Quarterstick
Itdoesn't seem to matter where Tara Jane's called home, whether it's theeast coast or the west coast, her Louisville roots are what shinethrough her music. Moderate guitar-based songs have a twang and charmand a complete mastery of songcraft that is not uncommon with otherrural midwesterners like Jason Molina, David Pajo, and Will Oldham.It's music that's equally appropriate for frigid nights indoors as wellas blistering summer afternoons. With Tara Jane's solo records, fansknow what to expect for the most part: a collection of well developedsongs with Tara on guitar and nearly everything else, paired with avery small number of guests on various other stringed instruments anddrums, often matching abrasive chord structures with convincing vocals.Tara's a poet and the recordings are canvases where her verses andmusic meet: both sensual and confrontational, both delicate and coarse,almost all finding their way into her music simultaneously. Tara oftenexperiments with other devices to make rhythms like the clicking trackand whirring effects on "Famous Yellow Belly" and composes anoccasional lengthy instrumental jem like the opener "Take the Walking,"which is mesmerising with its rumbling bass-heavy delivery. One thing Ican always rely on with Tara Jane records are that usually two or threesongs always stand out to me as quintessential pop tunes, combining astrong, catchy tune with the perfect instrumentation. For You Sound, Reflect,I'm completely in love with the songs "Howl," and "Without Push," whereTara gets some help from Nora Danielson on violin and a couple variousothers on backing vocals. The driving drums and direct vocals on "ASnapshot" is also quite a powerful achievement, where Tara'saggressively listing off "this is where you lied to me and this iswhere you needed me,... and this is what you stole from me and this ishow i used to bleed" amongst various other sharp things. It's alwaysthese strong songs nestled in an already strong album which make methink that an ideal world will recognize singer/songwriter Tara JaneO'Neil as a classic many years from now (since I've almost given up allhope with the current world). As my mind wanders off along these lines,I find it it's hard to believe even an internationally adoredsinger/songwriter like Joni Mitchell could ever have a hit today withsome of the songs that made her a household name nearly thirty yearsago. Anyhow, Tara shouldn't be missed now and I look forward to seeingher again live next month.
Itdoesn't seem to matter where Tara Jane's called home, whether it's theeast coast or the west coast, her Louisville roots are what shinethrough her music. Moderate guitar-based songs have a twang and charmand a complete mastery of songcraft that is not uncommon with otherrural midwesterners like Jason Molina, David Pajo, and Will Oldham.It's music that's equally appropriate for frigid nights indoors as wellas blistering summer afternoons. With Tara Jane's solo records, fansknow what to expect for the most part: a collection of well developedsongs with Tara on guitar and nearly everything else, paired with avery small number of guests on various other stringed instruments anddrums, often matching abrasive chord structures with convincing vocals.Tara's a poet and the recordings are canvases where her verses andmusic meet: both sensual and confrontational, both delicate and coarse,almost all finding their way into her music simultaneously. Tara oftenexperiments with other devices to make rhythms like the clicking trackand whirring effects on "Famous Yellow Belly" and composes anoccasional lengthy instrumental jem like the opener "Take the Walking,"which is mesmerising with its rumbling bass-heavy delivery. One thing Ican always rely on with Tara Jane records are that usually two or threesongs always stand out to me as quintessential pop tunes, combining astrong, catchy tune with the perfect instrumentation. For You Sound, Reflect,I'm completely in love with the songs "Howl," and "Without Push," whereTara gets some help from Nora Danielson on violin and a couple variousothers on backing vocals. The driving drums and direct vocals on "ASnapshot" is also quite a powerful achievement, where Tara'saggressively listing off "this is where you lied to me and this iswhere you needed me,... and this is what you stole from me and this ishow i used to bleed" amongst various other sharp things. It's alwaysthese strong songs nestled in an already strong album which make methink that an ideal world will recognize singer/songwriter Tara JaneO'Neil as a classic many years from now (since I've almost given up allhope with the current world). As my mind wanders off along these lines,I find it it's hard to believe even an internationally adoredsinger/songwriter like Joni Mitchell could ever have a hit today withsome of the songs that made her a household name nearly thirty yearsago. Anyhow, Tara shouldn't be missed now and I look forward to seeingher again live next month.
Growing up in the suburbs of Toronto, there was a great collaboration in the early 80s between local prog-rock heroes Rush and Max Webster on the tune "Battlescar" that was, like, totally awesome for an impressionable rock radio pre-teen. Looking back, I don't think there's been many unique rock group pairings where both parties come through loud and clear without fighting for the spotlight as I would have imagined or care to remember. Over the years, most of the major label stuff always came across as either: a) a third party-penned tune recorded to benefit a worthy cause; b) a contractual and cheesy supergroup; or c) the obligatory tribute record, which is also usually a) and b).
