Iris Light
Jim Sutherland has quite a background as a composer of television andfilm scores. Crackletone is his somewhat minimalist, somewhat spooky,and somehow intriguing vehicle for composing drone-based pieces. I saythat the pieces are drone-based, but that really isn't fair: there area lot of different sounds used throughout the rather awkwardly namedalbum: what might be the sounds of a heart beating are combined withnauseating organ spills, a little too cleanly produced digital bleepsand bloops, and truly effective moans bubbling over with drifting windsand interstellar interference. The result of combining haunting andintriguing sounds with overused and bland ones makes for a see-sawexperience. At times the sounds really produce a sense of horror butthen they are interrupted by sounds that remind me that the horrificstuff can't possibly be real. In other words, what seems gritty, dirty,and realis revealed as fake because of sci-fi noises that remind me of blastersounds used in so many video games. The first track, "Crackletone," isa thirty-minute composition that manages to stay entrancing andbelievable despite some of the rather silly sounds used in it. "FondlePark" is nearly unlistenable. In fact, I only listened to it once andthat was only because I felt I had to so that I could be honest aboutthe album as a whole. "Journey to the Sea of Sparks" is probably thebest piece on the album, where a majority of those digital and cleansounds have been eliminated in favor of a rather stunning combinationof distorted grandfather clocks, evil hissing, and a truly strangemelody that appears half-way through and then disappears into the voidof space the rest of the sounds create. Maybe it's the sound of a stormas heard by someone on LSD or maybe its just the rumblings of aspace-monsters hungry stomach. In either case, it's entertaining. Ican't wholly reccomend this release, but I can't deny that I enjoy agood portion of it when I give it a spin; it's just that I don't oftenfeel compelled to listen to it.
Jim Sutherland has quite a background as a composer of television andfilm scores. Crackletone is his somewhat minimalist, somewhat spooky,and somehow intriguing vehicle for composing drone-based pieces. I saythat the pieces are drone-based, but that really isn't fair: there area lot of different sounds used throughout the rather awkwardly namedalbum: what might be the sounds of a heart beating are combined withnauseating organ spills, a little too cleanly produced digital bleepsand bloops, and truly effective moans bubbling over with drifting windsand interstellar interference. The result of combining haunting andintriguing sounds with overused and bland ones makes for a see-sawexperience. At times the sounds really produce a sense of horror butthen they are interrupted by sounds that remind me that the horrificstuff can't possibly be real. In other words, what seems gritty, dirty,and realis revealed as fake because of sci-fi noises that remind me of blastersounds used in so many video games. The first track, "Crackletone," isa thirty-minute composition that manages to stay entrancing andbelievable despite some of the rather silly sounds used in it. "FondlePark" is nearly unlistenable. In fact, I only listened to it once andthat was only because I felt I had to so that I could be honest aboutthe album as a whole. "Journey to the Sea of Sparks" is probably thebest piece on the album, where a majority of those digital and cleansounds have been eliminated in favor of a rather stunning combinationof distorted grandfather clocks, evil hissing, and a truly strangemelody that appears half-way through and then disappears into the voidof space the rest of the sounds create. Maybe it's the sound of a stormas heard by someone on LSD or maybe its just the rumblings of aspace-monsters hungry stomach. In either case, it's entertaining. Ican't wholly reccomend this release, but I can't deny that I enjoy agood portion of it when I give it a spin; it's just that I don't oftenfeel compelled to listen to it.samples:
Does overproduced Weezer-lite rock-pop with Notwist-by-numbers laptopbeats and effete vocals sound like the music you've been waiting tohear all your life? Well, the wait is over now that Certainly, Sir havegraced the world with the hipster atrocity of their new album Mugic.The title of the album seems to have been inspired by a night ofreckless Pabst Blue Ribbon consumption and pot smoking: "Hey dude,let's name the record Mugic, because it's like 'music' plus'magic.' That would be so deck!" It's this same kind of misguidedimpulse that led the band to write songs with excruciatingly sophomorictitles like "My Bad" and "The Vacant Lot of My Heart." I know virtuallynothing about the history of this Boston group, and I'd prefer to keepit that way. I'm more than willing to bet that the members ofCertainly, Sir have been spotted at various nightspots wearing fadedjeans, nylon trucker caps and studded belts. Certainly, Sir's sub-parsound has clearly been influenced by the laptop-pop of groups likePostal Service and Yoshimi-era Flaming Lips. Unfortunately, they seem unable even to properly plagiarize. The 11 power-pop songs on Mugic are banal to the point of negation, making even the tepid Give Upalbum by Postal Service seem like a masterpiece in comparison. Not onlydoes the band's music fail to contribute anything new or unique to themedium, it actually seems to microscopically detract from the entirehistory of music merely by its existence. Records as dull and unlikableas Mugic seem to indicate that it has officially become far tooeasy to record and release an album these days. The opening track"Sweet Time" sets up the dreadful sound with its shiny guitar,cookie-cutter Powerbook beats and "Don't You Want Me"-style male/femaletradeoff vocals. However, this is miles away from the pop mastery ofthe Human League, with embarrassingly overwrought lyrics like "Turn offthe TV/Come out from in the open/Get beneath a tree/Safe and warm,that's me." Later, on "Hello," the vocalist assures "No sweat, girl, Ichecked, we're still alive." These lyrics would be better suited tosome high-profile emo-punk band with a name like Sunny Day Monument orBurning Coalition (thanks to The Emo Band Name Generator). On "My Bad,"the lead singer makes a heartrending confession: "When I said my heartwould crack - I take it back/Apparently it won't/My Bad." Thesetrust-fund babies are hoping that anorexic girls wearing headbands,ironic t-shirts and unnecessary eyeglasses will find their brand ofsoul-baring irresistible enough to warrant the occasional hand-jobbackstage. Certainly, Sir should sign to a major label quickly, as Idon't think the current MTV generation can go another second withoutthe aggressively mediocre, homogenized crapfest offered by Mugic.
