Tigersushi
This collection, highlighting obscure underground post-punk and newwave from France was released on Tigersushi Recordings, therecord-label arm of the Tigersushi website, devoted to cataloging andtracing obscure connections between underground, post-punk, dance andavant-garde music. Previous compilations from Tigersushi includedK.I.M.'s superlative Miyage CD, as well as No More G.D.M., which together contained more leftfield classics and unjustly obscure artists than anyone could shake a stick at. So Young But So Cold,compiled by Volga Select, is a bit less generous with its treasures.Perhaps the chosen time period and geographical area narrow the fieldtoo much, forcing Ivan Smagghe and Marc Collin to include many tracksthat have a hard time living up to "lost classic" status. However, thedisc still includes its share of tasty nuggets, chief among them a pairof stunning tracks by a group called The (Hypothetical) Prophets. Likemost people, I'd never heard of this early-80's French new-wave groupuntil this compilation. Their single "Person to Person" seems to havebeen influenced by The Human League, but takes off in its ownidiosyncratic trajectory, lyrically and musically. Male and femalesingers describe their romantic fantasies in a monotone, proto-HipHopstyle: "I want a middle-aged, plump and cuddly, distinguished,hairy-chested, double-breasted, gray-templed, tall attractive, rich andactive father figure." This against a minimal rhythm-box beat decoratedwith analog detritus and electronic drones, with occasional BeachBoys-esque expansions into vocal harmony. The Prophets' otherappearance, "Wallenberg," is a dark synthscape intertwining mutatedvocals narrating stories from World War II, with frequent blasts ofsaxophone, eerily evoking the later work of The Legendary Pink Dots.The first track on the compilation "Suis-Je Normale" ("I Am Normal")reminded me of Broadcast (or Broadcast's forerunner The United Statesof America), with its minimalist synths and Jane Birkin-esque vocaldelivery. Mathematiques Moderne's "Disco Rough" has a raucous beat, butits chorus is unfortunately reminiscent of Kenny Rogers and DollyParton's excruciating "Islands in the Stream." The Metal Boys were anoffshoot of underappreciated electro-punks Metal Urbain, but theirtrack "Carnivale" proves that the talent didn't come along for theride. Charles de Goal's "Synchro" bears an unmistakable resemblance toThe Vapors' hit "Turning Japanese." Was Moderne's "Switch On Bach"meant to be the French response to Falco's "Rock Me Amadeus"? It's hardto say, but at least this collection ends on a fairly strong note, witha row of Kraftwerkian space-rock and proto-techno tracks. Best amongthem is Nietzschean scholar Richard Pinhas' funereal, TangerineDream-influenced "Iceland," a densely atmospheric foray into theice-cold nether regions of arctic tundra. A more inconsistentcollection is not likely to be found, but Tigerushi's So Young But So Cold still has much to recommend.
This collection, highlighting obscure underground post-punk and newwave from France was released on Tigersushi Recordings, therecord-label arm of the Tigersushi website, devoted to cataloging andtracing obscure connections between underground, post-punk, dance andavant-garde music. Previous compilations from Tigersushi includedK.I.M.'s superlative Miyage CD, as well as No More G.D.M., which together contained more leftfield classics and unjustly obscure artists than anyone could shake a stick at. So Young But So Cold,compiled by Volga Select, is a bit less generous with its treasures.Perhaps the chosen time period and geographical area narrow the fieldtoo much, forcing Ivan Smagghe and Marc Collin to include many tracksthat have a hard time living up to "lost classic" status. However, thedisc still includes its share of tasty nuggets, chief among them a pairof stunning tracks by a group called The (Hypothetical) Prophets. Likemost people, I'd never heard of this early-80's French new-wave groupuntil this compilation. Their single "Person to Person" seems to havebeen influenced by The Human League, but takes off in its ownidiosyncratic trajectory, lyrically and musically. Male and femalesingers describe their romantic fantasies in a monotone, proto-HipHopstyle: "I want a middle-aged, plump and cuddly, distinguished,hairy-chested, double-breasted, gray-templed, tall attractive, rich andactive father figure." This against a minimal rhythm-box beat decoratedwith analog detritus and electronic drones, with occasional BeachBoys-esque expansions into vocal harmony. The Prophets' otherappearance, "Wallenberg," is a dark synthscape intertwining mutatedvocals narrating stories from World War II, with frequent blasts ofsaxophone, eerily evoking the later work of The Legendary Pink Dots.The first track on the compilation "Suis-Je Normale" ("I Am Normal")reminded me of Broadcast (or Broadcast's forerunner The United Statesof America), with its minimalist synths and Jane Birkin-esque vocaldelivery. Mathematiques Moderne's "Disco Rough" has a raucous beat, butits chorus is unfortunately reminiscent of Kenny Rogers and DollyParton's excruciating "Islands in the Stream." The Metal Boys were anoffshoot of underappreciated electro-punks Metal Urbain, but theirtrack "Carnivale" proves that the talent didn't come along for theride. Charles de Goal's "Synchro" bears an unmistakable resemblance toThe Vapors' hit "Turning Japanese." Was Moderne's "Switch On Bach"meant to be the French response to Falco's "Rock Me Amadeus"? It's hardto say, but at least this collection ends on a fairly strong note, witha row of Kraftwerkian space-rock and proto-techno tracks. Best amongthem is Nietzschean scholar Richard Pinhas' funereal, TangerineDream-influenced "Iceland," a densely atmospheric foray into theice-cold nether regions of arctic tundra. A more inconsistentcollection is not likely to be found, but Tigerushi's So Young But So Cold still has much to recommend. - Nini Raviolette - Suis-Je Normale
- The (Hypothetical) Girls - Person to Person
- Richard Pinhas - Iceland