This Atlanta, GA quartet has given life to a new kind of metal that canonly be compared to a war machine: it's brutal, massive, unpredictable,and completely devestating. Nothing could possibly equal the intensitythis band puts out without crossing that thin line into the realm ofparody and hilarity. In 2002, Mastodon's Remissionripped into the heart and soul of every kind of metal that'd ever beenheard and combined them to form a claustrophobic ride through chugging,cement-thick guitars, rhythmic abnormalities, and a melodic beauty thatonly the most elite of metalheads have ever been able to pull offwithout making themselves sound tame and absolutely void of any realmenace. Well, if Remission was a head's first dive into the conceptual, dark, and obscure, then Leviathanis a burning purification that adds to the band's alreadyconfrontational sound and removes the obscured elements in favor ofraw, rhythmic punishment. From the second "Blood and Thunder" startsit's obvious that something is different; the guitar that opens thesong is a bare, crunching assault of time signature foreplay andpunkish attitude. Troy Sander's voice, buried in the mix ever soslightly, roars out from behind the volleys of insane drum assaults andflesh-eating guitars that sear through the song like a burning spear.The sounds are far more open, the melody far more acute, and for theirrefusal to stay in the dark underworld of their previous album theyarrive at a new plateau where there is nothing too strange to attempt.Blob-like riffs meet sudden time changes wherein the fastest drum andguitar playing chugs out new and unique melodies only to resolve into acompletely distinct set of movements that somehow match up with therest of the song. The abyssal "Megalodon" is proof that metal can goanywhere and attempt anything. What starts out as an acoustic sparkleof guitar and percussion fornication suddenly turns into thesledge-hammer bursts of screaming and persistent guitar growls... andthen it resolves itself into a riff reminiscient of country music. Itthen suddenly breaks into a marriage of closed, choppy rhythms and theopen melodious sounds of ringing chainsaws and harmonic interruptions.As though this weren't enough to send any metal-loving fan into a fitof epilepsy and confused schizophrenia, the very next song erupts in aflurry of playful guitars and dramatic vocals that can only be matchedby all the emotive qualities of a symphonic composition. The diversitythis band can pull out of their instruments at random is awe-inspiringand quite frankly I've never heard any band do it quite like these fourmusicians can. There's not a song on here that doesn't inspire a kindof "how in the hell did they do that?" feeling. The move from thedensely saturated realm of the psychological Remission to the absolutely infinite and fear-inducing hopelessness of Leviathanwas an entirely beneficial one. Nobody sounds like this band and giventheir technical mastery and knack for keeping the complex and heavyabsolutely accesible, I don't think anyone can even hold a candle tothem. 
The demise of dark music distributor World Serpent has created acrippling ripple effect for all dependent parties involved. The vitalpayments that once supported their thought-provoking and ear-astoundingindependent artists such as Coil and Nurse With Wound have now driedup, leaving the majority of the company's active acts scrambling fornew distribution deals and taking on the burden of significantfinancial losses in the process. Current 93's own David Tibet hasregretably announced that he will need to sell his house, being unableto afford living there any longer. Sad to say, industrial music pioneerCosey Fanni Tutti, along with her husband and frequent co-conspiratorChris Carter, have perhaps suffered some of the greatest harm, at leastartistically, with two completed releases that were due out around thetime of World Serpent's collapse. EAR 4: Selflessness,one of these final releases along with the woefully hard-to-findCarter-Tutti album. Presumably constructed from recordings taken from alive art action undertaken by Cosey in May 2002 at, of all places,Californian tourist mecca Disneyland, the music here unintentionally,unless through will of unconscious foreshadowing, evokes thedesperation that she must now feel. Broken down into a series of fouricy excursions into dark ambient realms, each roughly 20 minute segmentretains its own particular subtle and not-so-subtle charms while stillflowing smoothly and uninterrupted between one another. "Part One"bristles with cold winds and the peculiar sounds of distant mirth andmerriment, contributing to an overall dissonance of train whistles andother delay-saturated noises. An enchanting synth pad surges and thensubsides throughout "Part Two," surging with a sonic emotiveness thatmany fans of the current pop ambient darlings of the Kompakt labelswould delight in. "Part Three" indulges in more minimal atmospheresthan the preceding tracks with soft buried dubby rhythms and incoherantsamples of a whining child. The closing track continues to play withthe elemental building blocks from the previous sections whileintroducing more lush melodic tones, ending with the rise and descentof one particularly gorgeous drone. Though marred by the unfortunatecircumstances leading to its delayed availability, ambient musicafficionados and inquistors will find much to explore and examine byseeking out this recent work from an amazing and inspiring musicalluminary. 