Upon first listen, The Civil War sounds completely unlike anything I've ever heard from Matmos. Initially, it is quite a struggle to place this new album in context with their previous work, which is characterized by minutely detailed electronica full of samples constructed from non-musical objects and field recordings. In stark contrast, most of the tracks on The Civil War are non-conceptual, traditionally structured songs with easily digestible melodies and chord progressions. Many of the medieval, folk and symphonic instruments on this album reach the listener untouched, without the usual precise surgical edits and digital processing that Drew Daniel and MC Schmidt have built their career on. This will be quite a shock for those who have become acquainted with Matmos through albums such as Quasi Objects and A Chance to Cut is a Chance to Cure. Even The West, though it was purportedly an exploration of country and blues, still shared the same fascination with sample-derived audio minutiae. So, it's fair to say that The Civil War is quite a departure. Luckily, the gamble pays off.
Guapo have a reputation as instrumental prog artists that evoke avariety of influences to produce ambient structures that are known tocross the ten-minute mark. Cerberus Shoal are no stranger to longpieces with myriad styles themselves, and their collaborations of latewith a wide array of artists have done more for their palette than canbe measured. For the third in the Shoal's split-EP series, both ofthese left-of-center bands contribute tracks over sixteen minutes andthen a third of the same stature is created from their tracks. It isthe longest, most freeform and ethereal release in the series, and inplaces the most impressive and frightening. Guapo's solo piece, "IdiosKosmos," is a wall of sound dirge of guitar, cello, and electronicsthat swells and expands like a lung: taking in air and using it, thenpausing before taking in the air again. There seems to be nothing thatwill distinguish it for the first ten minutes, and the quality changesto a crashing plane's whine. Then, the lung springs a leak, and theinner processes and air spill out in a whirlwind of poundingpercussion. It takes a while to get where it's going, but the track isultimately fulfilling. Ceberus Shoal's track, "A Man Who Loved Holes,"is a chilling piece with no rhythm or structure, with scatteredpassages of singing and a ghostly voice that passses from one speakerto the next and back again. Prose and poetry are recited, eerie soundeffects escape and intertwine, and everything maintains an evil calm.The Shoal have approached this kind of strangeness in the past, butnever this extended madness with little music to speak of. It'sconfusing while fascinating, and worth a listen even though it isclearly not for everyone. The third track, billed as Guaperus Shoalo,is an appropriate puree of both tracks, with ambient and eerie vocalsconverging before mighty percussion and electronic whines. It is themost collaborative song on these EPs so far, and eclipses both previoustracks in its atmosphere and bizarre melody. As they continue with thisseries, the material from both artists gets stranger and stranger, butalso more collaborative, as each artist seems to feed more off of whatthe Shoal is putting out and vice versa. 
Marco Haas, founder of Berlin's Shitkatapult label and the man behindT. Raumschmiere, has become somewhat notorious for his uniquelycrowd-pleasing, fist-pumping techno. On last year's The Great Rock n' Roll Swindle,Haas delivered a record filled with raucous, repetitive party jams thatdared to bring some sorely-needed fun into the German minimal scene.Haas' merging of gutter punk and arena rock to the comparativelyacademic world of microhouse and minimal techno was a revelation, andan idea whose time had come. Not since The KLF unleashed The White Rooma decade ago have I heard such beautifully simple, slam-dancing,stadium rave beats. T. Raumschmiere's new album certainly does notdisappoint, meeting and exceeding the bar set by his previous work. Radio Blackoutis a willfully dumb, loud and aggressive album full of rave-up anthems,like the IDM version of Andrew WK, or better yet, a Kompakt Recordstribute to Gary Glitter's "Rock N' Roll Part 2." T. Raumschmiere wantsus to rock out hard, and he's channeling the memories of all thoseNitzer Ebb and Front 242 records he listened to as a teenager, rollingout 11 big, dirty punk-electro jams. Just try not to jump up and tearthe roof off when the concussive beats and big chunky power chords of"Monstertruckdriver" hit you across the face. Miss Kittin, theEurotrash club girl whose unpleasant monotone has graced so manyelectroclash records, provides vocals for the album's first big 12"single "The Game is Not Over." It's unrelentingly awesome, weirdlyreminiscent of 70's-era glam-rock anthems like Slade's "Cum On Feel theNoize." Actually, glam rock is a very illustrative comparison, as MarcoHaas, like T. Rex and Kiss before him, prefers to concentrate onsurface concerns, rather than depth or encoded meaning. Everything youneed to experience in T. Raumschmiere's rave-rock is floating right ontop. Inside is just an empty husk, devoid of meaning other than thatinitial aesthetic thrill. Depending on the listeners sensibilities,this is either a critique or a recommendation. Ultimately, the vapiditythat makes T. Raumschmiere's brash techno so appealing also gives riseto that cold, empty feeling that sets in after a few listens. 