After only seven months, the Berlin-via-Paris threesome of AdrienWalter, Mohini Geisweller, and Juste Faileux have managed to create abarrage of press in Europe's fashion and music industry. Following therelease of their first two 12"s, "Berlin Rocks" and "EverybodyDeservers To Be Fucked" (both of which are included here on theirself-titled full-length), Sex in Dallas managed to snag an exhibitionat the venerable Parisian design store and boutique Colette and werehailed as the next new thing in magazines from Technikart to Fashion Wired Daily.With most of this exposure due to their fashion sense and penchant forbinge-drinking and clubbing, I couldn't help but ask myself where theirmusic falls into play in all of this. With the release of their firstalbum, the group seems to demonstrate that their main priorities arefashion and image before music, though there are signs that point to agifted young band that shows promise. The first track, "Crazy Dogs,"lays samples of barking dogs over a spare electro backbeat. When thesynths enter at the one minute mark, it's easy to see the comparisonsthat Sex in Dallas receives with the Hacker and other big names inEuropean electro. "Songs of the Beach," "5 O'Clock," and "Lost in LaPlaya" are reminiscent of a more minimal Lali Puna, with Geiswellersinging in a soft, French-accented English. The standout track on thealbum, however, is "Everybody Deserves to Be Fucked," a four minuteelectro romp espousing the band's view on hedonistic equality. WhileSex in Dallas may be a band hyped for their image more than theirmusic, the indications are there that with a bit more maturity and timethey may emerge as major players on the European electro scene.
Loren Chasse and Jim Haynes make a very strange breed of murmuring andthrobbing music. Where other sound-sculptors might keep a consistentlyharmonious shift at work in their music in order to provide a sense ofchange and movement, these two are content with adding glitches,static, and faults to their instruments in order to affect a drift inthe music that could be almost unnoticeably small, but might also turnout to be radical in degree. Mud Wallsoriginally appeared on the Mystery Sea label in an edited form.Rereleased by Helen Scarsdale with twenty additional minutes of music,it is a consistently alien and confusing recording. There runsthroughout the duration of this one-track, fifty-eight minute record anoticeable hiss that becomes a bit annoying at times, but it alsoserves as the central element of the music and is about the only thingthat holds the album together as a whole. Two distant points on therecord share a similar trait: the sound of jewelry or glass rollingabout in a jar. Outside of these few elements, Mud Walls soundslike a bit of muddled sound-collage to me. This is part of what makesthe record so confusing. I know that, at certain points, the musicsuddenly shifts direction and introduces a new sound to focus on, butthat sound always seems to succumb to the hiss that is so aggravatinglyomnipresent. Going back over the record and skipping in between variouspoints in time, it is quite obvious that Coelacanth has a good varietyof tones, found sounds, and strange samples that are strung together bya universal mystery. Something happens in between these sections ofdiversity, then, that make the album sound all too samey. This isanother confusing aspect of this record: I didn't like it at first, itsimmovable and fixed nature simply didn't appeal to me the way otherdroned-out records did. I listened to it twice, anyways. By the timeI'd become frustrated with myself for not being able figure out whatdisliked about this record, I'd probably gone through the record tentimes. A few more listens and I was able to pick out the small detailsthat weren't so quickly obvious. And here I sit now, wondering why ittook so long to figure out the obvious. The different sections of thisrecord are, in hindsight, obvious. No matter how many times I repeatthat to myself the music ends up feeling too monotone by the end of thealbum. The actual process of listening to the music turns everythinginto a homogenous wall of sound where very few heterogeneous elementscan stand out. Knowing now what my source of displeasure has been, it'shard for me to not recommend the music. The trick the music played onmy head through subsequent listens was frustrating, but it was alsoentertaining enough to keep me listening and to keep me finding newelements on the record. There's a fantastic series of ideas or quotesthat serve as liner notes and one of them is particularly descriptiveof the music: "I can describe it in no other way than this: in thatmoment, I was certain there were ancient forces listening... in asilence like fossils." The silent transitions and changes on thisrecord can only barely hide that there is something more happeningbehind the inertia. -
The Room 40 crew has amassed an impressive list of names for thistwo-disc set billed as "meditations on sound in sleep," and theprospect of new tracks from Oren Ambarchi, DJ Olive, DJ/Rupture,Scanner, David Toop, and Janek Schaefer ought to be enough to sell thedisc on its own. Really everyone here brings it, with solid tracks fromlesser-known artists that are equally impressive and often moreinventive than those from their well-known counterparts. The theme isbroad enough as to allow a wide range of interpretations withoutdictating any particular mode of composition. The two basic approachesto the idea seem to be physiological—that of capturing or recreatingsound as heard through the muffled filter of sleep, andpsychological—that of playing with the noises and music of dream statesand the subconscious. There are the expected slow, sleepy drones anddreamy chimes (Al Yamamoto, Steinbrüchel, Zane Trow, Barret, Musgrove& Sinclair), but the project also offers some more out-there takesas well, such as Skist's shrill whine accompanied by non-sequiturfemale vocals, Timeblind's ridiculously time-stretched speech, andDavid Toop's spooky dream narration. John Chantler starts disc two offwith a delightfully fun recording of his