Häpna
Completely out of the blue comes an extraordinary little CD, sopowerful in its minute way, hugely evocative and humane. The clues towhat's going on are in the photos—a living room recording set up withMr. Appelqvist marshalling apparently amateur singers. He plays thepiano and a few other things, talks to the singers and they sing. It isthe intimacy of it that is most compelling, so intense that it isalmost unbearable but beautiful and joyous in such an honest and directway that is truly unique. Only a few of the Songs in the Key of Zcome close and none have this fragility or fluidity. Zenna and Marieare the two little girls on the first track, they sing a song inSwedish chat and then "Be What You Wanna Be" in English. They don'tseem to know all the words, loose their way, mumble some lines but nomatter—they come back to the chorus with enthusiasm and unaffectedpositivity that only the Langly Schools Music Project can touch.Appelqvist's lively playing is deft and idiosyncratic with a delightfullight touch that adds much musicality without moving beyond the role ofaccompaniment. The directness and total absence of artifice carriesover to the sound quality, which is simply brilliant. It puts you rightthere in that mundane living room with these wonderful people topositively eerie effect, as though you were invading someone's privacy.Xiang, more grown up and probably Chinese, sings on track two. Sheexpresses the self-consciousness that comes after childhood and beforeactual maturity. Ruth, older again, is soloist on track three. Hersong, "Geh aus, mein Herz," is given a strangely menacing backdrop witha few heavy guitar chords and ethereal flutes. She sings with theconfidence of someone who has been through motherhood and long sincesent her children off into the world. She seems to treat Appelqvist'sproject with the indulgence she would give to her grandchildren'santics. One could perhaps say that this disk is about language, how itaffects music, how song, intonation and melody adapt to it. The girlssound so different in English from Swedish, Xiang shows that the melodyof Chinese is inescapable, and Ruth's song in German shows thestrictness of that language and how uncomfortable it is with melody.Interesting as this thought may be, the real stuff here is in theemotion and how we lose so much of that with all the manufacturinginvolved in the other music we hear.
Completely out of the blue comes an extraordinary little CD, sopowerful in its minute way, hugely evocative and humane. The clues towhat's going on are in the photos—a living room recording set up withMr. Appelqvist marshalling apparently amateur singers. He plays thepiano and a few other things, talks to the singers and they sing. It isthe intimacy of it that is most compelling, so intense that it isalmost unbearable but beautiful and joyous in such an honest and directway that is truly unique. Only a few of the Songs in the Key of Zcome close and none have this fragility or fluidity. Zenna and Marieare the two little girls on the first track, they sing a song inSwedish chat and then "Be What You Wanna Be" in English. They don'tseem to know all the words, loose their way, mumble some lines but nomatter—they come back to the chorus with enthusiasm and unaffectedpositivity that only the Langly Schools Music Project can touch.Appelqvist's lively playing is deft and idiosyncratic with a delightfullight touch that adds much musicality without moving beyond the role ofaccompaniment. The directness and total absence of artifice carriesover to the sound quality, which is simply brilliant. It puts you rightthere in that mundane living room with these wonderful people topositively eerie effect, as though you were invading someone's privacy.Xiang, more grown up and probably Chinese, sings on track two. Sheexpresses the self-consciousness that comes after childhood and beforeactual maturity. Ruth, older again, is soloist on track three. Hersong, "Geh aus, mein Herz," is given a strangely menacing backdrop witha few heavy guitar chords and ethereal flutes. She sings with theconfidence of someone who has been through motherhood and long sincesent her children off into the world. She seems to treat Appelqvist'sproject with the indulgence she would give to her grandchildren'santics. One could perhaps say that this disk is about language, how itaffects music, how song, intonation and melody adapt to it. The girlssound so different in English from Swedish, Xiang shows that the melodyof Chinese is inescapable, and Ruth's song in German shows thestrictness of that language and how uncomfortable it is with melody.Interesting as this thought may be, the real stuff here is in theemotion and how we lose so much of that with all the manufacturinginvolved in the other music we hear. 