I had a very tough time making it all the way through "Vigil." For thisalbum, Ambarchi and Martin Ng (a guitarist and a turntablist,respectively, though no instruments are listed here) let some feedbackdrift aimlessly for an hour across four tracks, each track onlyslightly more eventful than the last. The irritatingly piercing,mid-volume feedback that comprises most of the sonic conent here ispunctuated every so often by a bell-like chime, which seems to decayinto more feedback... but feedback is such a transparent anduncompelling sound that it resists pure listening. Events are obviouslynot the point here, but even non-event with substanceless sound hasbeen done more effectively already (Otomo Yoshihide and Sachiko M'sFilament live album leaps to mind, as does Sukora's "Tower") and it's apoint that doesn't demand being made more than once. I don't feelchallenged by "Vigil"s icy restraint, just bored. If there is anythingsubtle happening with the composition here (I don't believe that thereis), it went right past me as I struggled past the ambivalence of thesounds used. The only (relatively) interesting section is the fourthand final track, in which the bass swells a bit. I can't recommendthat, though, since it's such a meager reward after the hour that'spassed. I found "Vigil" to be merely tedious, a real let-down from twoguys whose other work I so look forward to hearing. There are some TinaFrank videos on this disc as well, comprised of some shapes and linesmoving around... also, not terribly compelling.
The liner notes make a convincing argument that this record is notautobiographical or escapist or even existential; it is "politicalwithout the pulpit." I'm not entirely sure what that means but what Ido know is that in the twenty-eight or so minutes that this record runsI am completely held in its hands and give away all my thought to it.It's simple in a haunting way. Alexander McGregor plays nearly everyinstrument so that they don't just produce notes and melodies: theybecome an extension of his voice and his lyrics whether they be muddledor quite clear. There is a sense of awe and wonder in each song that isestablished by way of contrasting melodies, basic production, and thecombination of Latin sounds with more familiar rock n' roll feelings.It's a hard aura to pin down. It's surreal and at the same timesomething that isn't so alien that it becomes void or nullified by itsstrangeness. But enough of that: the music is fun, too. The openingsounds of "Calibrate" are formless and unidentifiable but somehow serveas the perfect introduction to the wavering, watery, and druggy "NoNine." Drinking a very fine wine and watching a troupe of dancers seemsan entirely appropriate activity to accompany this song and at the sametime it has an incredibly romantic horn solo that brings to mindthoughts of making love. "Nothing Wrong" is a simple acoustic guitarpiece that somehow captures an ideal of innocence through its lyricsand sighing vocals. The center lyrics, "I don't know about you lil'girl / But there's nothing wrong / Nothing wrong with me," are of akind that manage to be uplifting, resentful, and hurt at the same time;it's a truly human song that I've become more and more fond of as I'velistened to it. The closer, "Making Movies," combines all of theelements of the previous songs and adds overdubs on the vocals, flute,and what I think is a cello to the mix. It's a dramatic and lilting endand serves as the perfect way to end a night. Part of the beauty ofthis album is that it can be played anywhere and at anytime and becompletely entrancing.
The Ebb and Flow sound like the setup to a great joke: an Iranian, aRussian, and a New Yorker start a band, drawing on their individualinfluences to make a new sound. The joke's on anyone who takes thatdescription at face value and expects to hear a trainwreck, though.This San Francisco band employs a clever mix of styles, rhythms, andinstruments, forming an interesting melange that never quits or getssloppy. The Ebb and Flow use guitar, drums, and a variety ofsynthesizers and organs as a base coat, then use whatever methodsnecessary to take the song to the next level. As it stands, theirs is aunique jazzed up prog synth pop sound, with two vocalists that bringout different strengths as the songs progress; and Murmursis a solid piece of work from a band destined for excellence. Guestmusicians provide everything from touches of flavor to necessarycomponents: the band is billed as a trio, with guest bassist DmitryIshenko, but I think they should just invite him to join, as I can'timagine these songs without his confident low end. "4 Track Mind -Dusty Crickets" starts with arpeggio guitar and solid rhythm, then addstrumpet and keys, building towards release. Then, it all dissolves inelectronic chirps, only to be reborn as a power pop shuffle. SaraCassetti and Roshy Kheshti have smooth voices like icing on this cake,and they play their instruments with just as much passion and heart."Me and My Twins" features guitarist Sam Tsitrin's turn on vocals, anda more indie rock sound to boot, just as easy to swallow as the firsttrack. It threatens to fade out, but then comes right back in again forone last taste. "Routes and Roots" and "Throop" are the high energyrocking out double shot, with "Throop" approaching boogie territory asthe trumpets blare. Then "Contra Verse" puts all the pieces togetherwith male/female vocals and a blend of all sounds previous. Too shortbut solid, Murmurs shows a band in their prime that deserves a real shot at the prize. Hopefully they won't have to wait too long. 
