Beggars Banquet
Tindersticks' first two albums, which appeared in the early 1990s, weremarked by an uncommon emotional rawness and seductive melancholy.Tracks like "A Night In" and "Tiny Tears" with their epicorchestrations and Stuart Staples' brooding croon rank alongside someof the better works of Nick Cave and Scott Walker. The albumssubsequent to their first two eponymous records, like Curtains and Can Our Love,contain occassional moments of that intial brilliance, but overall, theheart-wrenching, visceral gutsiness that once dominated their workbegan to fade. On Waiting for the Moon, their sixth album, itis all but gone. Tindersticks have seemed to lapse into the sameself-satisfied, vanilla territory of chamber pop as radio-friendlybands like Cousteau. The twangy guitar and insipid lyrics on thealbum's opening track, "Until the Morning Comes" set the uninpsiredtone. Even Stuart's voice sounds like a washed-out shadow of what itonce was. "Say Goodbye To the City," despite its crescendo towards theend, ultimately goes nowhere. Tindersticks have reached the point atwhich they've begun to sound as if they've run out of ideas. Despitethe fact that they thump out albums at a regular pace, it seems as ifthey would serve themselves better by taking time to re-evaluate theirdirection (or lack thereof). I was shocked to read that the pressrelease for Waiting for the Moon touted: "more sonicexplorations in sound" and a return to their "experimental" roots,because those statements couldn't be further from the truth.
Tindersticks' first two albums, which appeared in the early 1990s, weremarked by an uncommon emotional rawness and seductive melancholy.Tracks like "A Night In" and "Tiny Tears" with their epicorchestrations and Stuart Staples' brooding croon rank alongside someof the better works of Nick Cave and Scott Walker. The albumssubsequent to their first two eponymous records, like Curtains and Can Our Love,contain occassional moments of that intial brilliance, but overall, theheart-wrenching, visceral gutsiness that once dominated their workbegan to fade. On Waiting for the Moon, their sixth album, itis all but gone. Tindersticks have seemed to lapse into the sameself-satisfied, vanilla territory of chamber pop as radio-friendlybands like Cousteau. The twangy guitar and insipid lyrics on thealbum's opening track, "Until the Morning Comes" set the uninpsiredtone. Even Stuart's voice sounds like a washed-out shadow of what itonce was. "Say Goodbye To the City," despite its crescendo towards theend, ultimately goes nowhere. Tindersticks have reached the point atwhich they've begun to sound as if they've run out of ideas. Despitethe fact that they thump out albums at a regular pace, it seems as ifthey would serve themselves better by taking time to re-evaluate theirdirection (or lack thereof). I was shocked to read that the pressrelease for Waiting for the Moon touted: "more sonicexplorations in sound" and a return to their "experimental" roots,because those statements couldn't be further from the truth. 