After a series of EPs and singles, northern England's 2 By Bukowski have released their second full, experimenting with spare, atmospheric soundscapes and wild, jarring collisions of noise. On Drink From My Bastard Grail,they straddle the line of introspective ambient and volatilepsyche-rock, offering energizing slivers of each throughout the disc."Chopperfuck" begins with a filthy, snarling guitar riff over slow,crawling drumbeats and heavy, distorted chords that swirl like anintense storm. Suddenly a distant female voice pokes through and theclouds lift as a calm, meditative melody wisps along with it. Therespite is short-lived, and the track once again climbs upward in afrenzy of distorted squeals and groans. "Wild Manner" is a vicious,screaming assault of amplifier feedback, lurching along full of biliousthrust. It's a frenetic sound, yet one that is underpinned by a solid,restrained rhythm that keeps everything from flying out in everyconceivable direction a la Comets on Fire. Bukowski are a far moreprecise outfit than that. The energy can be felt bubbling beneaththere, but the control makes the track all the more tense and cohesive.A simple arrangement of piano triads leads "I Am Ready For Death inThis Dominion," coupled with synthesized strings to give the air of amournful funeral procession. Bukowski plays with standard, thoughtfulpieces as well, eschewing the noise for expansive compositions thatoperate through mood and texture rather than gut reactions. "The LastAerie" and "Gate 3" both take the slow road, the latter using trebledchirps and gurgling effects to evoke a teeming brook and gusts out intoa pleasing pastoral wash. The movement between the louder and softertracks doesn't result in dissonance, but in fact highlights thestrengths of each in contrast. Just when 2 By Bukowski sounds as ifthey are going to pull apart and shatter, they slip in with a welcomeand rejuvenating break from the schizophrenia. An excess of either endof the spectrum would have made for a stale listen, but the group showsthat they can sound powerful and dynamic whether mired in sludgy rockor icy ambiance. 'Drink From My Bastard Grail' is soothing, enervating,pleasing, and provocative. With these tensions rubbing against oneanother, the friction they generate makes for an engaging listen. 
The third single Dave Pajo's series of audio tour diaries showcases hisinterpretation of a couple of covers and one original track; recordedin Bloomington and Chicago while on tour with his current day job,Zwan. Pajo's vocals and country-influenced guitar pickin' on thetraditional "Wild Mountain Thyme" convey the tune's original spirit.Background vocals and strings from collaborators Molly Kien and MaggiePolk make this track all the more authentic. My current favoritehurtin' tune would be Pajo's cover of Little Feat's "Truckstop Girl"with its jangly capo'ed acoustic guitar that, while beautifully played,brings a sadness along with vocals that sing of the end of a loveaffair that results in tragedy. Although the overdubbed electricguitars that take the tune out are fairly simple, their tone and timingare very powerful in context. The original "Who Knows" has Pajohandling the duties of drummer and bass player along with hismulti-tracked vocals and guitars on a relaxed tune whose interestingcountry-tinged chord changes and lyrics feel very comfortable. As thesesingles are being released, I've been wondering if any of the materialmight surface on the next full-length Papa M release. As I'd mentionedin a prior review, there's a certain charm to hearing these tunesstripped down as they are. If this is what Mr. Pajo has been up towhile he's busy on the road, the results from being in a more relaxedstudio environment should be all the more exciting.
