bellsand whistles that holds everything together. If it weren't for thiskind of consistency, Diasporawould sound totally random and become too difficult to focus on. Partof what makes a record of sounds and noises successful is the qualityof the sounds themselves: those used must be interesting and compellingor brutal and confrontational. Diaspora succeeds on this levelby employing some unusual sounds and effects. Futuristic computers, rayguns, drones of impending doom, aquatic fans, solar explosions, andalien bells are all peppered over the duration of the album. In someinstances, like the sixth and ninth tracks, these sounds are arrangedin an intriguing way, as the tracks are both heavily atmosphericglimpses into a world of nuclear winter and heavy-metal killingmachines. I find myself returning to particular songs and then becomingextremely engaged in everything that follows. As I listen to the firstfew tracks now, I realize that I am really attracted to almost everysound used. Hints of melody and coherency do emerge here and there andthe short duration of every song helps things move along nicely. Délirehas molded an album of eleven distinct tracks that belong together.Though the songs are indexed, Diaspora sounds like one longarrangement broken down into its elements. The videos included are abit less interesting than the album itself. The sounds I hear justdon't fit together with the videos in any way and it ends up makingboth the video and the music just a bit monotonous. I think of Diasporaas a collection of interesting sounds more than anything. There'snothing particularly amazing about the arrangements nor the album ingeneral, but the sounds are just so captivating that I keep wanting togo back for more.
What starts off as a seemingly random collection of noise gels into anamazing conglomerate of unique sounds and atmospheres. Each unnamedtrack seems to have a consistent theme running beneath the random bellsand whistles that holds everything together. If it weren't for thiskind of consistency, Diasporawould sound totally random and become too difficult to focus on. Partof what makes a record of sounds and noises successful is the qualityof the sounds themselves: those used must be interesting and compellingor brutal and confrontational. Diaspora succeeds on this levelby employing some unusual sounds and effects. Futuristic computers, rayguns, drones of impending doom, aquatic fans, solar explosions, andalien bells are all peppered over the duration of the album. In someinstances, like the sixth and ninth tracks, these sounds are arrangedin an intriguing way, as the tracks are both heavily atmosphericglimpses into a world of nuclear winter and heavy-metal killingmachines. I find myself returning to particular songs and then becomingextremely engaged in everything that follows. As I listen to the firstfew tracks now, I realize that I am really attracted to almost everysound used. Hints of melody and coherency do emerge here and there andthe short duration of every song helps things move along nicely. Délirehas molded an album of eleven distinct tracks that belong together.Though the songs are indexed, Diaspora sounds like one longarrangement broken down into its elements. The videos included are abit less interesting than the album itself. The sounds I hear justdon't fit together with the videos in any way and it ends up makingboth the video and the music just a bit monotonous. I think of Diasporaas a collection of interesting sounds more than anything. There'snothing particularly amazing about the arrangements nor the album ingeneral, but the sounds are just so captivating that I keep wanting togo back for more.
5143 Hits
No Label
Anyone who has seen the turntablism documentary Scratchwill remember the scene featuring Josh Charles, AKA DJ Shadow. He stoodin the secret basement of his favorite record store (locationundisclosed, of course) amid huge stacks of dusty, obscure vinyl,explaining the philosophy and allure of "crate digging". Hisinexhaustible energy for searching out rare groove, forgotten soul, andhopelessly esoteric breakbeats has given his albums a dark, shadowyatmosphere wholly appropriate to his moniker. While most of Shadow'searly mixes were characterized by clever constructions of breakbeatsfrom rare jazz and funk instrumentals from the likes of David Axelrodand Cannonball Adderly, his recent work (with the exception of most ofhis disappointing major label album) has taken him to the farthestreaches of psychedelia and European progressive rock. Being somewhat ofa rare psych and prog enthusiast, I admire this new direction and amdownright envious of the incredibly bizarre tracks he has managed todig up for this 120-minute live BBC mix. Diminishing Returns isa new, independently released 2-CD set that comprises the entiretwo-hour BBC mix as well as a brand new bonus track. The first hour ofthe mix focuses on underground, old school and leftfield hip-hoptracks. Many of these funny, clever and/or weird raps are matched withalternate breakbeats from another source. There is no tracklisting orsample credits to be found in the nonexistent liner notes, so most ofthese artists remain completely enigmatic to me. Someone more cleverthan I should try to name all of the artists and songs used here, but Iam hopeless at blindly identifying tracks. This first part of thesession is a dynamic hour of rarely-heard hip-hop gems, but it cannothold a candle to the genius of the final 40 minutes. For this last halfof the mix, Shadow creates a seamless adventure through all thingsdusty, strange and rare, focusing on obscure psychedelic rock andstrange progressive. Some of these songs are truly off-kilter andhallucinogenic, featuring trippy, introspective vocals, effects-ladenguitar noodling and mesmerizing beats. This is an impressive assemblageof esoterica that you are guaranteed never to hear anywhere else. Ialmost expected Arcesia, the acid-addled big band leader featured on Songs in the Key of Zto come into the mix singing "Butterfly Mind." At a staggering twohours, the mix still feels tight and engaging, which is an impressivefeat. The bonus track on the disc is an average re-hash of the kind ofhip-hop/rock instrumental constructs that dominated The Private Press. Diminishing Returns is a satisfying DJ mix, right up there with gems like Coldcut's 70 Minutes of Madness.If DJ Shadow wants to retain his credibility, he needs to stay awayfrom the feeble and average material evidenced on his major labelalbum, and stick to the kind of musical integrity he displays on mixeslike this one.