For his latest release for the Chocolate Industries label, 24-year oldChicago hip hopper/multi-instrumentalist Caural (aka Zachary Mastoon)presents Blurred July, an EP of three new, original tracks plus a remix track from his full length Stars on My Ceilingdisc, courtesy of Savath + Savalas (aka Scott Herren). The EP unfurlswith the gradually headnodding "Goodbye May Kasahara" - a mixture ofsubtle vibraphone flourishes, brushed snare rolls with sloshy hi-hatswells, keyboard and tight beats (complete with handclaps) that pulseto rhythmic bass end, conveying a positive mood. The soulful sounds ofthe Fender Rhodes spin their way through "Blacktops and Plains,"featuring lines and rhymes from label mate and fellow city dweller, MCDiverse, over crunchy, distorted beats. The evocative patter ofrainstick opening "Visuals" falls into a soundscape of subtleelectronic waves and cymbal swells which bring in compressed beats,peppered with live drums and keyboard progressions which are heavy onthe reverb. A relaxed track of shimmering keyboard and upright basslines, Scott Herren subtly adds his signatory syncopation on the laidback groove of "Sipping Snake Blood Wine (Savath + Savalas remix)."With summer now left behind, the Blurred July EP is a great selection of compositional beats and instrumental sounds to conjure up the warmth of those fleeting days. 
What's missing in modern country is true grit. In all of the glossed-upbeauty makeover tractor hunk nonsense they've missed the true point, ascountry started as the music for poor man's plight and economic blight.There's no dirt in New Country's teeth, no black under its nails, andno liquor in its veins. Just a vacant, vapid three part harmony andsome political nonsense that can't come close to the real issues athand. So leave it to country-obsessed former Geraldine Fibbers/EthylMeatplow vocalist Carla Bozulich to bring it back by covering WillieNelson's landmark concept album in its entirety. Sure, it's notoriginal grit, but it's authentic nonetheless, so much that Williehimself guests on guitar and vocals for several songs. Bozulich has theright voice for the material, raising hairs left and right with thetale of a preacher who killed his wife and her new beau. Nels Cline,Devin Hoff, and Scott Amendola also get points for their bare butchilling instrumentation that sets the perfect backdrop for thesesongs. There was a conscious decision to make this all sound authentic,I feel, from the nylon string guitars to the minimalist production andthe sparse nature of the music. It doesn't take much to bring acrossthis raw and rusty tale, and no lavish production could have made itsound better. "Time of the Preacher" is just as gorgeous as when Williehimself sang it, and "Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain" is better than theoriginal, with Leah Bozulich providing harmony vocal. The best, though,is the impact of "Medley," where autoharp and radio buzz are joined byelectric guitar and drum shockwaves. It shook me to the bone, theperfection of it all, and I felt like I wasn't going to make it outalive. Country needs to sound like this again, to take chances and tryfor a complex thought. It says it all that a singer went backtwenty-five years to find the right music for her soul. If othersfollowed suit maybe we could be spared. 
It borders on impossible to reccomend a CD that pretends to be metalbut can't get past the whole "loud" aspect of the music. Sure, thewhole thing is intense and the guitars sort of wail and screech alongwith pounding and sometimes sloppy drumming, but nothing of theattention paid to particulars and subtleties by the best metalheads isto be found on this disc. The guitars don't grind and annihilate somuch as they just vomit and expend themselves in drones and whines offeedback. The drums are always quick and heavy, but they never changeand simply keep the beat flat and simplistic. There's little to novariation in the all of song's structures and the vocalist seems tohave an affinity for straining his voice in a way that is more dramaticthan it is threatening or truly violent. Speaking of the vocalist, muchof the lyrical content stays to the "nobody understands me and I'mgoing to rebel against them" theme. However, on songs like "FlophouseNightmares" and "Angel In Disguise" the lyrics seem to be nearmeaningless practices in rhyme and rhythm: their topics seemnonsensical or they are just plain boring. I know, lyrics have neverbeen the creativefocus of metal but at least the simplicity of some of the bettermaterial conveyed interesting ideas or controversial topics worththinking about. There's simply nothing like that on Halldór Laxnessand so it pounds and moans on into what seems like infinity withoutsurprising, shocking, convincing, or provoking. The puerile lyrics onlyserve to attenuate the sound of the album. It wants to be powerful andexciting, but it can't be without some kind of focus and discipline. Itdoesn't need to be calculated but to be truly angry it needs to soundmore distinct than it does.
