Load
Entirely too raw for any glitzy fashion-conscious New Yorker to releasethem, this power-trio have found a home with the Providence-based Load(Lighning Bolt, Arab on Radar, Six Finger Satellite) for their debutfull (?) length release (at 11 songs, it clocks in at an almost exact26 minutes!) This aneurysm-inducing onslaught of atonality is rich inabrasion, heavy with distortion and loaded with more adorable hatedthan a pimply, overweight, horny teenaged nerd. But it's hardlymathematic, metallic, (or "ironic") however, as each song is a directslice into the guts of anybody in its aural path. The feverent energyis somewhat refreshing as it takes a much different path to get fromthe slaughterhouse to your table, stopping in the underworlds of withavant-garde social terrorists rather than concrete jungles of post-punkbrats from good homes with bedhead or leather jackets with DC bandlogos, all the while, remaining bleedingly truthful. (Eat your heartout, Thurston O'Rourke.) This disc is anything but clean, yetremarkably consistent, almost as if you can turn it up loud enough andfeel like you're actually there in front of the miked amplifier with anunavoidable strong stench of body odor festering in your face. Yeah,it's fucking harsh, but then again, when was rock and roll ever aboutpleasing your parents? In a year filled with a slim amount offavorites, I'm happy to now have this in my collection.
Entirely too raw for any glitzy fashion-conscious New Yorker to releasethem, this power-trio have found a home with the Providence-based Load(Lighning Bolt, Arab on Radar, Six Finger Satellite) for their debutfull (?) length release (at 11 songs, it clocks in at an almost exact26 minutes!) This aneurysm-inducing onslaught of atonality is rich inabrasion, heavy with distortion and loaded with more adorable hatedthan a pimply, overweight, horny teenaged nerd. But it's hardlymathematic, metallic, (or "ironic") however, as each song is a directslice into the guts of anybody in its aural path. The feverent energyis somewhat refreshing as it takes a much different path to get fromthe slaughterhouse to your table, stopping in the underworlds of withavant-garde social terrorists rather than concrete jungles of post-punkbrats from good homes with bedhead or leather jackets with DC bandlogos, all the while, remaining bleedingly truthful. (Eat your heartout, Thurston O'Rourke.) This disc is anything but clean, yetremarkably consistent, almost as if you can turn it up loud enough andfeel like you're actually there in front of the miked amplifier with anunavoidable strong stench of body odor festering in your face. Yeah,it's fucking harsh, but then again, when was rock and roll ever aboutpleasing your parents? In a year filled with a slim amount offavorites, I'm happy to now have this in my collection.
samples:
Trevor Wishart's legendary electroacoustic trip from the yawning YorkUniversity breakfast table into the off planet starmind vacuumoriginally span onto two bits of vinyl way back in 1973. Now Paradigmhave rescued it to aluminium bit-coded posterity, in all it's lo-ficollaged glory, with a slightly off putting sleeve note from thecomposer who seems embarrassed by the naivities he now finds in theexecution of his first release. Three years in the making, 'JourneyInto Space' mixes up free improvised junk toy fiddling, clocks ticking,rocket launch blasts, slamming doors, heartbeats and haunted chainrattling, with a hell of a lot of tubular bell bashing along the way.Wishart mixed and remixed field recordings and captures with improvisedand scored contributions from 48 musicians, including Steve Beresfordand Jonty Harrison. The opening thirteen minutes of deep bowed stringdrone, gurgling grey hospital limbo groans and creaks and jinglingbells might feel right at home on your favourite Nurse With Wound albumor sat alongside the admittedly more tidy and better recorded ThrobbingGristle masterpiece 'Journey Through a Body.' This is a perhaps agenuinely seminal work, which might have had as much if not moreinfluence on the outsider industrial scene as the academic corridorsfrom which it crept slowly. The "Birth" intro winds out with distantchoirs singing odd hymns to a crying new baby. The least successfulsequence is the man waking, yawning, belching and generally fartingabout that starts the almost fifty minute 'Journey,' which continueswith a car zooming off into the quaint honking city. Suddenly a fanfareheralds a rocket launch amongst the dwindling traffic noise and thescene shifts, planets dwindle, time slips. The rocket engine roar eatseverything until discordant anti-vacuum bells dissolve into the silenceof space. Strange new worlds open up in alien instrumention. Distantradio crackles in from homeworld. Chiming into the void new forms takeshape from hazy fluting, and an alien city emerges from the blue bellfog. Inside they're having a good ol' B-movie tentacle party, rituallysqueezing honk horns, until the nightmare giant babies google in fromthe black and white swamplands and the first word is spoken by chantingnose-monks. It's hard to hear this without being reminded of early1970s sci-fi classics 'Solaris' and '2001.' 2002: Lost in space theland that time forgot is remembered and reissued.