Intransitive founder Howard Stelzer has been careful to point out thathis label in no way attempts to group its artists under anygenre-defining ethos; nor does it give face to any marginalized societyof artists, or a voice to any supposed "scene." As curator, he does notassume anything, but merely presents,offering beautiful examples of only what he finds compelling orinspiring at a given time. Stelzer's approach is more personal thanmost, while at the same time less selfish, resulting in musicalselections that neatly expand past 'high art' definitions ofexperimentalism and into the approachability and directness of homelistening. Twenty-Three, Intransitive's second compilation following 2001's similarly double-length Variious,is a perfect reminder of the label's unhurried, quietly-progressivehistory. The collection develops much like the high-school mixtapesStelzer uses as touchstones for the compilation process, visiting aseries of diverse artists with a distinct range of compositionalmethods, the only binding quality being their uniquely homespun way ofapproaching electroacoustic sound, a trait that is significantlyaccented by the curator's insistence that no digital devices be usedfor any of the recordings. Whatever the source, each of these tracks isa miniature lifeforce, a squirming, tactile mass of tension, energy,and changing dialogue, rooted firmly in the present tense. These soundsplay the speakers differently each time, their frequent silences alwaysin a new embrace of the room's ambience and their louds ever-poised touncover or create new memories and fresh associations. Though most ofthe twenty-two contributions feature relatively thin, unclutteredproduction, nothing here sounds insubstantial; on the contrary, thedelicate, near-vacant construction of many of the tracks becomes apoint of paradoxical continuity for the collection, where theexploitation of one faulty connection or lapsing field capture mightjust eclipse the entry of another artist into the discs' driftingdigest. The intimate, chamber-room experiments of Ronnie Sundin andOlivia Block are rendered new, and at some points indistinguishablefrom the brimming, rural psychedelia achieved by fringe artists likethe Animist Orchestra and Birchville Cat Motel. Elsewhere, GuiseppeIelasi's warm and hazy drone piece, "Two Chords," touches on thespherical minimalism of Francisco Lopez, whose contribution, "untitled#134," answers back with a hint of the lyricism that has definedIelasi's output. The positioning of old and new works by a host ofoutsiders and obscurities, alongside pieces from the medium's moredependable busy-hands, also adds to Twenty-Three's vitality,rejecting canonical treatments in favor of a more mysterious andaccidental unfolding. Unsurprisingly, this pace feels very natural,with continuity between the different pieces evolving at imperfect,very human measurements. Every contribution contains the seductions ofimpulsive, event-oriented listening, with its primacy of the improviseddetail, while at the same time becoming part of a rapturous, intensely'constructed' sound-environment that fills Twenty-Three, makingit more of an expandable mood-piece than a label sampler. It's true,many of the artists included here have never seen releases onIntransitive, and if this labor of love is any indication, Stelzer'slabel is poised for bright future.
Just as Rejoicing in the Hands of the Golden Empress represented the maternal principle, Nino Rojo represents the principle of the child. Following in a line of primal symbolism going back to the Egyptian deity Horus ("the crowned and conquering child"), the title depends upon that fundamental consonance between Sun and Son. The "red sun" disc of the Eye of Horus, casting the light of knowledge upon mankind; and the "red son" of Banhart's title, an "exuberant and foolish" child full of passion and curiosity. This symbolic conceit works to unite these two halves of the same generative source. 
A decade or so ago, I worked part-time in a CD shop that specialized mainly in strange and obscure imports. One of our favorite pastimes was scouring the catalogs from distributors in places like Germany and Japan to find the most unlikely reissues and greatest hits collections, and at one point, we had a list posted in the stock room of the "Top 10 Greatest Hits albums that should be a CD single." Number one with a bullet was a German anthology of tracks by Carl Douglas, the Jamaican-born singer behind the 70s pop-disco classic "Kung-Fu Fighting" and, well, a lot of other songs that no-one cared about.
An orchestral band with an interesting twist, Slow Six have compiledthis debut album from tracks they've recorded over the last four years,though none of it sounds in the least dated. The twist is the use of anactive computer that takes in the sounds the members make andinterprets them into what it will, used mainly in a live setting butput to slight use on these recordings, as well. Though they work withother artists when they perform as sort of a rule, there is no missingcomponent when listening to these songs, as they're certainly dynamicenough to hold attention. Sometimes they take a while to warm up, or toget to that next shift, but there's never a moment of absolutestaggering boredom that attacked me. What also struck me is the care inthe packaging, like it was an art project all its own, as the coverphoto has so much meaning, like the Empire State Building is a greatunknown forbidden to those who live behind the fence. The liner notesare actually a photograph of the walls in their rehearsal space, whereguitarist Peter Cressy actually wrote the words on the wall in a veryelegant style. It's a small gesture, but it shows the commitment andcare of these artists to and for their work. The songs number three,with the shortest clocking it at almost nineteen minutes, and theyrepresent a full range of emotions as well as variations in what theband is capable of. Each has its own breath and life, and moves with aspirit that feels like a wise and aged soul. To break these massivepassages down to "the violin sounds great" is almost an insult to theirbeauty, but the instruments are played with great skill and passion,and the music becomes more lovely with every replay. Violin, viola, andcello are joined with guitars and Rhodes piano and the aforementionedcomputer instruments — no percussion. It's not missed or even needed,and the sounds all swirl together in an artful embrace. I hope the bandtours outside their native New York so I can see this first hand, andthat there's more to come from these practitioners of the slow andsomber. 