Generally speaking, when I listen to music that I don't like, I putsome effort into understanding why that is. It can become a kind ofSherlock Homes mystery, albeit without the humor. Sometimes it's just agenre thing and at others it's a semiotics thing. Sometimes its theemotion or attitude that's being projected that I revile—f-ing hippies,for example. But not infrequently it turns out that I just don't getit; I don't understand the language the artist is speaking in. Andthose cases can be the most interesting. It's clearly stupidity to say"this poetry sucks" if it just because it's in Finnish and soundsmeaningless to ones ears. The language must be learned before anaesthetic opinion can be formed. And so it is with Old Testament—thelanguage is deliberately obscure and the emotion, semiotics etc. aretherefore opaque. The digital sounding noise on this CD mostly hasrather little immediately pleasing quality. Track 1 is long slowlymoving low frequency noise and doesn't go anywhere at all. Track 2 ismore interesting and even fun in parts but what's appealing about itstrajectory of electronic skitter, principally its rhythm and sonority,is not found elsewhere. The remainder is just plain painful withouteither the cathartic pleasures of, say, Merzbow or the humanity of DueProcess. So I work on the language; give it many a listen; see if I canget it. And when I do, an all too common outcome to the detective workis that there isn't anything there but technical experimentation thatshouldn't have left the studio. (In this case that's not entirely fair;a reduced version of Track 2 deserves to get on a comp.) Apart fromthat, the obscurantism of the language is all there is. The underlyingproblem (and it crops all the time) is that weirdness in music is usedas a cover for lack of musical talent. There's noting inherently wrongwith the experimental approach, tinkering with equipment untilsomething of value is achieved, but novelty, weirdness, or extremeout-there-ness is not good enough. Ilios may be proud of making a verystrange sounding disk but strange isn't intrinsically good. Theeffectiveness of experimentalism as a substitute for talent derivesfrom that lingering fear one has, that possibility that one may nothave grasped the language and therefore should reserve judgment orconfer the benefit of the doubt. But give it enough time and effort andwhat you hear on Old Testament is nothing other than theprocess of tinkering with equipment and certainly not the artisticobject that should have been the process's output.
There tends to be a fine line drawn when dealing with concept albums that separates the obvious and self-indulgent from the conveying of a general theme throughout an overall good and fair recording. With Beauty Party, the second installment in NYC poet/MC Mike Ladd's hip hop trilogy of the Infesticons/Majesticons, the line tends to be purposely blurred by the ongoing battle of style vs. substance.
No longer can any man look me in the eye and call himself a rock fanuntil he has heard this masterpiece of magical changes. This is no mererock performance, but a curse upon the Bush clan and their corporatecronies, a fiery invocation to hasten the inevitable fall of the USEmpire. For the opening attack the hardcases gather around the tableand the game is big picture. "The Death and Resurrection Show" sets thescene with an irresistably thunderous tribal dance beat from hardcoreskinbeating primitive Dave Grohl, a simply devastating give upultimatum to false metal guitarists from Geordie and some of the mostimportant imagery to ever be transmitted via the rock medium from themuch maligned and misunderstood genius Jaz Coleman. Next, a hesitantwoman of liberty asks how we can go up against the government anddecides we must all rise at once. Jaz is up for trying to inspire us todo so, and "Total Invasion" lays it on the line for the liars whoblaspheme our names in the infinitely cancerous pursuit of profit.Fireblast riffs and collapsing skyscraper drums lumber asunder as Jazstrangles lizards from his throat to exorcise the Bush-pig demons andlay them in the dirt to perish of thirst as revenge for the third ofthe world they are slowly, meanly, inhumanly killing to keep the coldblood gurgling through their hardened arteries with seconds to go.Next, Jaz assumes the form of an "Asteroid" which crashes into theocean, flooding and laying waste to the proliferating homogenoustechnocracy. It recalls "Whiteout" amped up a zillion volts. Redefiningcyber-punk, "Implant" questions the morality of techno-genetic hybridsand mourns the inevitable loss of diversity that is plunging the racetowards eternal DOOM. Like "Asteroid," the entire song grinds to a haltseveral times for Jaz to scream his rage at the cold science fools andtheir deathsucking paymasters — "You just want to FUCKING CONTROL!"Then the headlong rush of "Blood On Your Hands" orders them to atonefor their crimes and paints a picture of a world laid waste by theiridiotic short sighted greed. It would really be a swell single, and notjust for the blessed inspiration of hearing the lyric, "Poison thewater so only your GM crops grow," infiltrating wishy washy MTV land.This is far beyond mere MALICIOUS DAMAGE. This is the most preciselydirected and accurately targeted distillation of molten rage I haveever experienced. And I've heard a lot of so called hardcore over theyears. The second half briefly drops a rung into more personal headspace. The arm waving wasteland zombie bop "Loose Cannon" recallsimagery from the dreams that inspired their seminal debut album and thecircle is completed. Both this rather odd choice for a single and thenext track reclaim and embellish the "Eighties" chug that poor CursedCobain filched in admiration. This is the only band on the planet whocould get away with a lighters in the air