For those who are unfamiliar with the Norwegian trio Ulver, here's abit of background for you: They got their start as part of the infamousScandinavian black metal scene, and in the mid-90s released a trilogyof albums based on the darker aspects of Norwegian folklore that areconsidered classics in the genre. They then alienated much of theiroriginal fanbase with a sprawling double CD that placed readings fromWilliam Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell over a variety ofsounds that included dark ambience, jazz and industrial noise.Interviews with the group revealed their strong interest inexperimental and esoteric artists, especially Coil, and subsequentreleases have continued to flit from one style to another, with theonly continuing theme being their movement to embrace electronic toolsas their primary sound source. This interest in technology comes to ahead on their latest project, the retrospective-cum-remix album1993-2003: 1st Decade in the Machines, on which 13 electronic andexperimental artists - including Third Eye Foundation, BogdanRaczynski, Fennesz, Pita, V/Vm and Merzbow - plus Ulver themselves havepulled material from the group's decade of work and in most casesmulched the material into something completely new. Ulver themselvesget things started in fine fashion with "Crack Bug", an excellent piecethat packs heavy doses of sinister atmospheres and boiling chaos into anice and compact three and a half minutes. Too bad Alexander Rishaugdidn't follow a similar "quality over quantity" rule for hiscontribution which follows, as his mixture of skittering glitches andfiltered guitars is already tired by the halfway point of its seeminglyendless eight minutes. Thankfully, the overall quality of the disctends towards to positive side of things, with highlights like"Lyckantropen Remix" from Third Eye Foundation which is a beautiful andsubdued work that combines a clicky backdrop with a quiet and moodymelody, and the orchestral and organic ambience of the epic "I LoveYou, But I Prefer Trondheim (parts 1-4)" by Adam Wiltzie (of Stars ofthe Lid) Vs. Stars Of The Lid. The album's main problem is one ofconsistency and flow, as many of the tracks sound drastically out ofplace next to one another. The cute video game melodies and punchybreakbeats of Bogdan Raczynski's "Bog's Basil & Curry PowderPotatos Recipe" sound especially lost amongst this collection ofgenerally darker and less perky numbers. It's not until thedisc-closing triptych of noise from Jazzkammer, V/Vm and Merzbow that aconsistent vibe is felt, and by that point, it's a bit too late (not tomention annoying for those who don't dig the noise thing). So on atrack-by-track basis, this one gets some high marks, but as a completealbum, it just doesn't work for me. 
After almost becoming another defeat at the hands of the major labels,finally the Jealous Sound release their debut full-length with theirold friends at Better Looking Records. Trust me: if the prevailingrumor about Jive having hold over them is true, it's justificationenough for the increase in darkness and aggression in their overallsound. That's just one area of growth and change brought forth on thisrelease, though, as the band finally delivers on the lofty expectationsbeing thrown about. It seems, actually, that now that Blair Shehan hasa proper band for the project he's settling in just fine to apost-Knapsack indie pop sound. Relentless touring and all that time inrecording limbo gave them the opportunity to create a cohesive and boldgroup of songs. Working with Tim O'Heir, they even found theopportunity to expand their sound, adding touches of keyboards here andthere, as well as some spirited backing vocals that it would be easy tomiss with their live power and Shehan's signature voice. Only onepreviously released song, "Anxious Arms," finds its way on to thealbum, and I honestly prefer the version from their self-titled EP. Allover this release they show the ferocity and keen grasp of melodyaudiences have seen for three years. "Hope For Us" is a call out to thedesperate attention leeches, with a hearty "Kiss me open mouth!" andloud swirled guitars on the chorus. "Naive" and "Does That Make Sense"are three-minute power pop gems, the kind where everyone jumps up anddown at the shows. Slower tempo tracks are sprinkled throughout, withthe six-minute "Recovery Room" showing the most promise, though thedouble-shot of "Guard It Closely" and "For Once in Your Life" with itskeyboard handclaps hold up the middle of the record quite well. One ofthe finest moments, though, is the keyboard drive of "The Fold Out"with its haunting "oohs" and freight train final minute. There's windin their sails, they've lasted this far, and now they're ready to takeover the world. And I'm ready and willing to let them.