On his fifth album in two years, Paul Westerberg should be getting tothat point where he's becoming a parody of himself, sounding out thesame old business in his traditional way. Strangely, though, he soundsmore fresh than ever, opening up and having fun in a way that's almostmore revealing than any songs he's ever released. It's known thatWesterberg has a large stockpile of material that he's been recordingin his home for years, but there hasn't been a dud yet as he sloughsoff years of age to bring this music to life. No, he doesn't sound likehe's in the Mats again, but it makes little difference when he's stillcooking up magic. The album opens with "Jingle," Paul's attempt to getmainstream commercials to buy one of his songs and make him the nextcorporate shill like Lenny Kravitz, but it's obvious why it neverworked: his snide sense of humor is in full effect, and any intelligentbuyer would know he's crossing his fingers behind his back as he sings"Buy it now." It's catchy enough for an album opener, and after thatit's pretty much a fitting title for what's inside. The honesty anddirectness is what flavors all the songs with such import, almost likePaul is taking a stand like Joan Baez or Bob Dylan, but only on what'simportant to him, not the masses. This is a folk album that speaks fromthe heart, but about the heart and what flies around the head insteadof about ideas that are projected on to those who listen. "My Dad"doesn't need much explanation, but feels like a song that represents aconversation that should have taken place and didn't. "Now I Wonder" isthe quest everyone goes on, and it's got that classic Westerberg sneerwith Jesus Christ references, poetry on wheels. Again Paul plays allthe instruments, and doesn't care about clean takes or crisp playing.With all these ingredients, the cake should be tasty, and it is, eventhough it's got no frosting or sprinkles. If he keeps it up at thispace, Paul might have thirty records out by 2015, and not a one of themwill be lackluster. 
After the supposedly appetite-whetting Here Comes That Weird Chillleft me cold, I had doubts about the latest Mark Lanegan direction,marked by the Band credit added to his name. Luckily, the latest recordis a realization of the best parts of that release, also making it afull-fledged rebirth for Lanegan as a solo artist. I heard someScreaming Trees songs not too long ago, and I remembered thinking thatit was great to hear his voice, since he used to sing in thatband. Lately, his performances had almost become a parody ofthemselves, with the broken-glass-embedded-in-the-throat routinebecoming the height of his regimen. Now, though, he's like a chameleon,changing his skin and styles on nearly every track, and he's singingfrom places I haven't heard in years. Sure, the broken glass routine isstill about, but it's also tempered with a beauty and an earnestness inthe middle of all the shifts of fancy. The backing band is stilldisparate, with Josh Homme and Nick Oliveri on a few tracks, Greg Dullihere and there, and even Polly Jean Harvey on the swaggering "Hit theCity." It works big time, and the whole package is a wild ride throughthe psyche of a man who is finally hitting a new stride. "One HundredDays" is the track that brings it all together, with Lanegan'splaintive vocal and gentle guitars loping into view to start. When therest of the band joins in, the song takes the money and runs, and theharmonies are pure sweetness. There are great moments of somber likethis throughout the record, like the opening "When Your Number Isn'tUp" and "Strange Religion," and they're never faked or rushed. Whatreally picks it up and gets the blood going is the bombast, like on"Sideways in Reverse," where the banging drums and energy are in fullforce, or the breakbeat weirdness of "Can't Come Down." It's a greatmix of the high and low, and maybe it's the fact that Lanegan soundsfree or released that makes the passion or honesty more palpable. He'son the next level finally, after struggling a little bit, and ready towow again. 
The appropriately named sequel to last year's Cool As Ice, Twice As Nicecontinues the job of compiling lost dance singles from Factory andCrepscule. This time, the compilers stretch out a bit, including notonly productions credited to New Order's Be Music, but also a fewrelated producers. Among the other producers represented on thecompilation are NYC luminaries Arthur Baker and Mark Kamins, as well asthree 52nd Street tracks produced by DoJo without the help of BernardSumner. Consequently, the songs on Twice As Nice aren't asthematically linked as those on the first volume. There is a also anoticeable drop in the quality of many of these singles, a few of whichwould have been better left to history's dustbin. I'm thinkingspecifically of Arthur Baker's shiny happy remix of Anna Domino's"Summer," which clocks in at a laborious seven minutes, and never risesabove the level of "Walking on Sunshine" 80s pop trash. Mark Kamins wasa popular NYC producer and DJ at the legendary Danceteria, but he willprobably forever be known as one of the "little people" that MadonnaCiccone climbed over on her way to world domination. His production onCheyne's "Call Me Mr. Telephone" highlights some of the problemsinherent in white producers co-opting early HipHop, but demonstrating afundamental lack of understanding as to what made HipHop good. The 52ndStreet tracks fare much better, especially "Express" and "Look Into MyEyes," soulful R&B grooves expanded by DoJo into synth-heavy,polyrhythmic disco-funk classics. Quando Quango appear on a pair ofLatin-influenced new wave dance sides with remarkably outre'production, incorporating varispeed vocals and dub trickery. MarcelKing's "Keep On Dancing" doesn't repeat the unparalleled greatness of"Reach For Love," but he gives it the old college try anyway, withanother high-energy, anthemic gay classic. Shark Vegas were an obscureGerman electro-disco group, and their "You Hurt Me (Version)" playslike a step-by-step primer in early-80s, by-the-book Euro-techno. Arare edit of New Order's "Video 5-8-6" will be a major attraction tomany, an early experiment in creating a track entirely with electronicsequencers. This track, along with Section 25's "Sakura," both displayBernard Sumner's nascent experimentation with his new gadgets, andevidence a remarkable sort of "beginner's luck" that manifests in apair of stunning low-fi electronic tracks that belong in the samecompany as early Human League. The vocoderized technopop of "Motherland(Remix)," by cult Factory oddballs The Royal Family and the Poor, ispretty atypical of their sound, but pleasant nonetheless. Twice As Niceis nothing if not inconsistent, and does not hold the easy appeal ofits predecessor, but contains enough worthwhile nuggets to warrant afew spins. 