ballad like "You'll Never GetTo Me" probably because they have torches. Shame they didn't replace itwith the rabid "Inferno" which closes UK copies, but has been left offin other regions for obvious reasons. The next single is out this weekand is rock perfected to sum up the personal anger and despair atfalsely mediated visions of a world gone mad. Your mission is to buy"Seeing Red" from a chart return shop NOW and shake up the fakemoney-love kiddypops charts with something of substance, a song upthere with such classics as "The Wait" and "Pssyche." What feeling,loving, angry human could resist the joy of hearing a tune open withthe line, "They're dropping bombs again, and they're doing it in yourname," and continue with the ultimate condemnation of limited smalltown England tedium and ignorance. Grohl's drums shine, reverting moreto Scream patterns than Nirvana. Geordie rips the burning sky to shredswith the greatest one note guitar spears and the bass line is a massivedescending roll of thunder. The most harrowing trip is the eerie anddesolate "Dark Forces" in which Jaz trawls the mind of a desecratingcorporate ogre and survives to report the megalomaniac creep churnings.I wouldn't like to spend an hour locked inside those heads but Jaz is asterner being than I. The final report the megalomaniac creepchurnings. I wouldn't like to spend an hour locked inside those headsbut Jaz is a sterner being than I. The final battle sees the fall of"The House That Pain Built" as Zeppelin's "Kashmir" is ripped apart andrendered a mere grunt. After pain we WILL have JOY. This is one band toempower the will like no other. Our Rubicon approaches. Lets all go tothe Fire Dances once again. So be it! - 
Belgium's Sub Rosa label presents the first in a threatened 10-partseries of double-disc anthologies documenting more than 80 years ofdevelopments in electronically derived music. The hopelessly pedanticliner notes try to justify the inclusions and omissions, and attemptboth to delimit and enlarge the definitions of "noise," but these justseem like a complex series of overwritten excuses for what is basicallyan unstructured assortment of tracks — mostly rare or previouslyunreleased — that are not truly unified by an inclusive theme. Thecompilers have cleverly dubbed this an "a-chronology" to rationalizethe illogical continuity of the sequencing — an Einsturzende Neubautenagro-industrial track from 1998 rubs shoulders with Konrad Boehmer'scompositional avant-garde piece dating from 1966. There is no rhyme orreason to the songs chosen for this compilation, or their sequencing,which is actually somewhat refreshing in the wake of so manycompilations professing to be authoritative history lessons on a genreor time period. Sub Rosa's absurd decade-jumping and too-widedefinitions allow a lot of room for some fascinating pieces toco-exist, whether or not they all make sense together. Listening tothis double-disc anthology, I am reminded of a cerebral late-nightcollege radio DJ programming a fantasy set of his favorite abstractelectronic pieces. The compiler's choices run the gamut from earlycompositions for electronic instruments, to modern laptop-basedexperiments, but with an ear towards largely rhythmless,non-traditionally structured music. I guess that's where the "noise"bit comes in. A listener who is not familiar with the originators andrevolutionaries of electronic music and theory might find this anexcellent starting point for study. The long, academic liner notesshould have been researched more meticulously as there are severaloversights and mistakes, and plenty of typos, but nothing so bad thatit negates the value of the anthology itself. Musique concrete' is hererepresented by future Nazi propagandist Walter Ruttman's cinematictape-collage "Wochende" (1930), a truly impressive, picaresque audionarrative that presages the later classics of the form such as JohnCage's Fontana Mix and the more recent post-industrial dream narratives of Roger Doyle's Rapid Eye Movements.The atonal, sculptured minimalism of Gordon Mumma's "The DresdenInterleaf 13 February 1945" (1965) sounds strikingly modern, and shouldappeal to fans of Soliloquy for Lilith-era Nurse With Wound.Three giants of the scene come together spectacularly in Angus MacLise,Tony Conrad and John Cale's "Trance #2" (1965), a haunted, devotionaldrone piece that transcends its low-fidelity recording. The oftenfascinating Phillip Jeck collaborates with Otomo Yoshihide and MartinTetreault on an untitled live excerpt that is richly detailed andendlessly compelling. The more provocative, political agitants of noisemusic are here represented by a pair of tracks from Survival ResearchLaboratories and Einsturzende Neubauten, both previously unreleased,and both stirring exorcisms of jarring brutality. As one might expect,the contributions from classic innovators Iannis Xenakis and EdgarVarese are typically outstanding. John Cage's incredible cut-and-splicepiece "Rozart Mix" contains some of the same microcosmic drama of TheBeatles "Revolution #9," as well as one of the earliest recordedinstances of record scratching. Sonic Youth's "Audience" (1983) is aninteresting experiment in the live manipulation of sounds: in this casethe applause the band received after a performance is slowed down andstretched to sound like a room full of monstrous demons rhythmicallybanging their heads against the floor. The only really bad inclusioncomes in the form of a pointless ambient space excursion by DJ SpookyThat Submental Prick. Japanese composer Ryoji Ikeda ends thecompilation with the brief but exciting mental tones of "One Minute"(1997). Considered as a whole, or considered in part, Sub Rosa's firstvolume of Anthology of Noise and Electronic Music is a noteworthy assemblage of easily digestible bites of ear-opening sonic explorations. 