For the first release under his own name, guitarist Jeff Parker(Tortoise/Isotope 217) presents a disc of fairly straight-ahead jazzcompositions in a trio setting featuring longtime associates and fellowChicago Undergrounders Chris Lopes on upright bass and Chad Taylor ondrums. Although Parker's playing is the main focal point with thisformat, the group's well-crafted compositions and support convey anhonesty of a collective recording that just happens to feature theguitar, moreso than a soloist with a backing group. A few free-jazzfreakouts are also included for good measure. Taylor's heartfeltcomposition, "Miriam," opens the disc as a brushed waltz of warm chordchanges that briefly sneak into double time throughout subtle guitarsoloing. The disc's uptempo title track, penned by Lopes, features somecool vamping sections at the chorus' turnaround that solidify thestructure and give a strong reference point during each player's solo.Named for his daughter, Parker's "Days Fly By (with Ruby)" moves froman oom-pah styled unison guitar and bass intro over Taylor's busy brushsoloing to finger snapping swing for some tasteful playing on anoverall great composition. The only hint of structure on thefree-spirited "Omega Sci Fi" are the blasts of walking bass lines thatplay against bombastic drums, splintered cymbals and scraping guitarfor four minutes of busy instrumental dialogue that chases down thenext line to be stated. Fans of Parker's work that have come to expecta certain style of playing and tone with his above mentioned maingroups, along with other projects such as Toe 2000 and Tricolor shouldbe pleasantly surprised with this album. A more traditional style ofwriting and playing that hadn't been as evident before shinesthroughout the recording and shows the vast talent of a great player.
Back before the Internet and World Wide Web allowed music junkies to connect with others and trade secrets, fans of bands in areas of the world far outside the band's nucleus had to rely on sources like magazines and books for the best information they could get on a group. Despite being a project from former Wire members, the experimental music contained didn't make it a title which warranted an in-print status and copies worldwide were rather scarce. As a young Wire fan, it had been on my personal wish list for years. When I finally discovered it in 1998 as a used record for $30 my heart jumped. I finally found it!
It's not surprising that the first full-length Gold Chains release isreceiving mixed reviews. Everybody's only used to hearing a GC productin shorter increments—and the reason why that works so perfectly isthat it's complimentary to the unique GC style. Topher LaFata, whobasically -is- Gold Chains is one mad talented motherfucker. His rap isdensely packed, rarely ever pausing to let the music to exist on itsown, while the music is so intricate and involved, changing stylesoften from bar to bar. By the second track he's gone from four on thefloor techno to swinging post-industrial, and nerdy glitch pop all in amatter of minutes. The swapping of styles continues for the rest of therelease, from parodies of big buck rap to jazzy interludes. Couple thiswith rare occurances of lyrical repetition or a "chorus," and tuning into the music demands complete and undivided attention. Only untilrepeated listens are instruments like live drums, piano, and guitarseven audible, since the subject matter of the rap is such an involvedfantasy world that it's hard to pay attention to everything else that'sgoing on. Thankfully lyrics were included this time around. Reading thelyrics without the music is also a fun exercise as they make greatjournal entries or stream of consciousness writing on their own. Topherloves to play with language, with a number of themes which seem toresurface. Themes about San Francisco, society, sex, drugs, money, and"warpping that Cali cooch in Prada" are amusing but crashing 11 songsof that in a row makes this album work best as a record to be paused inthe middle while the listener's got to get up off their ass and go flipit. In a bizarre way, it all makes sense that Topher is an oldindustrial fan, a former punk bass player, and allegedly an intensecomputer programmer. Gold Chains is almost like the prog-rock of modernelectronic laptop rap, as the music is so dense, academicallyflamboyant, technically nerdy, but superbly addictive after its hookshave sunk in. Some people claim that with an expensive video and theright promotion, this guy could be huge, but I think at this point hismusic is far more involved than the general public can handle. I lookforward to the "techno" album LaFata claims to be working on as even anold GC tune like "Burn Babylon" has the fabulous powers of sexy killerhooks. The question remains: if world domination is in the dreams ofGC, is he willing to dumb his music down for the masses? I sure as hellhope not.
MEGALITHOMANIA!