microwave that transforms intoa cheeky beep-beat before giving way to drums and guitar: not somethingI would have expected on a disc devoted to experimental musicianscomposing tracks about sleeping sounds. Philip Samartzis turns in alocation recording, while Martin Ng & Tetuzi Akiyama give us theobligatory microtonal sine wave ear workout. If i never hear a piercingsine wave composition again, it'll be okay with me. Scanner gives up asynth-heavy piece with some instructional voice-over through delay thatrecalls his Spore-erawork, while Frost plays with fuzzy dream guitar and simple pianofigures that are understated and beautiful. DJ/Rupture takes the pathleast travelled by producing a mix of beats and samples that impliesthat what he hears while sleeping are the muffled, fractured pieces ofhis record collection banging together into a mix. In the realm ofexperimental music, these kinds of collections too often offer artistsa chance to pad an already overstuffed discography with throw-awaypieces and under-realized mixes. Not so, here. Room 40 manages towrangle up some top talent at the top of their game for an engaging andrepeatable listen. - 
Fans of Slowdive and Mojave 3 can rejoice: this debut proves that theloveliest member of both bands indeed has the talent to carry a projectall her own. Not that this is a complete surprise, as anyone involvedin the aforementioned groups has to have some serious chops, plus an EPreleased a couple months ago let the cat out of the bag already. Thefact that Goswell can carry a whole album ostensibly on her own isnews, though, and it bodes well for the chanteuse's future works bothin bands and on her own. The finer moments of English folk and Americancountry are paired together with field recordings and a taste ofrhetoric to make these songs to live, and the voice of a fallen angelto command them to do her bidding. Goswell knows her stuff, letting inthe right amount of every ingredient and then taking the song towonderful heights. She also lets them all breathe just enough, nottaking the idea to an extreme or longer than it needs to go. These areconcise and fully-realized tales, perfect in their time and place.Shifting styles in the songs also show a willingness to explore newterritory, whether accordion or pipes and whistles, and though some ofthem don't add much to the proceedings it's nice to hear the attempt atloftier heights. There are more than enough moments where those heightsare attained, from the gorgeous double-tracked vocals to the infectiousmelodies, to heartfelt lyrics about missing the one you've discoveredwho makes life worth living ("No Substitute," easily one of the album'sbest tracks). Not every song is a gem, but there's more than half agreat album to be heard, and that's impressive for a solo debut. Thesongwriter within is finding the right elements and the perfectmixture. With the initial awkwardness past her, Goswell now has theability to improve on the concept and find all the right stops. 
Frequently name-checked as one of the most influential works of postmodern composition, Glenn Branca's Lesson No. 1is nothing less than a completely successful amalgam of avant-gardecomposition techniques with dissonant post-punk rock n' roll. GlennBranca had previously been part of the brief No Wave scene with hisband Theoretical Girls, and several other solo and group projects, butthis short album was his first commercially released recording. When 99Records originally released the album in 1980, it was clear that it wasnot without precedent; following as it did in a clear line of evolutionfrom LaMonte Young and Terry Riley. But Branca's use of rock n' rollinstrumentation, heavy duty percussion, unorthodox guitar tunings andover-amplifications and minimalist repetition makes "Lesson No. 1 ForElectric Guitar" an essential influence on all of the avant-garde rockmusic that has come since. The eight-plus minutes of the title trackare absolute perfection: a glossy, propulsive patchwork of chimingelectric guitars, hypnotically riffing on three chords, ascending anddescending, falling in and out of sync beautifully. Its simplicity andpower recalls Terry Riley's majestic synthesizer classic "A Rainbow inCurved Air," even as its trance-inducing, minor-chord refrainunmistakably evokes vintage Joy Division, apparently a notableinfluence on Branca in the early 80's, if I am to believe the eruditeliner notes by Alan Licht. "Lesson No. 1" is ground zero for all of theavant-leaning rock music that came after, clearly influencing SonicYouth ("Expressway To Yr Skull"), Boredoms (Vision Creation Newsun)and even Acid Mothers Temple, who attempted their own merging of TerryRiley and [acid] rock with their cover of "In C." Following from"Lesson No. 1" is "Dissonance," certainly less accessible, but no lessmasterful, a chaotic mass of overdubbed guitar shredding, complexdrumming (periodically punctuated by the metallic clink of asledgehammer) and an insistent sense of drama, continuously buildingbut never finding its full catharsis. "Bad Smells" is the third andfinal track, a 16-minute rock epic originally released on the flip sideof John Giorno LP released on the Giorno Poetry Systems label duringthe same time period as Branca's Ascension. Originally composedfor a Twyla Tharp dance performance, the musicians include, amongothers, Lee Ranaldo and Thurston Moore (soon of the aforementionedSonic Youth). The track unfolds in several different "movements,"opening with galloping beats and heroic guitar melodies, then quicklytransforming into an angular punk-funk jam, before taking a sharp leftturn into high dissonance and stop-start, No Wave-style spastics. Alsoincluded on the disc is a fascinating Quicktime video of Glenn Brancaconducting his "Symphony No. 5," shot in 1984. It's quite a possessedperformance, Branca casting himself as the physical conduit of themusic, jumping and thrashing around with wild abandon, expressing themusic's intensity. Acute Records has done a good job re-issuing Lesson No. 1, solidifying its place among the most influential rock albums of all time. 