Cool As Icesweeps up the scattered remains of the influential dance singlesproduced by Be Music, a catch-all name that denoted productions byvarious members of New Order. Most of these tracks were produced byBernard Sumner, often working alongside DoJo (Donald Johnson of ACertain Ratio); with a few tracks produced by Peter Hook, Steve Morrisand Gillian Gilbert. It's a fantastic collection of rarely heardelectro and dance classics from the early years of British clubculture. The twelve tracks collected on Cool As Ice wereoriginally released in a particularly fertile creative period of1983-4. 52nd Street's "Can't Afford To Let You Go" is a classic slab ofacross-the-Atlantic electro: throbbing analog sequences and stunningRoland 808 programming alongside soulful R&B vocals. It's a thick,delicious concoction of post-Disco dance every bit as good as Detroitmainstays like Rhythm is Rhythm, but with an ear for clean-edged,spartan production familiar from classic New Order tracks like theubiquitous "Blue Monday." "Looking From a Hilltop (Megamix),"painstakingly reworked from a track by Section 25, rates among thegreatest all-time techno singles; a lush urban sprawl illuminated bythe glistening surfaces of newly constructed high-rise apartmentbuildings. Marcel King's "Reach For Love" is a gloriously overwroughtgay-club anthem that never was, bearing more than a passing resemblanceto my beloved Bronski Beat. Cool As Ice would be worth theprice for the first three tracks alone, but luckily there are nine moretracks, filling out the disc's running time to the 74-minute limit.Other tracks by obscure acts like Quando Quango, Thick Pigeon and JosefK frontman Paul Haig outline that unique mid-80's intersection ofpost-punk, new wave, Big Beat and the emerging dance scenes. Thequality of the songs varies from average to better, but most of themhave held up remarkably well, due in no small to the smart productionby New Order members. It's strange, considering the long-runningnotoriety and success of New Order, that no one thought to compile thisstuff before now. But that's LTM's specialty: fulfilling needs wedidn't even know we had. 
What I appreciate most about the latest full length release fromMontreal's Fly Pan Am is their ability to crank out layered drones andpunchy rhythms which form the solid foundation for near guitar andkeyboard thrashings to play off and still keep it generallyinteresting. The ten tracks on N'Ecoutez Pasvary from straight ahead arrangements heavy with distortion to moredrawn out freeform pursuits that teeter on the brink of chaos, at timesinvolving spoken word tape splicing and other assorted noises. The morestructured tracks "Brûlez suivant, suivante!", "Pas à pas step until"and "Vos rêves revers" include the expected stacked guitars with coolchord voicing and quirky syncopated drumming that I've come toappreciate. At times, I think my ears trick me into hearing brief bitsof Motown soul in some of the bass lines. Still, it adds to theconstant underlying musical tension that's heightened by whisperedvocals, which although in French, are just as effective in creating asense of anxiety regardless of the lyrics. The lengthy "Très très'retro' " builds on the repetition of steady rhythms and distortedkeyboard stabs with slight variation for what seems like the group'sentire arsenal of guitar pedals, patch effects and the kitchen sink toplay off. At eleven minutes, including a break for what sounds likepopping balloons and distant organ drones, the less-is-more approachmay have been a lot more effective and held my undivided attention. Atthe other end of the spectrum, the brief and sparse composition "Exéleveur de renards argentes" left me wanting to hear more of itstwitchy guitar, eerie piano, highway sounds and spoken word layering,all presented with a very musique concrête touch. Again in the brevitydepartment, "Le faux pas aimer vous souhaite d'être follement ami" isthe trashy rocker complete with cheerleading chants that ran its coursebefore I could translate the title based on my poor retention of highschool French. With the exception of some lengthy guitar explorations, N'Ecoutez Pashas Le Fly Pan Am broadening the musical pallet and honing their skillsof pulling off modern compositions within traditional rockinstrumentation.