When it was announced that Coil would play their first live show inNorth America on August 18, 2001, I was shocked by what seemed like anincredible series of synchronicities. I had long considered Coil to beone of my favorite bands, but I thought there would be little or nochance of ever seeing them play live. Though they had recently begunplaying select concerts at some classy venues and festivals in Europe,they just seemed far too shadowy, eccentric and English to ever graceAmerican shores. Strangely, the day announced for the concert was notonly my birthday, butmy 23rd birthday, a number commonly involved with synchronicity, and anumber often mythologized by Coil themselves. Also, before hearing theannouncement, I had already planned a trip to New York City tocelebrate my birthday. It seemed as if mysterious forces had aligned into make certain that I would not miss this Coil performance. However, Idid not have very high expectations for the concert itself. Sure, Coilwere mind-bending and transcendent on record, but how could theircomplex, studio-hermetic sound possibly translate into a meaningfullive show? Coil's liveperformance is a revelation; a powerful, dramatic explosion of dynamicenergy, every bit as impressive as their recorded output, but somehoweven more potent and overwhelming. The absolutely massive soundachieved by Sleazy's digital programming, Thighpaulsandra's soaringsynthesizers and Jhon Balance's possessed outbursts clearly neededproper documenting on record. Recently, Coil inaugurated abackwards-unfolding series of four live CDs, each documenting adifferent "age" of their constantly evolving live show. To thosewilling to shell out nearly $200, Threshold House also offered alimited box set of all four discs, together with two extra CD-Rs and"art objects" allegedly "loaded with magickal intent".
LIVE FOUR
LIVE THREE
LIVE TWO
LIVE ONE
If "prog-esque overblown, overlong self-indulgent wankery" sounds like a bad thing or if comparison with Tales From Topographic Oceans carries un-cool implications then this CD may not be for you. I doubt that there remain many Brainwashed readers who still subscribe to the NME's Exclusion Principle, i.e. that to like The Fall you have to revile Yes, and it is to those thus enlightened readers that I'd recommend Just Drums.
Forget every "rule" of noise, do away with any preconceptions concernedwith the genre, and prepare for something just a bit different. Thereare silences, sonic abberations, variations in pitch, timbre, andduration, and a wide palette of moans, groans, and explosions used allat once. Variety and intrigue is the name of the game on Moonlight In Vermontand Emil Beaulieau is chess master (if you will). Sure, there'spunishing, unrelenting, cascading, headache-inducing assaults to befound on this disc, but there's also dynamic elements. Most noise I'veheard ends up sounding like one mass of destruction hell-bent onchewing concrete. Beaulieau's noise is different because he is capableof using sonically opposite sounds together. It could still eatconcrete for breakfast, though. The first half is a nuclear melt-downaccompanied by random samples (like a flute), electric stabs of rhythm,and the sound of unholy wails. If this is what a moonlit Vermont soundslike, I'm staying the hell out unless I have a shotgun and a smallarmy. It's a truly scary summit that is reached before the fifth track(all of them are unnamed) acts as an oxygen tank and restores somesense of direction and balance. What sounds like a backwards guitarhums in the background whilst changing tones, punchy gasps of static,and roaring winds pour through the speakers. It makes getting submergedbeneath the final two tracks a bit easier. Beaulieau's recorded soundhas as much character as his live performances have but it's twistedand shaped in different ways. Sounds just don't start and stop; they'realive and full of nuance. The last I checked, Moonlight was only available on the tour but with some luck perhaps it'll show up at RRRecords, soon. 
Think back to 2001 and try to remember Max Hecker's first album.Remember how it teetered dangerously on the borderline of campybrilliance and revolting sappiness? Unfortunately, for his secondfull-length album, Hecker has fallen over the line, completely onto theside of sappiness. Gone are the edgy guitar distortions, swirlingcalliope-esque melodies and brilliant acoustic guitar fingerpicking.What we're left with is a weak collection of soft-rock rejects withwimpy guitar solos, not even edgy enough to earn rotation in hotelelevators. Sure, Hecker's crybaby falsetto voice was never rugged tobegin with, but the music now is unchallenging and the words areoverrepetitious and almost completely brainless. On Infinite Love Songs,words like "Hide your cheeks with dirt / come and wear my shirt," werejust an example off the top of my head of the somewhat attractivelybizarre word choices, while hearing "Hold me now / heal my wounds," inthe song "I am Falling Now" here is a perfect example of a pitiful messof a man of whom I have absolutely no sympathy for. The closest thealbum gets to the glorious marriage of chaos and order is probably theblurry noise in "My Friends," but the noisy section is haphazardlysandwiched by a MOR film theme-ish piano and synth melody. "My Love ForYou Is Insane," however, is a completely new direction in garbage witha revolting generic drum 'n bass loop and more whiny lyrics. PerhapsI'm just a snotty, jaded critic, but hints, subtlety, and abstractsurrealism gain far more ground with me in a pop framework thanunchallenging, overtly simplistic narrative prose. I guess what itboils down to is that I'm more keen on Tim Buckley than ChristopherCross.