It is sometimes interesting to know the motivations behind things, andthat is certainly the case with this EP from the multi-instrumentalistand member of at least half a dozen stunning bands over the years. WhenI read the spine of the CD, I thought "Wasn't this a song off his lastrecord?" Indeed, it was, but Brokaw was inspired to re-record it andupdate it to an electric, full-band status. Accompanying it is histribute to female songwriters, as he records songs by former bandmateThalia Zedek, Liz Phair, and Holly Anderson and Lisa Burns. All ofthis, apparently, is due to the inspiration of Greg Weeks, whodiscussed a compilation of men performing songs written by women withBrokaw a year ago. Now, perhaps this comes off as Brokaw rhyming on theidea a bit, but it's no matter, as it is easily the most electrifyingwork Brokaw has ever produced. His interpretation of these songs isfull of strong choices and a clear vision, with his own twists andturns thrown in just for fun. The update of the title track is the waythe song was meant to be heard: multi-tracked guitars, powerhousedrums, and a confident yet slightly flawed vocal. It blows the previousversion away easily. Brokaw has chosen artists he greatly respects aswell as songs that he loves, and his partnership with Zedek in Comeproduced some great songs and records, so it's a fitting choice as wellas a straightforward interpretation. On Zedek's "1000 MPH," a punked-upenergy level suffers only slightly without the vocal presence of itsauthor. "In Love With Yourself" predates Phair's seminal Exile in Guyvilleand it shows, as it's a cheeky and almost corny song that's just cleverenough to be amusing, which she'd never dare approach today. Itbenefits from this re-envisioning of just guitar and voice, and it evenshows a little sense of humor on Brokaw's side. It is the last songthat is the cornerstone, though, as "Across the Blue" is grandiose andlabored, with a relaxed performance with great guitar lines andatmospherics. Brokaw has a new solo album due in 2005 and a soundtracklater this year, but it just may be that he does his best work withother people's songs. If that's the case, it's hardly a negative if theresults are this good. 
As a violinist, Eyvind Kang has played with the likes of Sun CityGirls, Bill Frisell, Secret Chiefs 3, Laurie Anderson and many others.As a composer, Kang has carved out a unique position for himself,releasing a series of studio albums drawing on his concept of the NADE(a concept which I won't attempt to explain here, mostly because Idon't understand it). The albums combined elements of disparate ethnicmusic forms with esoteric spiritual ideas, and sudden, unexpectedtransitions into fully-formed pop songs or long passages of pastoralambience. I've liked most of his work that I've heard so far(especially 2000's The Story of Iceland), but it appears that Kang has outdone himself with Virginal Co-ordinates,a beautiful recording of an ambitious live performance staged in Italylast year. Kang composes and conducts a 16 piece ensemble—called thePlayground—augmented by himself on violin and several guest musicians,including Mike Patton on voice and electronics, Michael White (formerSun Ra Arkestra violinist) and Tim Young on electric guitar. I supposethe inclusion of Mike Patton is the only reason this album has surfacedon Ipecac Recordings, seeing as it's otherwise entirely different fromthe label's usual output. It's quite an impressive work, split up intoten movements of varying lengths, each gently joined to the next withgossamer instrumental threads. The title of the work evokes images ofuntouched glacial expanses, secluded valleys and mountains untouchedand unadulterated by the progress of man—Virginal Co-ordinatesin which the mind and spirit are free to find connections with naturebeyond those limited ideas inculcated in us by the artificialstrictures of society. The album artwork is pure white, the color ofvirginity, with a white cobra in the center, appearing poised tostrike. The cobra is a perfect symbol for the current of hidden menacethat runs through much of the music. There is a spiritual yearningthroughout, but it is often joined by vibrating undercurrents of dread."I am the Dead" transforms into a full-blow orchestral pop song withechoes of Brian Wilson, but its lyrics presage the death and rebirthrituals of the Bardo Todol. Mike Patton's voice lends anethereal beauty to certain passages, and Walter Zianetti steals theshow with his acoustic guitar solo on "Taksim." Elements of Spanishguitar, Indian raga, tonal Oriental scales, film soundtracks andAmerican pastoral symphonies all weave their way into Kang's work,culminating in the majesty of the title track, a magnificent,shape-shifting wall of orchestral noise in which musical phrases fromearlier movements are recycled and juxtaposed to hypnotic effect. At 73minutes, Virginal Co-ordinates is never boring, which issomething that cannot often be said for works of modern composition. Infact, its appeal goes well beyond the usual modern classical crowd, andI imagine it would be enjoyed by anyone interested in thetransformative and magical possibilities of music. 