Six Organs of Admittance released The Manifestation as a one-sided 12" on the BaDaBing label in 2000, limiting the pressing to 500. Strange Attractors they have appended another nearly 23 minute exploration hithertounreleased, thereby doubling the music. The CD version makes the 12"seem scrawny now in retrospect, especially since the new song ("The SixStations") surpasses its companion piece ("The Manifestation") by a fewnylon guitar strings. "The Six Stations" endeavors to be more than justa song, though. Chasny intends it as an aural experiment complete withlab report. He employs an antiquated astrophysics equation (theTitius-Bode law which approximates the spacing between the planets;look it up) to create modes for a six-movement piece. Each movementcorresponds to the first six planets from the sun and is in a differentkey dependent on the mode. There is plenty of literature in thepackaging which tries to explain the method in Chasny's madness, but itcomes off at first glance as the scribbling of a deranged astrologer.Yet I like the madness, even if it is just the appearance of madness.To unify the two songs on the CD, Chasny has recorded the sound of aneedle playing the side of the original clear vinyl which was etchedwith a picture of the sun. This sound plays underneath the entirety of"The Six Stations." And now you begin to see all the motifs bendinginto each other: Six organs for six planets for six stations; celestialbodies connected by an equation which influences the modes of thesong's movements, with an underlying physical connection of rawcrackliness. Even without the theory, the music itself is sublime. Thecrackling needle is hypnotic, uniting the intricacies of all sixmovements with its subtle dissonance. The one planet which is perhapsleast admirably represented is our own mother planet. Apparently, inChasny's reasoning, Earth has no mode and thus no music to accompanyit. Instead, David Tibet of Current 93 reads some awkward poetry overthe crackling needle. The song suffers from this segment insofar as Ibristled uncomfortably with each stanza. Yet the other 5/6 of elegantguitar plucking more than makes up for Earth's unfortunate (but perhapsapt) tribute. The title track begins with drones and chants, eventuallycoalescing into a coherent melody, sometimes with male and femalevocals dancing around the guitars. Three-quarters of the way through,the song breaks down again into a restrained and temperedimprovisational session, only to pick itself up by the bootstraps inthe last 4 minutes and recollect itself into once again coherent guitarmelodies. The sounds on both songs are commensurate with other SixOrgans of Admittance records, arranging the well-paired avant-folk andpsych drone in this couplet of songs. In fact, both suites are likemedleys or samplers of Chasny's unique repertoire of sounds. I don'tmean to say that it all sounds the same. On the contrary, the movementsin these suites are indispensable for fans of Chasny's work, asessential as stars in any respectable constellation. 
I suppose it was only a matter of time before Coil's intoxicatingaesthetic concoction of homoeroticism, ritual occultism, anddrug-fueled decadence spawned its own specialized microculture.CCCPierce and Massimo of Black Sun Productions are probably not thefirst, but are certainly the most determined at expressing andembodying their zealous devotion to all things unquiet, sidereal andlunar. A pair of pierced, tattooed, European ex-prostitutes joinedtogether by civil union, Massimo and Pierce have explored and expoundedupon the latent ideas in Coil's music by mounting a series of sexualperformances, public and private, called Plastic Spider Thing,involving bondage, blood-drinking, ritualized sex acts and networks ofstretched plastic webbing. Their website(www.black-sun-productions.com) has grown over the years to includephotographic documents of their various aesthetic transgressions, fromhardcore fisting videos to journals with each page splashed with semen.Their first musical endeavor was 2002's album-length collection of Coilremixes by BSP associate DraZen, commissioned as a soundtrack forperformances of Plastic Spider Thing. It was an unimpressively murkymix of backwards-tracked selections from Threshold House's oevre withloads of extraneous effects, dulling the edge off everything that makesCoil spectacular. For this, their second foray into the musical arena,Pierce takes the reigns to create an album of new material, a warpedelectronic song cycle owing a substantial debt to the Moon Musick boys.Again conceived as a soundtrack to Plastic Spider Thing (Part XXII), Astral Walkis a big leap forward for BSP, if not an entirely successful album initself. I'm guessing that the majority of this album was made with asimilar array of analogue synthesizers and sequencers as those used inCoil's recordings, and it shows. "Entrata Lentissima" (transl: "SlowestEntrance") starts things off with a typically squishy, misshapen alienrhythm, soon joined by a cresting wave of those Coil-trademarkedshuddering, vibratory electronics. It's a textural, psychedelic sound,and for extreme Coil fetishists like me, it's immediately attractive.But after listening to "Lento" and "Moderato," which all but repeat theexact same audio strategies, adding layers of dark, droning stringsfamiliar from Musick to Play in the Dark, a cold feeling begins to set in. Unbelievably, all nine tracks on Astral Walkuse this same derivative bag of tricks, in various combinations, atvarious tempos. I had to keep checking my player to make sure I wasn'tstuck in repeat mode. The album's repetitiveness makes it a veryunattractive proposition for repeat listens. The dark, industrializedcover of Soft Cell's "Meet Murder My Angel" is a lone spot of respitefrom the rest of the album's uniformity, Massimo contributing spookywhispered vocals over intensely sexualized rhythms. The photos ofPierce and Massimo adorning the sleeve aim for the romantic, homoeroticcelluloid fantasies of Derek Jarman, to whom the album is dedicated.Though Astral Walk is clearly a major improvement over theirlast album, and there is much that hardcore Coil enthusiasts may likeabout the music, I hope that BSP will eventually find their own uniquemusical identity outside the rather large shadow cast by their heroes. 