Once upon a time, the late '80s to be precise, My Life With The ThrillKill Kult fabricated some killer singles, EPs and albums for theseminal Chicago based label, Wax Trax! Records. Then began the downwardslide into major label "success", self parody and just plain bad ideasand music. Remember the god awful "Sex On Wheelz" song and video forthe "Cool World" movie? Yikes. I gave up on them after that and everytime I tried a new album I was disappointed. Fast forward to today andthis project finally sees the light of day. Recorded 1998-99, DarlingKandie paired TKK frontman Groovie Mann with venerable one man band,the late William Tucker, to whom it's dedicated. As the liner notesexplain this is some of Tucker's last work (demos in fact, though itsounds complete), his career having included recording and/or touringwith most of industrial rock's inner circles: Ministry, the RevoltingCocks, Pigface, Chris Connelly, Foetus, Thanatos, Chainsuck, etc., notto mention TKK's 'Sexplosion' tours as "Amber Guitarstar". I think it'ssafe to say that most if not all of the music here is Tucker's doing ashis unique guitar and programming imprint are instantly recognizableand Groovie's primary role in TKK is lyrics and vocals. Together theyrevisit the tongue-in-cheek evil of classic Kult, with a Tucker twist.His slinky grooves are solid backdrops for tons of silly samples andGroovie Mann's campy tales of naughty young girls, drugs, sex andsuicide. Horn-y hijinks ala Foetus spice up "Cobra Kiss" and "ClearfireFor The Fallen". "Secret Ceremony" conveys Tucker's sense of pop melodywhile "Randy Road" does the same for his skill at glam-hip hop rhythmamalgamation. And the title track and "Untitled End" best replicate thecreepy dark side of the Kult's back catalog. Frankie Nardiello's (akaGroovie Mann) insert photos of "Ultramodels" helps complete the mood.'People Next Door' is the best thing Thrill Kill Kult haven't done in adecade and a testament to the talent of the much missed E. WilliamTucker.
Here's a perfect example why strikingly original bands should neverup-and-move their ass out to the West Coast to "make it big."Multi-instrumentalist/producer/one-man-act Gary Wilson recorded thisremarkably entertaining debut album in 1977, and hand-packaged every LPwith autographed photos and other inserts for all the copies eithersent out to various college radio stations or sold at concerts in andaround NYC. After heading to San Diego, the band never signed a deal,despite gaining a bit of underground attention from experimental radiostations along the way. Don't believe the press about this record,however, he would have never been a superstar, but he could have easilycontinued to record underground anthems in the form of curious albumsyour cooler older brother might have kicking around. 'You Think YouReally Know Me' predates Prince's debut record by a year, but hasenough soulful make-out jams (like "6.4 Makeout" and "Chromium Bitch")to make you believe he was listening to the hairy purple midget andspending late nights in run-down Atlantic City casinos with second-ratelounge singers. Unfortunately, it's slightly too misogynistic foracceptance in the late 1970s as "irony" wasn't really in style. Wilsonplayed every instrument and produced the album entirely, and tossed ina healthy serving of tape splicing, sound effects, and cheesy synthsamidst the elogant organ, acceptable drums and phenomenal bass guitarwork. Picture HNAS meets Steely Dan in some of the trippierinstrumental bits. Thanks go out to the Dust Brothers for introducingWilson's music to Beck (he name drops Gary Wilson in "Where it's At"and somehow I don't think Mr. Hansen would have known of Wilson withoutthem), because that may have sparked the interest of the people atMotel for tracking this guy down. I could be wrong, entirely too jaded,but somebody needs to be thanked for making this peculiaralmost-masterpiece readily available.