While both Bardo Pond and Tom Carter should be names that everyone familiar to The Brainshould recognize, perhaps it's a bit of a shock to see the two of themlisted together. Although Bardo Pond and Charalambides contributedtracks to the seminal Harmony of the Spheres compilationreleased in the late 1990s on Drunken Fish, this is the first time thatthe two groups have collaborated together, and the result is an hour ofpsychedelic improvisations whose whole is greater than the sum of itsparts. Throughout the disc, Carter's guitar weaves in and out of BardoPond's music, adding his patent e-bowed and reverberated sound to thetextures created by the band. Carter's guitar doesn't stand outabruptly against the other sonic elements as much as it adds anadditional dimension to the multi-layered sounds and textures thatBardo Pond creates. Of the disc's five tracks—which are simply labeledby their length—only one is shorter than ten minutes, with two tracksclocking in near the 20-minute marker. This gives the improvisationsample room for development, with ideas being fully fleshed out and allpossibilities explored. Fans of the two groups shouldn't bedisappointed by this release, as both Bardo Pond and Carter retaintheir unique sounds while creating a release that has a singularcharacter.
Monumentstarts off with a barely noticable track entitled "Monument 1(Memorial)." It only last for a couple minutes and sort of eases theears into the following series whistles, whale calls, Japanese flutes,and chants . "Monument 2" is approximately 47 minutes of intenselywarm, meandering, and amorphous guitar. Carter slips on ten or twelvedifferent masks over the course of this song, each rendering his guitara new kind of instrument. The song opens with a strange tremble thatprovides the illusion of multiple guitars phasing in and out of eachother until reality finally syncs up and the sound rolls out into thatair smoothly and harmoniously. As the guitars wobble to and fro,struggling and distorted roars reach out from behind the noise to speakof pseudo-melodies and breathless spaces stretched out wide andindefinitely. The lap steel is a wonderful instrument in Carter'shands; his manipulation of its signature sound renders the instrument afar more diverse one than I thought possible. At times it sounds like abell being struck slowly and in the distant, in other places it soundslike lasers beaming through a science-fiction film, and at other timesit could easily be mistaken for a heavily edited piece of keyboardtrickery shaking in and out of earshot. Only at certain points does thelap steel make itself known as such and this allows Carter to refocushis composition and lead it off in new directions. The song is verybusy at times and, at others, it is quiet and marked by pockets ofsilence. The first time through I listened to the music with the volumeturned down quite low, but turned way up all sorts of intricategestures became obvious and the record took on a more physical andcarnal attitude. The quiet rings from the first time around suddenlybecame consuming bellows and hypnotic waves full of whales and deepbreaths. Carter switches back and forth between formless stretches ofsound and rhythmic stroking that vibrates and bends wildly out ofcontrol at times. I could go on at length about all that sounds Cartermanages to pull out of his lap steel, but I'd be ignoring a specialsomething that makes this record so beautiful. For all of itswanderings and lack of structure, Monument is full of melodicmoments and genuine heart. The exploratory nature of this record doesnot eclipse the emotional pull of the music. When the sound tightens upand nearly bubbles over with energy, I feel a tightening in my chestand anxiety takes me over for a minute. When the sound opens up andbreathes deep and sensuous breaths, I get butterflies in my stomach andsway forward with the music before the release eases itself away.Forty-seven minutes might seem like an exercise in patience, but whenthe record is over with it doesn't seem nearly long enough. -
Following Biotop as the third in Die Stadt's ongoing Tietchens reissue campaign, Spät-Europashows Asmus Tietchens again preoccupied with a bizarre space-age popsound, exceedingly retro even by 1981's standards. Tietchens' imaginarytroop of antique synthesizer idiots return in the album's thoughtfullyduplicated sleeve notes, ushering in the same twisted humor and bouncymelodies of its predecessor, with a similar, if not more dominantdegree of mechanical (German?) remove. The distance that separatesTietchens' two-minute robotic jingles from virtually all electropopapproximations past and present (save maybe the work of Felix Kubin) isthe result of that rare, hard-to-locate, and thoroughly inhuman charmfound in the grainy science fictions and forgotten prog records ofdecades past. Asmus seems intent on pushing the aloof cinematic edgethat confused Biotop's buoyant flow to an even greater extreme on Spät,incorporating more alienating atmospherics to divide the album's fewermoments of jubilant Moog abuse and out-pop reverie. Songs become stiff,programmatic waltzes for robot retirees, conjuring images of obsoletestainless-steel models left to their own tired dinner parties, dustyveteran lounges, and silent card games. Tietchens' melodic styleresponds accordingly, toned down since Biotop and more in tunewith the minimal, near-industrial percussive backing of many tracks.Repeated listens reveal a new harshness that was perhaps hidden withinthe previous album's spacious glide and will become more pronounced asthe artist gradually lets go of the pop format. At least for now,though, the light-hearted Tietchens rules, and it's a great pleasure tovisit this side of such a prolific, diverse musician.