With his first solo record, Arve Henriksen proved, consciously or not,that he could step boldly away from Supersilent's authoritarian shadowand develop a style all his own. On Sakuteikithe trumpeter did more than abandon the darkly ambient, jazz-fuckedcityscapes of his father group; by limiting instrumentation to the hornalone, Henriksen created a smoky, elegant tone poem with allusions toJapanese folk and classical musics, successfully juxtaposed with thealien texturing of the day's more established avant-trumpetingtechniques (see the arid, pursed playing of Franz Hautzinger, AlexDörner etc). Sampling and layering his varying strands of breath,Henriksen establishes a dreamlike atmosphere that rarely callsattention to the extremes of his instrument as free-jazzers might.Instead the mood is more of a weary, timeless, psychedelic sort, wherepiece-by-piece his trumpet fades into the movements of a detailed,irreducible landscape, intensely colorful but never jarring. Chiaroscuro'stitle aptly warns that it will provide no rest from the abstractdream-mapping of its predecessor, but the record does show Henriksenlightening up a bit, no longer limited to his trumpet and wordlessvocal, this time adding two new musicians to his band, a percussionistand livesampling expert. These additions give Chiaroscuro a looser, live-r feeling while keeping up with Sakuteiki'spatchwork brilliance. The timeless, graying overtones of that album arelost here, but they're replaced by a feeling that the players arecoloring in spaces as they go, a lush and growing environment that isincrementally fortified as the three play off and coil within thethought-lines of each other's playing. Henriksen lets his vocal matchthe music's newer flamboyance, soaring to heights that often give hisandroid-feminine croon prominence over the brass. No doubt thetrumpeter has benefited from the new ways of hearing and accompanyinghimself afforded by Jan Bang's livesampling abilities. Bang's cuts andassemblages sound less solemn or cyclical than Henriksen's own from thefirst record, and the trumpeter responds with a buoyant playing stylethat sacrifices none of Sakuteiki's hidden drama. The resulting joyful, relaxed, even tropical feeling is enough to characterize Chiaroscuro and will distinguish the record from the artist's past work. Here is not so much the sound of Henriksen stepping out on his own as stepping forward into something new. 
For an avowed proponent of the might-makes-right doctrines of SocialDarwinism and a frequent spokesman for neo-Satanic philosophies, BoydRice sure does spend a lot of time trying to persuade us he has asofter side. Whether through the campy pop songbook of Spell's Seasons In the Sun or his compilation of saccharine girl-group pop Music For Pussycats,the infamous provocateur behind such classics as "Let's Hear it ForViolence Towards Women" lately seems to be exhibiting his kindler,gentler qualities. Terra Incognita chooses 13 tracks fromalmost 30 years of recordings with a special emphasis on atmosphere,moodiness and listenability. A release like this is certainly apointless waste of time for Non aficionados who have already collectedthe albums from which these tracks are drawn, but for those justdipping their feet into brackish Boyd Rice waters, it's slightly lesspointless. These 13 tracks (and the lengthy liner notes by Brian M.Clark) make the case for Boyd Rice as musical innovator, focusing onhis unorthodox experiments with tape loops, distressed vinyl andself-built noisemakers as methods employed to open up the possibilitiesof experimental music. Indeed, you would be hard-pressed to findcontemporaries doing anything remotely similar to the "music" on BoydRice's 1975 debut, with the possible exception of Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music.Further, Boyd's combination of the noise aesthetic with extremistpolitics, occultism and moral transgression impregnated his music witha richly suggestive atmosphere. Listening to the grinding sheets ofnoise and distortion on any of Non's albums, one could imagine allsorts of subliminal messages worming their way into the subconscious;pick out all manner of sound effects, voices and subtle aural nuancesthat may or may not have been placed there intentionally. Using atechnique similar to the Burroughs/Gysin concept of the "third mind,"Boyd Rice often overlaps two different sound sources to create a third,unpredictable frequency that supercedes artistic manipulation andcreates something sublimely unsettling. The majority of the tracks on Terra Incognitaplay to Rice's obsession with easy listening music and 60's girl-pop,utilizing looped, distorted samples from vintage pop novelty singles."Extract 4" from Easy Listening for the Hard of Hearing, Boyd's1981 collaboration with the late Frank Tovey of Fad Gadget, matches aslowly decaying circus calliope with grating buzzsaw noises. What couldvery well be a loop lifted directly from a Lee Hazlewood production,turned slightly askew and refracted back onto itself, forms the basisof "Immolation of Man." Successive tracks are more austere and gothic,from the dusty, windswept chimes of Blood and Flame's "CruentaVoluptas" to the ghostly Gregorian conflagration of "The Fountain ofFortune," taken from Non's recent artistic misfire Children of the Black Sun."Untitled 1" from Boyd Rice's self-titled 1975 debut seems to prefigureBoards of Canada, consisting of a warbling easy-listening loop awashwith nostalgia, layered with sheets of drone and audio decay. Takentogether, Terra Incognita is a well-sequenced collection that proves Boyd Rice is more than merely the sum of his offenses. 