Anyone who has seen the turntablism documentary Scratchwill remember the scene featuring Josh Charles, AKA DJ Shadow. He stoodin the secret basement of his favorite record store (locationundisclosed, of course) amid huge stacks of dusty, obscure vinyl,explaining the philosophy and allure of "crate digging". Hisinexhaustible energy for searching out rare groove, forgotten soul, andhopelessly esoteric breakbeats has given his albums a dark, shadowyatmosphere wholly appropriate to his moniker. While most of Shadow'searly mixes were characterized by clever constructions of breakbeatsfrom rare jazz and funk instrumentals from the likes of David Axelrodand Cannonball Adderly, his recent work (with the exception of most ofhis disappointing major label album) has taken him to the farthestreaches of psychedelia and European progressive rock. Being somewhat ofa rare psych and prog enthusiast, I admire this new direction and amdownright envious of the incredibly bizarre tracks he has managed todig up for this 120-minute live BBC mix. Diminishing Returns isa new, independently released 2-CD set that comprises the entiretwo-hour BBC mix as well as a brand new bonus track. The first hour ofthe mix focuses on underground, old school and leftfield hip-hoptracks. Many of these funny, clever and/or weird raps are matched withalternate breakbeats from another source. There is no tracklisting orsample credits to be found in the nonexistent liner notes, so most ofthese artists remain completely enigmatic to me. Someone more cleverthan I should try to name all of the artists and songs used here, but Iam hopeless at blindly identifying tracks. This first part of thesession is a dynamic hour of rarely-heard hip-hop gems, but it cannothold a candle to the genius of the final 40 minutes. For this last halfof the mix, Shadow creates a seamless adventure through all thingsdusty, strange and rare, focusing on obscure psychedelic rock andstrange progressive. Some of these songs are truly off-kilter andhallucinogenic, featuring trippy, introspective vocals, effects-ladenguitar noodling and mesmerizing beats. This is an impressive assemblageof esoterica that you are guaranteed never to hear anywhere else. Ialmost expected Arcesia, the acid-addled big band leader featured on Songs in the Key of Zto come into the mix singing "Butterfly Mind." At a staggering twohours, the mix still feels tight and engaging, which is an impressivefeat. The bonus track on the disc is an average re-hash of the kind ofhip-hop/rock instrumental constructs that dominated The Private Press. Diminishing Returns is a satisfying DJ mix, right up there with gems like Coldcut's 70 Minutes of Madness.If DJ Shadow wants to retain his credibility, he needs to stay awayfrom the feeble and average material evidenced on his major labelalbum, and stick to the kind of musical integrity he displays on mixeslike this one.