Not long after releasing their largely forgettable 'Big Hit' album in1995, electronic body music pioneers Nitzer Ebb called it quits. Savefor some work with Recoil, Alan Wilder's non-Depeche Mode project,founding member and vocalist Douglas McCarthy disappeared altogetherfrom the music scene. A couple of years ago, Mute decided to capitalizeon Nitzer Ebb's back catalog of label releases by issuing a series of12" records featuring new and unreleased remixes of classic cuts like"Join In The Chant," "Let Your Body Learn," and "Shame." Thatsuccessful endeavor brought about a partnership between McCarthy andremixer Terence Fixmer, a techno producer with releases onInternational Deejay Gigolos and his own Planete Rouge imprint, theresult of which comprises the hour-long Between the Devil...Nearly every track here contains a throbbing, if not downrightpounding, 4/4 beat, as should be expected by those familiar withFixmer's prior work, much of which comprises his phenomenal Muscle Machinealbum. Previously released as the A-Side off a limited 12" single,"Destroy" builds up from a guttural whisper into a roar of focusedrage, lashing out at a deliberately unnamed enemy in such a furiousmanner that it could accompany an actual beating. Similarly, thelive-sounding vocal performance on "You Want It," appropriatelyaccompanied by a menacing EBM-bassline, shows off McCarthy'stried-and-true repetitious lyrical minimalism. On tracks like "ThroughA Screen," and the incredibly catchy "I Run," the anthemic goldenshouts that defined much of Nitzer Ebb's are balanced by a great dealof actual singing, showcasing a diversity that some listeners mightfind surprising. Inadvertently taking after Laibach's successfulcomeback pairing with underground techno figure Umek, Fixmer/McCarthyperfects the formula and offers a new vision for modern industrialdance music that many of the current scene stars and cookie-cutter gothclub darlings should take their cues from. Surely Between the Devil will rank highly on my Best of 2004 list. - 
Some of the most rewarding music is worth being patient for, andCharles Atlas is one of the most patient and disciplined contemporarybands. After five releases, the ensemble returns with perhaps the mostdense and developed album to date. To the Dusteases in on the opener "Neither Nor" with a hypnotic guitar, piano, andorgan interplay before cello, drum machine, glockenspiel, and layeredguitars build and build to some unexpectedly grand levels. Although theinstrumentation hasn't changed, it seems like there's simply more depththan before. The cello and strings on songs like "Signal Flags" makesfor a more cinematic, more climactic sound. Even when there's lessinstruments, a seemingly louder mix makes for a much more upfront anddirect feeling despite some of the tracks being completely absent ofdriving drums or percussion. It's rare, but when electronic rhythms areintroduced to songs, like the soothing "Corona Norco" or fast-paced"Chapultepec," they're kept simple, minimal, and thankfully primitiveenough to avoid mimicking real drums. Although it's mainly instrumentaland introspective, To the Dust is a very summery record. It's afleeting summer, however, painted mainly by an artist who knows thatsummers don't last long. The music is uplifting and moves along ratherquickly in places. Songs like "Photosphere" and "Chapultepec" are veryscenic and could easily score images of children playing in the sun orthe rushing rapids high in the mountains while songs like "Demus"conjures the comforting, relaxing and blindingly bright feelings ofhaving a rewarding beer at sunset. The majestic piano on the nearlyeight-minute simple piano/organ duo of "Primo Levi" is breathtakingwhile the album closes with the windy and wistful +10 minute closer"Dipole Moment," where sounds of acoustic guitar, organ, cymbalstrokes, and sound effects mimic a temperate evening breeze withcrickets in the distance. By the eighth minute, everything builds to aroar and then trails off just as calmly as it came in. Now on the sixthrelease, it confuses me how Charles Atlas hasn't become more popular,but I guess since they never toured with super popular Icelandic bandsor played drifting festivals, it makes sense as they haven't beenexposed enough to the people who don't actively seek out new sounds.While I hate comparing bands to other bands, I must make the point thatfans of Pygmalion-era Slowdive, The Album Leaf, Labradford andPan American, or the classic 4AD sound, Morr, Kranky, and Constellationlabels who haven't heard Charles Atlas yet are severely missing out.
Charles Wyatt is no stranger to collaboration. Before forming Charles Atlas, he played guitar for groups both in the USA and the UK. The fifth Charles Atlas release ironically slightly mirrors the debut Two More Hours as it contains remixes/reinterpretations of Charles Atlas music, however, this time there is nothing exclusively by Charles Atlas and the sources all come from the fourth release, last year's Worsted Weight on Ochre.