Genre bending tribute albums tend to be lame unless the ideas are as amusing and well executed as Opium Jukebox's. Centered around Martin Atkins (Pigface, The Damage Manual, Invisible Records, Underground, Inc.) and Bobdog Catlin (ex-Evil Mothers, Pigface, Pseudo Buddha) plus Julian Beeston (ex-Nitzer Ebb, Shining) and Rahul Sharma, the group relocates well known Western ditties thousands of miles to the East via sitars and such.
First and foremost, credit must go to STROM.ec for being a wonderfullydynamic act who manage to change their style of music on each releaseenough to make a new album a pleasantly unexpected surprise. For thoseof you following these talented Finns, "Dogs of Total Order" doesn'tsound like "Neural Architect" which doesn't sound like the "Glass Cage"7" which certainly does not sound like "Arma Christi." On "ArmaChristi," STROM.ec and fellow Finns Irikarah go "classic German powerelectronics" - i.e. Genocide Organ soundalikes. Therein lies mycomplaint - originality is not this record's strong suit. Regardless,both bands know what they're going for, and they go for the throat.STROM.ec's four tracks are powerful examples of this genre done well -repetitive, hypnotic, noisy music coupled with brutal, pissed-offvocals (which are often the "make-or-break" factor, and in STROM.ec'scase, definitely make it). Irikarah takes a similar approach, but soundquite different. Whereas STROM.ec focuses on repetition and vocals,Irikarah's sound is a little bit more dynamic and less vocal-heavy. Thethird track in particular is almost rhythmic (imagine that)! Suffice itto say, if you're a fan of this sound, you could do no better than toimmediately purchase this record, and scream and shout right along withSTROM.ec (fans of "Neural Architect" be warned, this record is a lotless dynamic). Myself, I'm getting a little bit tired of therepetitiveness, but I need a good dose of it every now and then, and"Arma Christi" hits the spot like a sledgehammer.
Spider Monkey makes hard breakbeat moves on this 5 track CD-R whichfall somewhere between a less distorted, less hip-hop influenced 2ndGen and a lot of the Position Chrome label releases, but probably donewith more imagination and variation than the PC lot. "Drowning" hammersominously, but the following "H.L.S" drops down to a simple tickingwarped keyboard melody before the distorted driving beats pick upagain. "Isolation Chamber" pounds away in a linear bangin' technotunnel with manic sci-fi bleeps circling wildly around the perimeter.This track might seem a little dated to some perhaps, but it works justfine. "Feel Nothing After Dark" warps a vocal sample of the phrase "Theway I feel," which sounds great at unintelligible slow speed but edgestowards cheeseball territory sped up later on, however riding out on afeedbck drone is a smart way to finish the track. I don't listen to agreat deal of this stuff, so I'm not sure which kind of sub-genres itmight fit into or if that's even relevant anymore, but it's definitelymore fist-thru-monitor than headnod-shit. Spider Monkey definitelyseems like one to watch out for, and if the samples below appeal thencheck out the website for more.
Some times I really just don't get Sub Pop. They've made some greatsignings in recent years, the best of which being The Shins, butsometimes you have to wonder what they see in some bands. That'sexactly what I thought when I first heard Beachwood Sparks, and I thinkit even more now. Another fragile-voiced, country-tinged rock band withmediocre imagery as the major tenet to their songs. The harmonies arefine, but not enough to carry the songs to airy heights. In fact,there's not much about this EP that is particularly memorable or worthyof praise. It's pretty uninspiring. On "Make the Cowboy Robots Cry,"the Sparks stretch their legs a little bit, performing some of theirmost experimental music yet. And it's all over the damn place. Thecenter piece is, of course, the fragile vocals, but now there is agreater emphasis placed on the instrumentation, and on sampled momentsof rhythm and strings. There are moments of brilliance, but they'remostly due to the guests on the release, as much as I can tell. ChrisGunst was apparently quite inspired by his work with Jimmy Tamborelloon the DNTEL release, so he invited Tamborello to appear here as aproducer/side man, and Mia Doi Todd is along for the ride, as well. Hercontribution, on 'Ponce de Leon Blues' gives that song a hauntingbeauty, and when she and Gunst sing together, there is a bit ofpromise. Maybe for the next DNTEL release. But not for BeachwoodSparks, sadly. The last song, 'Ghost Dance 1492', is just plain awful.In spreading their wings and trying out some new elements and sounds,and tweaking their base sound in the process, Beachwood Sparks havetried to apply this same energy in their songwriting, and they'vemuddied the water. If they'd applied these elements to their usualstyle of songwriting, the results might have been more awe-inspiring.Instead, we're left with this hint of what is to come on futureBeachwood Sparks music. And what will that bring? Hopefully somethingmore coherent.