Someone needs to tell the rock stars who like to listen to punk thatlistening to it does not qualify them to play or record it. The Finger,whose double album is only available on import but will soon beavailable on these shores, cannot record under their real names due tocontractual obligations. However, recent interviews and coy commentsmade by Ryan Adams and Jesse Malin reveal them as two of the cohorts inthis punk ensemble. So, to avoid problems with their respective recordlabels—who might not take kindly to their mild-mannered signings comingout with a blistering punk album—the members adopt "clever" pseudonyms,such as Jim Beahm, Warren Peace, and Rick O'Shea. The music inside isjust as trite as the names they came up with. Both albums total about35 minutes, and feature probably the most trite lyrics a punk recordhas ever had. On "Vendetta," vocalist Beahm shouts repeatedly "Vendettais my pleasure!" and on "Collar," he emotes "I give... you my leash...and I'll keep the collar!" Even though it seems impossible, it goesdownhill from there, like the latter 95 minutes of any Luke Perry film.Not that all punk had deep and meaningful lyrics; hell, most of themyou were lucky if you understood a word. On this recording, it justshows how painfully out of their element the contributors are. Everysong is about the punk lifestyle, not the regular socio-politicalstance or vital satire shown by the Sex Pistols or the Buzzcocks. Everysingle song falls flat, so thankfully they're all very short, with mostlasting a minute or less. A word to this lot: if you're going to ripoff a genre, even for fun with your buddies on a weekend, make it anearnest take, not some half-baked album about the atmosphere you thinkexists around it.
Over more than a decade of splurging fast guitar strumming and melodicsynchronised shouting, Trumans Water have proved themselves to be aforce for the ridiculous side of rock music. Yet again they crashmeteorites for troglodytes and yammer silly of the joys of resistance.Original guitarist Glen Galloway has rejoined mainstays the Branstetterbrothers Kirk and Kevin for recording and writing but doesn't tour withthem because he wants to stay home with his family. (Kevin now lives inParis.) Some of this album shows them at their most straight ahead anduncomplicated, kicking out the jams on tracks like the hotwired-heartopening salvo "Rock of Gibralter," "Some Things Feel Rough," and acover of the Flesheaters "Pony Dress" that'll have old fans bouncingaround and wondering how they lost track of the band. It seems to be acommon problem for them, mostly because almost every album comes out ona different label but it doesn't help that their website is a littleout of date. Maybe they were just too busy flooding the roads ofEurope. "Rock of Gibralter" is one of their catchiest tunes and unlikeNick Cave's unrelated MOR ballad of the same name it probably isn'tabout to get requested by servants of government. More likely it'llremind Thurston Moore not to sleepwalk to disconnection. "Say Hi to theLie Machine" is another fairly straight ahead rocker, propelled by drumclatter but pulled left by tunings that make people who work in guitarshops turn blue. The verse of "Airs Smudgy Blanket" even recalls "IFall" by The Damned, and Trumans Water manage to capture the spark ofsuch early punk bands but avoid cliche and retrogression by crankingthe weirdness levels and ditching corny rawk speak in favour of theirown tower of babbling tongue. This is the band that introduced ageneration of indie rock fans to Faust with their cover of "SadSkinhead," and the almost epic "When Diet and Exercise Fail" has asimilar momentum of magic roundabouts spinning absurdly out of control.Is that a theremin wailing above? They get out the sax to meander andobliterate a telephone recording of a woman ranting on the last track,but as speed flags here, interest wavers. There's certainly enough ofthe old Trumans Water magnetic energy to keep things moving and thisalbum is as good a starting point for the curious to step into theirtrip as any. There are still the more chaotic moments, like the openingof "Pulverizer Bear," which also ranks high in the celebratory dementedsynchronized shouting stakes. Dramatic lurching spells are neithercreated nor destroyed, but dangerous stunts for "Trapeze Sharks" arefun to hear. Trumans Water might be some kind of antidote for an ailingspirit, most represented by a stomach covered by airs smudgy blanketwhen diet and exercise have failed.