For the second volume of these doctrinaire anthologies, Sub Rosa haswidened its already absurdly large scope even further, now alsoattempting to encompass movements in early 90's techno, 60's free jazzand early 80's industrial in addition to the already expansive universeof classic and modern avant-garde and minimalist composers thatdominated the first compilation. While I admire the tracks chosen —many of them are indeed rare and unreleased — curator Guy Marc Hinant'sthesis is getting ever more tenuous. The compilation opens with"Incantation for Tape" (1953), a brief tape composition by concretemusic innovators Vladimir Ussachevsky and Otto Luening, which seguesinto a longer tape collage by Luc Ferrari, certainly a master of theform. Listening to "Visage V" (1958-9), you may notice intensesimilarities to Jim O'Rourke's recent laptop-based work. This is not acoincidence, as parts of O'Rourke's I'm Happy, And I'm Singing, And a 1, 2, 3, 4seem to have been a direct, unacknowledged "homage" to Ferrari's work.Tod Dockstader's epic "Aerial>Song" (2002) is a gloriouscontinuation of the groundbreaking work he composed in the 1960's —amazingly elaborate soundscapes like "Apocalypse" and "Water Music".Morton Subotnick's pre-Silver Apples of the Moon "Mandolin"(1962) is a lovely, subtle piece combining bells, windchimes and warmlycomplex electronic oscillations. My favorite track by far on thiscollection is "Space travel w/changing choral textures" (1983), a briefsoundpiece by the incomparable Alan R. Splet. Splet famously designedthe sound for many of filmmaker David Lynch's best works, including Eraserhead.Anyone familiar with Lynch's films understands the indispensable impactof the densely surreal, dark and spacious soundtracks created by thenearly-blind Splet. The second disc opens with "Bronchus One.1" (1991),an early sketch of an Autechre track destined for their classic firstalbum Incunabula. It's enjoyable to hear Sean Booth and RobBrown flash back to the days when their music was still fresh, relevantand listenable. The disc also includes relatively rare contributionsfrom the early days of experimental techno, with Choose's "Purzuit ovNoize" (1994) and Woody McBride's "Pulp" (1993) — both darkly pulsatingslabs of analog minimalism. The compilation takes a nose dive into thegutters of early industrial with rare tracks from Laibach and SPK.Laibach's "Industrial Ambients" (1980-82) is a collage of fieldrecordings of actual factory machinery, complete with the murkyklingklang and coldly rhythmic atmosphere of Deutschland's industrialworld leadership. After the brief, inscrutable tangent to a thereminpiece from 1936, the collection ends with a couple of off-topiccontributions by Sun Ra and Don Van Vliet aka Captain Beefheart. It'struly difficult to understand how Sun Ra's cosmic free jazz orBeefheart's primitivist blues fit into the scheme, as neither of thesetracks contain significant electronic instrumentation. The disc alsocontains a Quicktime video clip of Beefheart performing the track circa1969, which is interesting, but ultimately irrelevant. I wholeheartedlyrecommend volume two of Sub Rosa's Anthology of Noise and Electronic Musicnot for its thematic coherence, which is nonexistent, but for the rareand unreleased tracks, which make the compilation worth the price ofadmission. 
Three excellent musicians from Australia plus three guests haveofficially crafted one of the most elegant and simple instrumental rockalbums I've ever heard. Warm waves of synthesizer tones, sunnymelodies, and a glowing aura all around mix, mash, and breathe as if anatural part of the air and form what can only be described as aheavenly cloud of radiance that is simply not of the material world.Keyboards, drums, and relaxed guitar strumming all intertwine,switching emphasis here and there but never losing sight of an overallpicture that must have taken shape in the mind of every musicianinvolved: a beach, memories of home, or nighttime in a familiar andwarm place. Every note and every second of sound effortlessly evokesfeeling after feeling. All India Radio mix sound sculptures void ofdefinite rhythms and certain melodies with more traditional songstructures and they do it so well that each second comes as a surprise.On "Voodoo Instrumental," a whistling drone underscores the open andreflective sound of a piano chiming in wandering and circular movementsuntil the reversed tones and guitars of "Moon Rise 1989" segue into themelancholy guitar playing of "Waukaringa." The movement of one songinto the next is almost cinematic and is certainly epic in scope, butthe content of each track is completely individual and unique. Featuredwith the CD is a DVD of various movies. Though not all of them aregreat, the video for "Tijuana Dream" is fantastic. It might seem alittle simple at first, but the ending makes watching the whole thingworth it. I really can't say enough about this album and I hope to hearmore from All India Radio. There's not one dull moment anywhere on thealbum and songs like "Evening Star" and "10:58" should not be missed.It's simple, almost child-like, and suffused with such an awesome moodof relaxation and inquisitiveness. This is their third album and basedon its merits I can't wait to hear more. 