Turned on by a recommendation by Jason Bryant (of Riouxs, damn, he'snever wrong), this second release for the Russian label is the firstfull-length album by this Saint Petersburg-based duo. You won't findany bizarre experimentation with crazy rhythms, abrasive noises orharsh melodies within. Instead it's a delicate wash of gorgeouselectronic melodies and serene sounds. While it does wander thattrecherous border between early Orb and new age, I honestly find myselfpulling for this disc frequently when I simply want to tune out theincreasingly psychotic world and soak in some valuble personal "me"time. I reached track four, "At_First," in my car once late at night,driving on an urban highway at a relatively high speed through somewell-lit tunnels and that, coupled with the following beat-less auralmasterpiece, "Paintings," really solidified my love for this disc.Picture the blissful sounds of some of the first Tear Garden materialwithout abrasive cuts, vocals or samples, replaced by conjunct, languidtunes which would please anybody fond of musicians like UlrichSchnauss. If anything, looking forward, Edda and Vladislav might wantto look into updating their sounds when progressing onto their nextrecords, but in the meantime, this album works just perfectly. Sadly,only Riouxs seems to be carrying this label right now.
After two albums on TVT, Guided By Voices return to their label formany years, Matador Records, to release their latest opus, "UniversalTruths and Cycles." It was a surprise for many that TVT was the labelto pick up Pollard and co. after their split from Matador. Why wouldTVT, home to such bands as Gravity Kills, Naughty By Nature andSevendust want indie songsters like Guided By Voices? (And XTC, forthat matter, but that's another story...) Their return to Matador isboth unexpected and welcome. Rob Pollard has described the CD as acombination of "Alien Lanes" and "Isolation Drills," though in placesit seems to have more in common with "Mag Earwhig!" Either way, itbrings GbV one step closer to the perfect mix of high-and-lo-fi thatPollard's been striving for years to achieve, and it's a strongcollection of classic GbV. Rocking out of the gates with 'WireGreyhounds,' the album really gets underway with the second track,'Skin Parade.' With a little in common with 'The Enemy' off "IsolationDrills" - lo-fi beginning, with hi-fi interruption and continuation -the track unloads a furious guitar assault, with Pollard sounding likehe's genuinely having a blast with the "hoo-hoos" at the end of thetrack. Elsewhere, the band create soaring guitar and vocal epics('Cheyenne'), boogey rock of a new flavor ('Back to the Lake'), and oneof the darkest tracks GbV have ever recorded, while still rocking outin full style with gorgeous double-tracked vocals ('Storm Vibrations').Of course, the quirkiness is here in full force in the song titles('Everywhere with Helicopter', 'Father Sgt. Christmas Card', 'ChristianAnimation Torch Carriers') and in Pollard's lyrics ("loving arms attackyou/with promises for when you check out"). It's not a return to form,a regression, or a progression of their sound. It's simply anotherfantastic GbV record. And what more could you want?
This compilation brings together several early and now hard-to-findsingles by Britain's prolific ISAN, comprised of Robin Saville andAntony Ryan. The tracks, which come primarily from 7"s dating from 1997to 1999 on labels like Wurlitzer Jukebox, Earworm and Bad Jazz, breathenew life into a genre which, especially as of late, has begun toflounder with acts that are virtually indistinguishable. "Autolung" isan exhibition of their hypnotic, haunting signature sound: ISAN's brandof electronic music is introspective without over-intellectualization,and is often childlike, but never infantile, particularly with regardsto the choice of vocal samples they sometimes use. "Damil 85", whichmakes use of such a sample, is brilliant, and quite possibly one of thebest tracks the duo has ever done. "Remegio" is full of a chilling andmelancholy beauty. Understated yet often playful beats ebb and flowseamlessly and consistently throughout every piece. Another gem fromfrom the lovely Morr Music.