Maquiladora are the modern equivalent to The Band, recording slower,soulful rock music with an all-encompassing country influence. Theyswitch vocalists, vary between dense and sparse compositions, andthroughout each release, they plunge deeper and deeper headlong intoterritory that both soothes and expands the reaches of humanconsciousness. This music doesn't so much play through the speakers butswirl and mist out like a vaporous mist that the ears inhale. There areawkward moments like vocal stumbling and strained falsetto, but inlistening to the record as a whole they hardly matter. On Dreaming,they found quite a cast of characters to assist in their endeavors.From Blackheart Procession member Phil Jenkins, to a few of the AcidMothers Temple roster, the guests add interesting flourishes. With thecore members' strong songwriting, it makes for the most cohesive andexpansive record Maquiladora have mustered yet. "Sudden Life" opens therecord with an almost "Money for Nothing" approach: minimal sounds arejoined by tom drumming and, eventually, guitars and eerily treatedvocals. It's honestly enough to make me rise off the ground, soaringtowards the sky. As the album progresses, the lyrics paint a delicatepicture of loss, hope, and the world around us all. The trio of shamansthat are Maquiladora sound in tune with the elements, and it informsthe sounds their instruments and voices make. They describe themselvesas desert music, but on What the Day Was Dreaming, they provethat setting too barren for music as full of life as this. Dreams willbe haunted, and the day will be colored with shades of this music,making it a just little warmer and brighter.
Fat Cat have compiled two discs that show them to be one of the mostdiverse and eclectic labels in the UK. I'd be surprised if you can'tfind at least a few tracks here to enjoy. The bait of a previouslyunreleased and fairly low key slice of Sigur Ros ambience opening thesecond disc is probably strategically placed to lure in their fans.Soon they'll be smacked about the ears by Xinlisupreme's anthemic synthsoaring "Murder License" which does distortion battle with Black Diceto see who can be the fattest cat. The Japanese duo win on brute force,but Black Dice know "Things Will Never Be the Same" for post-Boredomspsyche-stews after the "Murder License" has ben revoked. Mum's "GreenGrass of Tunnel" still retains its child like wonder and beauty afterso many plays and Party of One's bratty "Shotgun Funeral" is by fartheir best song and the only one I really need from them. Other albumexcerpts that ought to intrigue are the perky opener from David Grubbs'Rickets and Scurvy and one of the more concise and engaging tracks from Set Fire to Flames' low key desolate Telegraphs in Negative.Fennesz is always welcome round here and his "Badminton Girl" is awistful, exhausted summer evening memory fading, representing the FatCat split 12" series. Matmos, Duplo Remote, Kid 606 and Com.A also havea track each lifted from their splits, each shimmying on with fractureddancefloor moves. This does however beg the question of why they don'tcompile the split 12" singles onto CD albums once the singles are outof print. The label's weakest tendency is a penchant for middle roadquasi-avant pop and I could happily live without the sugar coatedtedium of Bjork and Funkstorung, the Emiliani Torrini remixes from TeamDoyobi and Process, and the gag-inducing Grain track. Mice Parade,Transient Waves, Him (misnomered as Seen) and the Dylan Group all coastby pleasantly making little impression. Giddy Motors stick out like ahammered thumb on the other hand, rockin' hard with the flipside of asingle that hasn't been on CD before. Almost everyone should find acouple of surprise tracks from someone they've never heard before thatimpresses. Stromba and Programme were the new finds for me. Strombatake a grooving Tortoise turn and Programme hit hard with a robustFrench rap meets Big Black drum machine onslaught. Sylvain Chauveau'shaunting piano isolation is a beautiful comedown to end the collection.