The recent years have seen a number of very specific compilations ofFall-related material, collections of singles and explorations of earlyeras of the band's development, all adding to the smoldering flame ofcontemporary interest in a group who has soldiered long and hard atdeveloping a catalog that is deep and wide enough to reward perusal.The very volume of material that makes the Fall worthy of such intensescrutiny can also be quite taxing for the uninitiated who could easilyget lost in the myriad of styles, sounds, labels, lineups, attitudes,and confusing bends along the way. 18,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrongoffers a competent selection of the various Falls—enough to serve aspoints of demarcation along their career and plot a rudimentary roadmapto the Fall that suits you best, or the one that might fit a particularmood. The two disc set spans from the bands inception all the way up tothe present, with selections from The Real New Fall LP. Thenorth star of this catastrophic cartographic challenge is Mark E.Smith, ruefully half rapping in a slew of disassociations and complexslurs. The dominance of his personality directs the music, from theinitial barking and bristling scrawls of "New Face in Hell" across theyears to slicker tracks like "High Tension Line" and "Telephone Thing."These latter songs lose nothing to the greater care afforded theirproduction, as Smith's wry delivery is equally as cutting. To hear themusical constellation around Smith shift over the years, gainingincreased fidelity and more precision can be startling at times. Anevolution that may have spanned a record or taken a few tracks to getused to can be dropped in here at a moments notice, and may disorient,however proper orientation and comfort should most likely not be a highpriority for anyone seeking to inure themselves with the Fall. 18,000 Fall Fans Can't Be Wrongarrives just on time, with the band seemed poised for a millennialrenaissance, producing new and vital music while highlighting thestoried past behind them. Any future pressings of this collection willno doubt need to push that number up much higher.
The synthetic compositions of this Canadian-native are more structuredand musical than anything else and thus they stand out and away fromthe other June releases on Drone Records. An orchestral string sectionof synthesizers sway back and forth like a boat at sea as "Same RiverTwice" begins and slowly any distinction between boat and sea is erodedby the duration of the sounds. Crystalline bird calls and full,indefinite tones begin to coalesce with each other and somehow providethe illusion of guitar strings being plucked. The pelagic corpus ofmusic slowly melds into each other until no distinction can be madewhatsoever between the music that began this song and the elements thatwere added slowly. If "Same River Twice" is akin to a swelling mass ofmemories, ideas, and emotions, then "Some Of My Best Friends Are 3/4Water" is akin to an ancient mystical dance that might've been playedout in 13th or 14th century Arabia. A flute plays an intricate helix ofnotes that slide and swirl like smoke throughout the air and thewhistle of rough materials gliding against each other reverberateagainst immaculate palace walls. Some manner of seductive dance playsitself out on a showroom floor and quietly, like a building storm, astrain becomes evident on the faces of all the spectators and surge ofenergy pours forth and finds itself expressed in the rhythmic beatingof bells and hammered instruments. The slow pace and absolutely sexualnature of this piece is addictive and I'm sure I could wear out thevinyl listening to this song over and over again. The way that thestringed instruments shimmer and meditate with the flute and the atonalplucking of strings produces a trance-like effect that borders on thehypnotic. Though the theme of water seemed obvious to me on the firstside, on the second it seems as though the desert is at heart ofeverything. I can easily imagine an individual galloping across thedesert on a horse in a desperate attempt to outrun a coming sandstorm.All the decadence and colors of affluent kings with their spices andflourishing trade routes haunt the instruments and arrangement of sidetwo. Aidan Baker has released quite a few records through otherchannels, but this could easily serve as a great introduction to hiswork. Both sides are addictive pieces of strange music that obtain akind of sensuous quality few others even bother trying to reach for.
This German duo must have some understanding of what it means to beuniversal. Their sounds are of sources that are completely unknown tome (though I can describe their qualities) and yet they can evoke asense of comfort and complete familiarity. The way that "Mletkin"begins, I was sure that I was going to face more of the faceless. Thesounds on both of these songs begin darkly, as though the demonic andevil were central to Herbst9's music. As the sounds progress, however,light and simple keyboards play steady one and two note melodies thatfade and drift between eachother. Harmonies begin to phase into thebody of found sounds, sacred melodies, and quiet rattles and soonafter, it's difficult to imagine anything even remotely dangerous orunbearable. Enenylynis a beautiful mixture of the seen and the unseen, the light and thedark, or the mundane and the sacred. "Mletkin" begins as an uneasywhirl through a long and empty shaft; only medical light illuminatesthe walls here and what waits at the end of this drop is black andgrievous. A strange trembling sound fills this shaft until, at last,the fall ends and it empties into a perfect space filled only with themost healing of light. The frog sounds and cosmic rushes of sound allmesh together with the aquatic rumble of enormous caverns and starlightmoans. The movement of the entire song is one of life and death."Mletkin" begins as an undefined mass and, in its attempt to finditself, opens a wound that spills out the most wonderful music. Allthis only to fade away into the undefined again. "Tynemlem" continuesby picking up the aquatic sounds from side one and translating theminto a slightly less dense piece of music. Again, it seems as thoughtHerbst9 likes to move between concepts, never allowing a sense of fearto linger for too long, and never letting the aura of life in thekeyboards stand alone. As a strange mud or thick liquid boils in acauldron, a slow steam builds in pipes layered just beneath the groundand pebbles roll about on the floor through the volition of their ownwill. Just as new and recognizable sounds begin to breathe themselvesto life, a faint and strongly emotional melody begins to cycle in thebackground, growing louder with each repetition. A river of natural andsynthetic roars, groans, and hushes sketch themselves over this melodyuntil the piece collapses over the edge of a waterfall in a sudden andexplosive death. Once again I find this isn't enough: I'm wishing thatthese fifteen minutes could be expanded into a full fourty or fifty. 