This awkwardly named ensemble is the collaboration between three ofBowindo's central players and co-founders, Stefano Pilia, ClaudioRocchetti, and Valerio Tricoli. The latter's Did They Did I?is one of the young label's best releases so far, and his comrades areno strangers within the budding Italian scene, Pilia with a CDR ofbeautiful droning guitar pieces on the Last Visible Dog label andRocchetti with at least one lauded recording as Kitano. And while itmight not be appropriate to call this disc the work of a "supergroup,"as the sixth and latest Bowindo release it feels, at least, like thelabel's first truly essential product, the trio matching each other'stalents to create a seven-part cycle of radiant acoustic imagery. 3/4HadBeenEliminated's45 minutes unfurl in a graceful, gripping sweep that combines theItalians' tendencies towards lyrical improvisation and colorfulelectroacoustics, with a grounding in the kind of baroque assemblagetechniques championed by people like Dean Roberts and Jim O'Rourke. Itis a roomy collage of found sounds, entranced piano and strings,featherweight percussion, and the small-yet-tactile electronicmanipulations most Bowindos manage with the such grace. Whole tracksare swallowed within drones of unquenchable warmth, carryovers fromPilia's Healing Memories record but without as grand apresentation, suggesting rather the distant, saturated golds of a Klimtpainting. As with previous Bowindo releases, field recordings getincorporated in such a way that they guide or introduce certainportions of the piece rather than float along as surface filler, asubtle but effective way of carving an environment from the workitself. The result is the same kind of unreal ambience labelmateGuiseppe Ielasi regularly produces, an unpredictable landscape thatreveals, only in afterthought (or aftershock), the rigorous method ofits creation. At points during the disc a beautiful chamber ensembleemerges, picking apart minimal, plaintive lines, as if at the cue of aparticular broken glass or cheap electronic whine. The effect of thisinvented troupe of players, slinking ghostly between so many goldenguitar drones, sheets of harmonium haze, and assorted earthenresonance, only to appear with the arbitrary quickness of a twigsnapping underfoot, is simply breathtaking, many listens over."Bedrock" travels from a tender, big-band shuffle sounding almost likethe Bad Seeds at their most sublime, to a lengthy area of abrasiveshatter and pop, garage ambience that still manages to feel like justanother station along the disc's narrative. When the associativestrains of guitar and percussive foundations disappear, more discretepatterning of electrical hums, engine turnovers, and minor tapetreatments become attempts at maintaining the momentum and sonicdensity of a particular moment, a method aimed at continuity ratherthan clash, and one that helps to create an incredibly fluidsound-world, full of juxtapositions, but ones which provide anindecisive magical middle passage. It's rare that works this complexalso succeed in feeling as direct, regardless of particular directiveschanging with each listen, a compliment that can be paid to most of theBowindo/Fringes releases I've heard. Discovering this label has been ajoy, and both of its 2004 releases will rank among my favorites for theyear. 
This is the absolutely flooring debut album of bassist/guitarist AdemIlhan's own four-piece band, and of a truly unique and powerful voiceall his own. Not that he's thought of as the quiet one or anything, butlive and on record with Fridge, Adem rarely ever lets this other beinginside of him be heard. His is a mannered but driven style of folkrock, prone to lush and full passages with varied instrumentation. Itis the vocals that make this album's beauty, however, with clear andimpassioned melodies from Adem and near perfect harmonies that embodythe words and themes being conveyed. From the first track, where theline "Let this be a moment that you won't forget" is stated severaltimes, I was hooked, with lyrics that pull everything around towardsthem and rhythms that crawl, sway, or jangle their way through life. Avariety of subjects are covered in what can only be catharsis, from theargument that remains long after the voices are quiet to the end of arelationship or those tender moments that will always remain. The heartreaches out to these characters, as they continue to stumble andmisdirect their ways around. "You tried to help yourself, but you gotit wrong" is followed by the extended "Everybody needs some helpsometimes" on "These Are Your Friends," the album's first single, andit could easily become the new "Lean On Me" of independent rock, as thesong builds and builds to a full-voiced near stomp at the end. Thereare little touches that show a clear grasp of theatrics withoutmelodrama or pretense, like the organ at the beginning of "EverythingYou Need," which leads in and disappears but has a lasting impression.The quirk of not often heard instruments, the uplifting as well as thecrushed, and the lyrics of a true poet make this a record I will notsoon forget. It also serves as a reminder to me of what anextraordinary group of talents Fridge is, and it makes me long for anew release from them soon. - 
The most recent evidence of the enduring peculiarity of the humancondition comes in the form of this collection of on-air sermons by theself-proclaimed "Reverend" Lester Knox of Tifton, Georgia. Lester Knoxis a radio personality of questionable religious pedigree, but withenough hootin' n' hollerin' holy-ghost ferocity to more than compensatefor his lack of Biblical acumen. Knox was something of an eccentric whofelt his message was important enough to buy airtime, out of pocket,every week for more than 18 years to broadcast his demented God-typemessage to Southern Georgia, despite his rather noticeable speechimpediment. Recorded straight off the airwaves between the years of1982 and 1992 by cult rocker Tom Smith (of To Live and Shave in LA), Put Your Face in Gwodoffers 71 minutes of the more unhinged moments of Knox's broadcasts.The recording quality varies from endearingly low-fi to annoyinglyshitty, but Lester Knox still comes through loud and clear, deliveringhis hellfire-and-brimstone message of sweaty-toothed allegiance to thespirit in the sky. Knox is frequently joined in the studio by arevolving cast of blithering hayseeds, powhitetrash and hill people,many of whom are invited to warble a gospel number or two, and theirperformances give new meaning to the term neo-primitive. Astutelisteners of The Incredible String Band will recognize "The World IsNot My Home" as the coda to "Ducks on a Pond." Many of these gospeltunes are in the classic repertoire of devotional folk hymns, asdocumented in Harry Smith's Anthology of Folk Music, but you'renever heard them like this. Unorthodox guitar tunings and hilariouslyoff-key vocals contribute to the real-people/outsider feel of thismaterial. But Knox himself is the main attraction, whooping wildly andfeverishly whipping up religious fervor: "Amen, I FEEL the power ofGOD! Somebody is in this radio station besides us! Do you HEAR me outthere in radioland?" A chorus of measured amens from the in-studioflock can be heard throughout the disc. Despite this apparent support,at times, Knox seems to be suffering from severe bipolar mood swings;howling and speaking in tongues one minute, quietly crying andbemoaning his own frustrated existence the next. One particularlyfragile segment has Knox desperately yelling vain threats of divineretribution to whatever imp is making the lights go on and off in thestudio during his broadcast: "Somebody in here is a-messin' with thislight, goin' off and on...You mess with a man of God, and God'll knockyou down! Do you hear me, women and men?" Put Your Face in Gwodis everything I could possibly want from an outsider document;simultaneously funny and sad, bizarre and charming, completely unhingedyet utterly human. 