Dual lives, fraud, Nice, satanic ritual, artistic theft, mightyWurlitzers and trade unions—this CD has got them all. The captivatingstory behind this reissue on CD of George Montalba's first two LPs istoo long and complex to get into here but is well documented in thesleeve notes for the curious. The background adds a certain aspect offun to this disk that is much like the Simpson's, that is, it can beenjoyed on several different levels. There's the 18's exoticainstrumental aspect with its pang of goofiness that I, for one, find isalways a plus. There's the material being played: stomping rhythms andstrong melodies that have you singing along in no time, mostlyarrangements of very familiar material from Saint-Saëns,Rimsky-Korsakov, Falla, Borodin, Tchaikovsky, Grieg and Sousa, to namea few. Much more than all that is Montalba's (actually his name was BobHunter) brilliant arrangements for organ and two percussionists. Hisplaying on the genuinely fabulous, mighty and majestic Wurlitzer pipeorgan is a delight and it's all captured expertly and lovingly in hi-fimono. The music is enormous in every way: dynamics, richness andvariety of tone color, opulent expansiveness and dazzling showmanshipin borderline bad-taste. It has an intensity (there's enough organtremolo here to supply half a dozen or more 50s horror flicks) thatwill make some cringe, others smile, and most weary if not taken inappropriate doses. My advice is to pause the CD at half-time, take anap, a shower and a cup of coffee (in that order), and then resume.Putting the smug perspective of hindsight aside, Bob Hunter's versionsof these tunes really are spectacular—his mastery of different styles,playful combinations of familiar and exotic, restraint and lack thereofadd up to some genuinely fascinating listening in the manner of, say,Quincy Jones. For a listening recommendation, perhaps what it comesdown to is how you enjoy cheese—if you like your cheese rich, funky,exotic, made with artesian perfectionism and well aged then GeorgesMontalba's Mighty Wurlitzer is what you crave.
This entry in Thirsty Ear's ambitious Blue Series finds the series'headmaster stepping out once again to explore the realms of both thefamiliar and the unfamiliar. Shipp's reputation as a complex composerin avant and free jazz make him a prime choice to lead the Blue Seriesendeavor, and not content to simply orchestrate the undertaking, he hasseen fit to step up to the plate with his own solo and guest spots. On Equilibrium,he touches on traditional jazz structures as well as free-jazzexplorations, often augmented with accents of the urban and electronicmodern. "Vamp to Vibe" does just as it says, with Khan Jamal's vibestrickling over Shipp's vamping, seesaw chords with a confidence andfluidity that is astonishing. Jamal is given free reign to work hiswonders all over Equilibrium and his addition to Shipp'scoterie of distinguished and talented musicians is a masterstroke."Nebula Theory" is a free jazz excursion with the band members slowlydrifting apart, tenuously held together by strands of notes that breakand reform lending the track an amorphous quality that uses silence aseffectively as sound. "Cohesion," like "Vamp to Vibe," relies heavilyon a deep groove provided by Shipp's left hand and bassist WilliamParker. The ensemble digs deeply here, and the funky feel of the piecebenefits from the contributions of the programmed breakbeats ofelectronic producer FLAM. His additions are subtle, never seeking tosteal the spotlight from the ensemble, but they give the pieces adistinct energy, flirting with urban and club beats that breathe newsoul into the already lively jazz compositions. He and livepercussionist Gerald Cleaver work to act as a propulsive force, neverletting the potential for conflict or excess disappoint the potential.Shipp leaves his mark all over "The Root," with FLAM sitting out onthis more spacious piece. It is a virtuoso moment on Equilibriumwith Shipp conjuring a flowing melody from his piano that captures theattention, unbound yet never meandering. "The Key" bounces, lettingParker's bass, Jamal's vibes, and FLAM's synths and breaks all shineout, each of them seizing a portion of the piece and making them oozewith ingenuity and makes this a particular highlight on the disc. Thefinal track, "Nu Matrix," is another composition of sound and silence;patience and satisfaction. It stretches the ensembles interplay, eachcomponent loosely bonded and nearly independent. Equilibriumfinds strength throughout its duration, effectively trying its hand ata variety of sounds and ideas, and convincingly making them feelnatural together. The mix of traditional, free avant, modern, andexperimental fusion results in a remarkably compelling whole that won'tfrighten off new listeners, but rather draw them deeper into the idealsthat have come to comprise the Blue Series.