Fennesz 'Endless Summer' was the big across board hit of last year,obviously much more interesting in it's original invention thanRadiohead's thinly veiled Elton John impressions or Bjork's vaudevillesugar puff powderings. 'Endless Summer' appealed to blandpiggys andnoizheds alike and it was quite interesting to see the diverse music itrubbed shoulders with in all those yearend bestlisten lists. Fenneszstays visible with ever more recordings of varied live encounters, andalthough I haven't yet heard his Mika Vainio collaboration that got aslating from Nate Smith a couple of months back, I've always foundthat, like Otomo Yoshihide, for Fennesz quantity does not negatequality. This three way improvisation, recorded late in 2000, takes aclassic improvisation approach, in as much as AMM could be consideredclassic, but these artists are daubing from a very distinctive noisepallet. There are some very obvious similarities to AMM in the way theyslowly build up morphing dense layers from almost nothing, sewing inoccasional hacked fragments of radiopops. Fennesz might have started itwith a sampled fractious descending piano run, but then again itcould've been Gert-Jan Prins' kick off, or perhaps Van Bergen wasactually playing a piano? The haunting beauty unfolds fromradiocaptures and junk contraptions complimenting the familiar Fenneszgentle guitarshift distortion textures for Peter Van Bergen'sunderstated but understanding saxophone to unwind around, blurtingcamouflaged in strange new ruptured lung distortion fractions. Aquarter hour in he fires off some almost classic free jazz moves thatquickly get torn apart by effects and spat back into the whirling void,all mangled and digidiminished. Whilst the prospect of having to switchthe blip-attention spans on to a single forty two minute track mightput off some blandpiggys, and noizheads might make gripewater out ofthe ever dipping levels and relatively reflective yet murky pools hereand there, this is definitely more than just a worthy and curiousaddition to the ever expanding Fennesz ouevre. The crescendo at aroundthe half hour point is top notch liberating primal freenoise, piling upvariegated deep drones to breaking point. They drop down again to letpiano patter and metal chimes ring over the digisplutter and zoom focuslens splatter squeals but it builds again to a warped summer ending.These noisemakers play it organic, so that it becomes difficult toseparate any individual chaos panic. They also bring an intuitiveunderstanding of electro-acoustic sudden shock echoblam to theirconstantly mutating crunchy evolution. 'Dawn' makes me curious to hearmore from Van Bergen and especially Prins, whose noise patchwork freeskronking with Lee Ranaldo made for a surprising Radio 3 highlight acouple of years back, a recording which was made on a night when I wasacross London town listening to Wire. Sometimes it seems there's somuch happening you just need to split yourself in two to experience itall, which makes me glad that Fennesz makes these recordings of livesituations. When the sun rises, I will listen.
I think there comes a time (or rather, a number of times) when a musicenthusiast/record collector finally becomes hooked on something theynever really paid much attention to for years and just think over andover again, "damn, what was I thinking?" This holds true for me andChristoph Heemann's work and the music contained herein is noexception. Originally released as a limited edition in 1997, the musicon this disc accompanies four short stories by Thomas Ligotti writtenfor David Tibet. The musical accompaniment by Christoph Heemann andSteven Stapleton is intense enough to stand on its own yet subtleenough to be read along to as recommended in the booklet. Low, rumblingdrones underscore fleeting sound effects and garbled voices throughoutthe opener, "His Shadow Will Rise to a Higher House" and a tuba melody"A Soft Voice Whispers Nothing," while echoed and layered bells ringout during the haunting "The Bells Will Sound Forever." Only rarelywill a voice pop in from Tibet, Andria Degens (Pantaleimon) or ShirleyCollins, narrating small portions of the text, essentially performingthe role as suggestive guidelines as to where the story should be. Thevoices aren't overbearing but I'm really in mixed worlds whether tothink the narration should run throughout or the music should becompletely instrumental. The stories by Ligotti are rather entertainingand a light read, but my lack of ability to respectfully critiquefiction can't go much deeper into them than that. All the text andartwork has been reprinted from the first edition, however, thisversion is unfortunately in a rather chinchy digipack when compared tothe hardcover original. Regardless, the music is essential for anyfanatic Mirror fan and could easily make a Heemann fan out of anyexisting C93 fan.