There's something about the picture of Paula Kelley on the back of hernew release. She's staring out at you with deep, dark eyes, her handobscuring the rest of her face but revealing a coy, coquettish natureto her. I can't help but think of this image as the trailer poster forsome grand Broadway production, especially with the album's title withsubtitle. The music within only deepens the imaginary conceit, as it isreplete with lush orchestration and soaring vocals. Ladies andgentlemen, Paula Kelley, spotlights please. She's ready for her closeup, so everybody quiet down. "A New Time" begins with a clippingacoustic guitar and Kelley laying down the exposition of love like"warm August breezes" and starlight filling her face with possibility.But there is also another side to the story, one of doubt andmiscommunication that threatens to bring the strings out of theirgentle harmony, all-crashing down in dissonant cacophony. Luckily, thesong never falls apart, but rather perseveres through its delightfulduration. "Could There Be Another World" comes on in a full BurtBacharach attack, with a full orchestra of strings, horns, harp and aten-person choir to accompany Kelley's majestic voice that slips overevery lyric in warm, breathy tones. "I will take myself more seriouslythis time," she declares, as we all should. I see Kelley as the femalelead, who's relentless struggle to succeed through adversity andresolve the bonds of a lost love has still not dampened thebright-eyed, glorious optimism that lies beneath the stormy head, andcomes out in the immense walls of sound that her players (yes, it's herorchestra as denoted in the liner) weave along her world-weary yetpassionate words. When Paula sings the chorus to "I'll Fall In LoveWith Anyone" and the band pauses for a series of drawn out staccatonotes, the heart just breaks right in half from how gorgeous it sounds.The tune pushes the emotion to its climax and delves deep inside for apersonally affecting performance. "How Many Times" takes the big bandaspect to the background letting Paula showcase her own abilities. Thisis the true spotlight song, as the house lights can almost be seendimming as the pit fades to black and the singer becomes ringed by thebright, white bulb. Her raw vocal capabilities are wonderful on theirown, and coupled with an impeccable knack for phrasing and reallycasting feeling and power into those words, she has the potential to beamazingly uplifting or evocatively devastating. She sounds like amodern Dusty Springfield on the end of "The Rest of You," modulatingthose notes with remarkable song craft. It's a blend of original talentand musical appreciation. Of all the tracks, "My Finest Hour" appearsas the most straightforward rock song, though it is still supported bydueling trumpets and choral background vocals that give tremendousweight to the speed and impact of the song. Enough cannot be said ofhow well this album achieves its goals, with every piece of this largeundertaking finding their roles and relishing in them. The Trouble With Successis an absolutely stunning display of musicianship and ambitious conceptdone right, reaching as high as can be reached and pushing it evenhigher. Paula Kelley's the star of this show, and I'm starting to thinkthat underneath that hand, she's hiding a little smile.
There's a certain art in scoring an effective soundtrack; enhancing thevisual drama by heightening tension and emotions to set the overalltone of a scene. At best, it's either a standout composition or elseit's blending so effectively with the visual that you wouldn't recallthe music specifically. You just knew it was there. Unfortunately, aswith most original score soundtracks, you tend to hear more on the discthan you would in the film. For Scottish director David MacKenzie'supcoming film, Young Adam, David Byrne has composed fourteen semi-brief pieces of cinematic based music to complement the visual. For Lead Us Not Into Temptation,Byrne kept with the film's background by recording the soundtrack inScotland using members of Belle and Sebastian, Mogwai and Appendix Outto help convey a Glaswegian vibe. In hearing the music prior to seeingthe film, track titles such as "Body in a River," "Seaside Smokes," and"Warm Sheets" automatically conjure up their appropriate scenes, playedby nicely arranged strings, plucked upright bass and wispy drums. Theeerie piece "Mnemonic Discordance" is based around treated guitarsweeps which feature the clang of tuned metals and sampled screeches ofthe New York City L-train's brakes. The classically-influenced"Inexorable" moves along to rhythmic intervals, weaving piano andswooping, melancholic strings which dramatically build in intensity.Going in a totally different direction that the rest of the disc, theHung Drawn Quartet of saxophones are recruited to bop and swing throughCharles Mingus' punchy "Haitian Fight Song." The musicianship is great,although I'd have to see the film to truly appreciate the piece'scontext. For the longer pieces "Speechless" and "The Great WesternRoad" Byrne adds his distinct voice to the mix of laid back grooves,distant strings and keyboards to wind down the disc. Although veryeffective in conveying emotions, Lead Us Not Into Temptationtends to focus a fair bit on the use of strings, which nowadays tendsto unfairly and automatically be associated with being cinematic.However, for Byrne's compositions and their context, anything elsewouldn't do them justice.