Signed to Mogwai's Rock Action Records overseas, this unique projectfrom Chris Mack finally sees the shelves of the US, where listeners maynot be guite prepared for this brand of Scottish nigh-bluegrass.Nevertheless, Mack has crafted an easy to listen to thirteen tracks,about half instrumental, that approach a burgeoning awakening, and anew style along with it. Itwould be absolutely gorgeous if more Scottish bands latched on to thisstyle and went for it, starting a new craze. So far Scotland has onlyhad very limited genres to offer to the rest of the world: bagpipes,bland pop music, blistering instrumental rock, or the twee-ness ofBelle and Sebastian. There have been others, but these are the onlyones I can think of that actually went anywhere. Personally, I thinkindie Scottish twang could take off rather quickly with James OrrComplex as a leader. Here is their platform: Chris Mack is an amazingguitar player, like Django Reinhardt good, and people would gather frommiles around just to see his pickin' and grinnin' (reports of himactually grinnin' could not be confirmed at press time — it is Scotlandafter all). Second, the songs are fairly minimalist in their approach,and extremely catchy. "Mouthpiece" is a brilliant song, about drinkingand needing someone else to talk for you, and it makes anyone want totap their toes. Lastly, the songs contain lyrics that would go downwith any bluegrass or country fan: the pursuits of the downtrodden.There is some positivity, but for the most part the songs outline ageneral force out to get the little man, with titles like "HappyAdversary" and "Fade Grey to Fade Blue." In the event that it doesn'ttake off, no matter. Just leave it to the James Orr Complex and let itride, because these guys have got it all. -
It's rather hard to believe that a Tony-winning actor can record an album of indie rock this affecting and heartfelt, but that's exactly what Michael Cerveris manages. A featured actor in several successful musicals, including Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Assassins, for which he got the Tony, Cerveris is probably more known for that vocation, and less known as the lead singer of the band Retriever. Along the way in his career, he has also performed with Pete Townshend and Bob Mould on albums and tours. All of these experiences inform his debut solo album, a global-jaunt recording project with all the musician friends he's made over the years. And where his vocal stylings onstage are more presentational, on these songs he sings from the heart more than from the lungs and diaphragm.
On this second album from the former D Generation frontman he provesthat his debut was not a fluke, and even betters it wherever possible.Maybe it's the fact that he produced it himself, or maybe because hedistanced himself from Ryan Adams on this release more, but Malin'ssongs have more power, more flavor, and definitely more presence thanbefore. This may also be attributed to the stellar guests thatcontribute, from Eli Janney of Girls Against Boys to formerReplacements and Guns N' Roses bassist Tommy Stinson. Where his lastrecord concentrated on self-destruction, this record seems to centermore on self-healing through sympathy. Malin reaches out to himself andto others on this record with equal strength, much in a way ofidentification, but also as a cry for help so that he doesn't go downalone. Anchoring it all is a sometimes plaintive, sometimes gale windforce of country-fed rock, with Malin's unique voice front and center.He's always been adept at telling stories, and this record is nodifferent, with tales of beauties and delinquents alike, successful ornot. There are concerns about the way our country is going intermingledwith the story of the girl who left a mark, and there's never a jarringmoment. Malin does rely a bit too much on couplets in his songs, and itdoes annoy after a while, but the quick rhymes are all part of hisappeal. Where Springsteen was all about songs for and chronicling theworking man, Malin's are for and about the freaks and castaways, thelate night lounge lizards and the men who dress up in their mother'sclothes. The beautiful thing is that there is no judgment in his words:he simply presents things as they are, and with a quasi-endearmentwhich embraces while it informs. Already more successful solo than heever was in a band, Malin is proving to be one of the new rock and rollpoets, whether he likes it or not. The Heat is on, all the time, and the streets are ripe with more to tell. -