As soon as Dictaphone's debut album starts, I'm immediately put into anew world where I am a private detective in a modern neo-noir film. Thestreets are unfriendly in these times, and I am one of those whoprotects the innocent, taking cases for low prices or for freesometimes, just keeping the peace. Every good detective has his crossto bear, and Dictaphone is a perfect backbone to the life of a lonerwho walks a fine line between the light and the dark. M.=Addictionis full of tracks that ooze modern cool, with electronic and livepercussion, guitar, keyboards, and live horns. The beats and groovesare jazz flavored, and the music does lean more towards that genre thanany other, but to call this music jazz would be to rob it of itsmulti-dimensional character. Each track is a different person, adifferent canvas, a different case to be solved. "Tempelhof" is thescorned lover, needy only of answers, walking the lonely streetswondering why the night has cursed her so. The title track is the shotfired in the night, striking an innocent person. Who fired the gun? Whodid they intend to hit? The awkward and sudden silence in the middle ofthe song asks a million questions in one second. It's as though thecompositions call out for justice, for the answers to these questionsthat haunt them. Few tracks have vocals, but those that do carry alittle more mystery, a little more depth, that makes the air theytravel throuh palpable. Oliver Doerell and Roger Döring have creatednot just music, but a storybook of emotions and characters that can beaccessed just by pressing play on the CD player. It is a fascinatinglisten, and I look forward to more cases to solve very soon. 
What starts off as a seemingly random collection of noise gels into anamazing conglomerate of unique sounds and atmospheres. Each unnamedtrack seems to have a consistent theme running beneath the random bellsand whistles that holds everything together. If it weren't for thiskind of consistency, Diasporawould sound totally random and become too difficult to focus on. Partof what makes a record of sounds and noises successful is the qualityof the sounds themselves: those used must be interesting and compellingor brutal and confrontational. Diaspora succeeds on this levelby employing some unusual sounds and effects. Futuristic computers, rayguns, drones of impending doom, aquatic fans, solar explosions, andalien bells are all peppered over the duration of the album. In someinstances, like the sixth and ninth tracks, these sounds are arrangedin an intriguing way, as the tracks are both heavily atmosphericglimpses into a world of nuclear winter and heavy-metal killingmachines. I find myself returning to particular songs and then becomingextremely engaged in everything that follows. As I listen to the firstfew tracks now, I realize that I am really attracted to almost everysound used. Hints of melody and coherency do emerge here and there andthe short duration of every song helps things move along nicely. Délirehas molded an album of eleven distinct tracks that belong together.Though the songs are indexed, Diaspora sounds like one longarrangement broken down into its elements. The videos included are abit less interesting than the album itself. The sounds I hear justdon't fit together with the videos in any way and it ends up makingboth the video and the music just a bit monotonous. I think of Diasporaas a collection of interesting sounds more than anything. There'snothing particularly amazing about the arrangements nor the album ingeneral, but the sounds are just so captivating that I keep wanting togo back for more. 