6139 Hits
Load
The guitarist dressed in silly pink stocking apparel that masked hisidentity. The drummer dressed much the same but in brown. If they gaveinterviews, I guess its fairly unlikely they got asked, "So why did youcall the band Pink and Brown?" Imagine Oxes stripped down to a lowerdensity screechier hollerin' clobberin' combo and you'd have a fairlygood idea of where these two light-hearted heavy-handed San Franciscoscene stalwarts were coming from. Actually you'd probably have a bandwho sound so much like Arab On Radar that they could be the same sillypost-punkers, albeit with the vocals mixed lower or not at all. As forwhere they're going to, who knows? Brown plays in Young People whosounded like Cat Power might if she got some interesting noises intoher guitar and wrote better songs on the one song I heard. Pink playsin a bunch of other bands I've never heard. But I have heard this CDand can say that compiling everything they released before giving upthis fancy dress gig was a pretty good idea and if you've ever groovedto the kind of jagged rock storms that the Skin Graft label served upin abundance, you'll probably have a pretty good time at the Pink andBrown party. Its itchy, scratchy nerd rock as opposed to math rock,because these are the kids who burnt their homework and ran through thestreets squealing with socks pulled over their heads. The vinyl versionof this album only features the five new songs they recorded on NewYears day 2003 so unless you were a completist Pink and Brown fan, theCD seems a better bet, as there are 22 tracks on that. But how doesthis rate on my Loadometer? Not as madcap noisefried as Lightning Boltor Sightings, but a lot more fun than Neon Hunk. Don't even think aboutgetting this until you have that stompin' Noxagt album on Load which Ireviewed a few weeks back
The guitarist dressed in silly pink stocking apparel that masked hisidentity. The drummer dressed much the same but in brown. If they gaveinterviews, I guess its fairly unlikely they got asked, "So why did youcall the band Pink and Brown?" Imagine Oxes stripped down to a lowerdensity screechier hollerin' clobberin' combo and you'd have a fairlygood idea of where these two light-hearted heavy-handed San Franciscoscene stalwarts were coming from. Actually you'd probably have a bandwho sound so much like Arab On Radar that they could be the same sillypost-punkers, albeit with the vocals mixed lower or not at all. As forwhere they're going to, who knows? Brown plays in Young People whosounded like Cat Power might if she got some interesting noises intoher guitar and wrote better songs on the one song I heard. Pink playsin a bunch of other bands I've never heard. But I have heard this CDand can say that compiling everything they released before giving upthis fancy dress gig was a pretty good idea and if you've ever groovedto the kind of jagged rock storms that the Skin Graft label served upin abundance, you'll probably have a pretty good time at the Pink andBrown party. Its itchy, scratchy nerd rock as opposed to math rock,because these are the kids who burnt their homework and ran through thestreets squealing with socks pulled over their heads. The vinyl versionof this album only features the five new songs they recorded on NewYears day 2003 so unless you were a completist Pink and Brown fan, theCD seems a better bet, as there are 22 tracks on that. But how doesthis rate on my Loadometer? Not as madcap noisefried as Lightning Boltor Sightings, but a lot more fun than Neon Hunk. Don't even think aboutgetting this until you have that stompin' Noxagt album on Load which Ireviewed a few weeks back
3320 Hits
Soul Jazz
There are altogether too many various artist compilations currently outin the market that presume to document a particular musical scene or,worse, claim to serve as a kind of audio history lesson. All of thesereleases seem to be suggesting that they are the "final word" on aparticular genre or scene. Most fall far short of this goal. Recently,Rough Trade released a "post punk" primer, which included a few greatrarities from the original era like Liquid Liquid and World DominationEnterprises, together with a bunch of head-scratchingly inappropriateinclusions from newer artists. Very little thought seems to be given totrack sequencing in most cases, making for an uneven listen that ismore annoying that it is educational. Many of these compilations alsorecycle the same tracks that have appeared on numerous other releases.I can count on one hand the number of compilations that I have found tobe valuable, and among them is Soul Jazz's In The Beginning, There Was Rhythmfrom 2001. True, some of the tracks included were widely available onCD already, but the selection and sequencing of tracks was trulyinspired. So, I had high hopes for the newest Soul Jazz "music history"comp, New York Noise: Dance Music From the New York Underground1978-1982. The compilers have attempted to marry the disparate genresof post-punk dance, underground disco, no-wave and hip-hop under onebig NYC banner. With a few exceptions, they succeed. Liquid Liquid's"Optimo" is a great starting point, combining African rhythms and punkurgency into a tense, funky groove. Filling out the "mutant disco"quotient are rare selections from Konk, The Dance and The Bloods. BillLaswell's Material are included, with a dialogue-sampling disco-housemeltdown that sounds way ahead of its time. NYC underground avant-discoprodigy Arthur Russell is here under his Dinosaur L guise, with thetypically brilliant "Clean on Your Bean #1". It's nice to hear thiscrisply remastered song without having to shell out $700 for theoriginal 12" on Sleeping Bag. ESG and The Bush Tetras represent for theladies with a couple estrogen-fueled funk tracks. Defunkt's "Defunkt"seems a little out of place; it's nice, but a rather typical late-70'sdisco-funk number. Rahmelzee vs. K. Rob's long-winded "Beat Bop" standsalong with Grandmaster Flash's "White Lines" as a masterpiece of thefirst era of NYC hip-hop. I'm not sure what the compilers were thinkingby the inclusion of DNA, MARS and The Contortions. Sure, these bandswere included on the epochal 1978 No New York LP which defined theno-wave aesthetic, but does this qualify as dance music? Only anepileptic on ecstasy would try to dance to these noisy, herky-jerkyrhythms. Ditto Glenn Branca's eight-minute, multiple-guitar fantasia"Lesson No.1." These tracks are all quite good, but they stick out likea sore thumb on a so-called "dance music" compilation. These are minorquibbles, however, as the music is brilliant, and MARS' "HelenFordsdale" has always been my favorite track from the No New Yorkcompilation. Words are insufficient to describe the drama and intensityof this two-and-a-half minute explosion of rock n' roll chaos. All inall, New York Noise is a valuable compilation for those of us who don'tmind pedantic compilers giving us a lesson in musical history.