Gastr del Sol, with their complicated arrangements, electronic interludes, and guitar work drawn from obscure North American folk and rock influences, would have been more than qualified to take a marketable place amongst the identikit post-rock outfits doing the rounds in the mid-nineties. But instead of achieving Tortoise-proportioned recognition, they remained a relative obscurity, and perhaps part of the reason for that was David Grubbs's unique vocal and lyrical contribution.
"The name IAO is Kabbalistically identical to the Beast and his numberis 666." John Zorn's new album consists of a seven-movement suite thatbrings his obsessions with Alchemy, Metaphysics and the work of KennethAnger to the fore. Continuing Zorn and Tzadik's tradition of excellentpackaging, the CD is accompanied by a series of postcard-styledinserts, each bearing Kabbalistic signs, arcane scribblings and creditsprinted in a lovely but nearly undecipherable typeface. Musically,"IAO" is a consolidation of Zorn's recent artistic developments: thecomplex writing of "Madness, Love and Mysticism", the electronicexperimentation of "Songs from the Hermetic Theatre" and thefascination with easy listening/exotica explored on "The Gift" havebeen beautifully integrated into his syncretic style. The firstmovement, "Invocation," sets a strange scene: a knife is sharpened andwater or blood is splashed about as someone chants off in the distanceand Jamie Saft plays spooky organ. "Sex Magick" is more of CyroBaptista's astounding trance drumming, such as was heard on "Taboo andExile". The mesmeric, time-obliterating property of the piece isremarkable and it would, indeed, be a perfect compliment to the titularactivity. "Sacred Rites of the Left Hand Path," the third movement,combines Saft's jazzily syncopated piano with electronic sounds in atune filled with both whimsy and threat. "The Clavicle of Solomon" isthe deeply weird piece that follows, made up of high-frequency digitaltones and creepy microtonal melodies. The erotic resurfaces in thefifth movement, "Lucifer Rising," for female chorus. It is led by theincredibly sexy-voiced Jennifer Charles (of the wonderful group ElysianFields), who vacillates between menacing, incantatory and ecstatic asshe moans, groans, shudders and whispers through the piece. The aptlytitled "Leviathan" follows, a death metal monstrosity that collapses inon itself under the enormous weight of Bill Laswell's thunderous bass,becoming a howling vortex of noise sucking up backwards cymbals andMike Patton as he shreds his larynx. "IAO" then settles into the finalmovement, the dark and peaceful "Mysteries", which has a feeling ofresolution about it. As a whole, this record succeeds brilliantly. Itis, like all the best albums, its own sound-world to be explored, aworld of great mystery and wonder. Part of its genius is in itsconstruction. While Zorn never restates a theme, he consistentlyreturns to specific moods. In "IAO" the form is forgotten and thefeelings become the form.
This is what happens when you grab a handful of Icelandic musicians andlock them in a cabin for a couple weekends by the fire until they'verecorded an album. For something as ad hoc, it remarkably sounds like aband who's shared a number of years and a number of beers, and for agroup which includes members of electro super-nerds Trabant (andreleased on the label that issued them and Múm), it's entirely organic,with a lazy, almost clumsy drive not entirely unlike Molasses or WillOldham records without the whininess. With one female and two malevocalists, the subjects covered are nothing deep at all, includinggirls, drinking, pimple-faced teenagers, mothers and the weather.Perhaps obsessed with a number of Louisville bands who made it out orromanticizing about playing in a cheap western bar where fat rednecksonly drink cheap beer from a can, the Funerals make me wonder why morebands don't play the truckstop circuit. 