There are altogether too many various artist compilations currently outin the market that presume to document a particular musical scene or,worse, claim to serve as a kind of audio history lesson. All of thesereleases seem to be suggesting that they are the "final word" on aparticular genre or scene. Most fall far short of this goal. Recently,Rough Trade released a "post punk" primer, which included a few greatrarities from the original era like Liquid Liquid and World DominationEnterprises, together with a bunch of head-scratchingly inappropriateinclusions from newer artists. Very little thought seems to be given totrack sequencing in most cases, making for an uneven listen that ismore annoying that it is educational. Many of these compilations alsorecycle the same tracks that have appeared on numerous other releases.I can count on one hand the number of compilations that I have found tobe valuable, and among them is Soul Jazz's In The Beginning, There Was Rhythmfrom 2001. True, some of the tracks included were widely available onCD already, but the selection and sequencing of tracks was trulyinspired. So, I had high hopes for the newest Soul Jazz "music history"comp, New York Noise: Dance Music From the New York Underground1978-1982. The compilers have attempted to marry the disparate genresof post-punk dance, underground disco, no-wave and hip-hop under onebig NYC banner. With a few exceptions, they succeed. Liquid Liquid's"Optimo" is a great starting point, combining African rhythms and punkurgency into a tense, funky groove. Filling out the "mutant disco"quotient are rare selections from Konk, The Dance and The Bloods. BillLaswell's Material are included, with a dialogue-sampling disco-housemeltdown that sounds way ahead of its time. NYC underground avant-discoprodigy Arthur Russell is here under his Dinosaur L guise, with thetypically brilliant "Clean on Your Bean #1". It's nice to hear thiscrisply remastered song without having to shell out $700 for theoriginal 12" on Sleeping Bag. ESG and The Bush Tetras represent for theladies with a couple estrogen-fueled funk tracks. Defunkt's "Defunkt"seems a little out of place; it's nice, but a rather typical late-70'sdisco-funk number. Rahmelzee vs. K. Rob's long-winded "Beat Bop" standsalong with Grandmaster Flash's "White Lines" as a masterpiece of thefirst era of NYC hip-hop. I'm not sure what the compilers were thinkingby the inclusion of DNA, MARS and The Contortions. Sure, these bandswere included on the epochal 1978 No New York LP which defined theno-wave aesthetic, but does this qualify as dance music? Only anepileptic on ecstasy would try to dance to these noisy, herky-jerkyrhythms. Ditto Glenn Branca's eight-minute, multiple-guitar fantasia"Lesson No.1." These tracks are all quite good, but they stick out likea sore thumb on a so-called "dance music" compilation. These are minorquibbles, however, as the music is brilliant, and MARS' "HelenFordsdale" has always been my favorite track from the No New Yorkcompilation. Words are insufficient to describe the drama and intensityof this two-and-a-half minute explosion of rock n' roll chaos. All inall, New York Noise is a valuable compilation for those of us who don'tmind pedantic compilers giving us a lesson in musical history.- Liquid Liquid - Optimo
- Dinosaur L - Clean on Your Bean #1
- MARS - Helen Fordsdale
3616 Hits
It's difficult to believe that The Clientele have only gotten around to releasing a full length album now, six years after they appeared on the Fierce Panda 7" compilation, Cry Me a Liver. Although the London-based trio have released a steady stream of 7" singles, EPs, and even a critically acclaimed singles compilation in 2000, The Violet Hour finds the band exploring a larger framework and expanding their sound. Overall, the production sounds more focused than their previous efforts, though it does retain much of the charming muddiness of some of their earliest releases such as "All the Dust and Glass."
3869 Hits