So I'm in a local favorite bistro having dinner with my parents,wearing my Mogwai T-shirt, and I'm on my way to the bathroom when theguitarist for the in-house jazz combo comes up to me. "Mogwai!" hesays. "My son's in a band, and they get compared to Mogwai a lot. Youshould check them out!" Who are they? "Yume Bitsu," he says, "on KRecords." I leave after dinner, never bothering to check out the band.A few days later, what should arrive in my mailbox as a new CD toreview? Yume Bitsu on K Records. A thought suddenly occurs to me: "Am Isomehow linked to this band karmically? Am I supposed to review thisband to complete some bizarre circle of events that will bring greatfame and fortune to some small family in eastern Milwaukee? Have I lostmy mind?" I chose the latter, but decided to review the record anyway.Yume Bitsu are sound collage artists. They get compared to Mogwai a lotprobably because they create epic instrumentals with rock instruments.It is NOT a fair comparison. To start with, Yume Bitsu, on this releaseparticularly, create their music vastly through recorded improvisation,where Mogwai are very structured, right down to each loud-soft-loudmoment. Secondly, Mogwai are Scottish. Yume Bitsu? Not Scottish. Andlastly, Yume Bitsu, on this release, chose not to name the tracks.Mogwai takes great pride in naming their tracks, I assure you. Allkidding aside, this record is really impressive. It's halfway betweenall out drone rock, and laborious post-rock. This release isparticularly disparate, though the band has always been difficult toassign to a specific genre. Each track, though, seems to take on a mindof its own, with the players merely translators for the higher power.Fitting, it seems, as the band claims the music comes from a channel ofenergy that is greater than the sum of the musicians. Guitars,keyboards, and drums blend and mate beautifully, creating music that isnot unlike Landing and Windy and Carl (name-watchers: if you like thosebands BUY THIS RECORD). I found myself constantly blocking the samethought in my head: "IT NEEDS STRUCTURE! IT NEEDS MORE STRUCTURE!" No,it doesn't. This music is just fine as it is, despite the fact that oneof its members' father tried to push it on me in a local bistro.
Pulling off a themed compilation with a number of better-known musicalartists is not the easiest thing to do, so I commend this new label,Mobile, for piecing together something this consistent. The themebasically rides a current trend in electronic music, incorporating theusage of accordion (historically referred to as an asthmatic worm) andthe simpler, yet similar sounding melodica. Unfortunately, of thetwelve tracks, only two (Dntel and Markus Nikolai) are exclusive tothis compilation. While I clearly love Múm, I'm wondering who would beshopping for this compilation who hasn't heard this album track from'Yesterday Was Dramatic', but in all fairness, it is quitecomplimentary to the rest of the compilation, which includes commonunderground electro-celebs Atom TM, Matthew Herbert's Doctor Rockit,Ekkehard Ehlers (as Maerz with Albrecht Kunze), Burnt Friedman &Jakt Liebezeit and Gonzales. Unexpected treats include the pleasanthead-nod from Sensorama, a gipsy folk-esque song from a band simplytitled Hey, and a French film score-mimicing contribution from GotanProject. Jimmy Tamborello of Dntel sounds like he recruited that singerfrom Casiotone for the Painfully Alone for a gorgeous track whichperfectly compliments last year's stunning Dntel album on Plug Researchand Wechsel Garland incorporate the star instrument into a laid-backorgan, vibe, bass and drum jam, making me wish I knew more about thisartist. It might not be the most original compilation you'll find butit sure does sound good.
Marking the much-anticpated return of Main, this album is much more along the lines of a microsound record than that of Robert Hampson's former Beggars' Banquet days doing guitar-based soundscapes. 'Tau' is very stripped down and clean, and features a dryness and lightness that heretofore has not been prevalent in Main releases.
So I went and bought the new Krieger CD-R since it's presented byRasthof Dachau, and I was a fan of their first rythmic powerelectronics LP entitled "Blut Und Boden." And holy shit, did i waste mymoney. There is absolutely nothing worthwhile to this release, as it'sjust a bunch of shitty orchestral samples over some equally shitty darkambient soundtrack with some German vocals, and at some point what ismost likely the rambling of some white supremicist talking over it. Andno, I can't describe the disc any further, because that's what thewhole damn thing sounds like. But no matter how bad I tell you it is,some of you are still going to buy it. "Why?" you ask? Because RasthofDachau are like cool and they like put out some split video withGenocide Organ. Since I can't even find out who the hell the artist is,I'm convinced this is really Genocide Organ under a pseudonym. We allknow those 30 year old, misogynist, virgin, it-loving, noise recordcollectors still living in their mom's basement need to own this andsimply can't live without it, so they'll pay ridiculous prices on ebay.Mr. Dachau is laughing all the way to the bank with this fine waste ofplastic. The only decent thing I can say about this is that at least itdoesn't have any artwork with dead bodies, raped women, orholocaust-related motifs that are prevalent in this oh-so-wonderfulpower noise genre. In an ideal world, I'd be able to tell whether ornot a CD is good just by its cover art, and in this case, the covershould have had some shit-fetishist defecating into his mother's mouthso I could get a taste of what this CD is all about.