Some might call Niblock single minded, in that he always approachescomposition in pretty much the same way. Take a living drone thendouble it, treble it, increase overlayed density until new harmonicovertones appear. What is nice is that he seems to be able to up theante with each release. This is his most mind-altering selection ofdroners yet, and its actually pretty difficult to listen to the wholething without zoning out into the void completely. Over two CDs thereare four different instrumental approaches foregrounded, and it's thedifferent textures of each instrument that characterize each ofNiblock's compositions. Even so, he seems to have more light and shadeand ebb and flow here than in some of his earlier more static tracks.Perhaps the stand out track is "Yam Almost May" with bowed and e-bowedbass drones played by Kaspar T. Toeplitz, sampled and superimposed byNiblock. This builds up ever expanding and enlarging swathes ofharmonic density, sounding more like a deep wind instrument than a bassguitar. The first disc also features heavy baritone sax C tone droneson "Sea Jelly Yellow" and similarly opaque clarinet, bass clarinet andbasset horn lockdown. The second disc is a four-part skullfuck thattakes the dear old piano to corners it rarely visits courtesy of anylon string tied to a single piano string and is seventy minutes longmostly because Niblock is seventy this year. The sound it makes is morelike Glenn Branca's symphonic guitar army than a regular piano, and Ikeep expecting those massive drums to come rolling over the horizon. Ofcourse the drums never come, leaving the massed ecstatic bass tones toboom on in eternal foreplay. The booklet includes photos of Asiansgrowing and making food and some thoughts on Niblock's drones fromGerard Pape, who makes a case for shape shifting 'timbre as space insuspended time.' Featured saxophonist Ulrich Krieger also comments onsome differing technicalities of pieces he's performed in collaborationwith Niblock, and guitar droner Rafael Toral raises some interestingideas about the emotional impact of various Niblock tracks. I findNiblock's music really useful for blocking out everything when I wantto rest and there's a lot of noise going on. It also seems to annoy thehell out of trendy fuckwits, 'that's-not-music' ignoramuses andattention seekers with low attention spans. The blocks seep by soslowly that change is almost imperceptible until some new overtonebrings on a seismic shift. His images of people working might be apt inrespect of monotony, but on another level, if you were to actually chopwood and lug boxes into boats with Niblock on full blast you'd probablyzonk out and fall in the river or accidentally cut off your poor littlehand. Lord let Phill fuck your mind completely!
Arguably nobody has done more for Icelandic music than the Smekkleysa(a.k.a. Bad Taste) label. This double-CD compilation markes the label's100th release after 16 years of operating. Disc one features rare andexclusive music from some of the biggest names and current bands wothchecking out, including the proverbial Bjork and Sigur Ros cuts, alongwith retro freaks Trabant, that other guy from the Sugarcubes, Einar?rn, as well as glitchsters Stilluppsteypa, distorted rockers Minus,and Gunnar (Dr. Gunni) Hj?lmarsson (the label's most visible employeeand cool radio show host), himself. Disc two is a bit of a 'greatesthits' over the years, highlighting the most different stylesimaginable, with a punchy tune from Hei?a's old outfit, Unun; aFrenchy-style accordion and crooner bit from Hlj?msveit Konr??s B?;f-word heavy hip hop from Faculty; goth-metal sounds from Olympia(please don't sing in English); porn-funk from Funkstra?e; plenty ofhardcore and pop; and the single that kicked the label off, "Amm?li,"(Birthday) from Sykurmolarnir (known outside of Iceland as Sugarcubes).Both discs styles flip-flop completely, and I have to admit that Ican't think of one person who could actually like every song here, butit's not terribly unwelcome, as the songs are short, end, and a newsong begins. It's much like listening to a mix tape and not knowingwhat the tracklisting is because there's always that burning curiosityas to "what's next?" A lot of this music is completely unheard ofoutside of the tiny island, despite the number of bands that have infact made their way across the waters in the last few years, sohopefully some of these bands' completists might actually take sometime to listen to what -else- there is out there before letting somehip fashion magazine dictate it.
Because Muslimgauze's Bryn Jones released nearly every second that he recorded in his lifetime, a task which is being continued for him by labels such as Soleilmoon now that he has died, there are many CDs (and double CDs, and triple CDs, and boxsets) which sound very similar to one another and may even have been recorded all in one day, one right after the other. How is this Muslimgauze CD different from all 150+ other Muslimgauze CDs? It isn't, but it is a live recording, which is quite rare in his catalog and is of note simply due to that fact.
The Mountaineers have an intriguing style that seems to blend a downhome, foot tapping folk sing along with modern electro-pop techniques,no doubt a product of the past and present influences of their Welshupbringing. At the heart of their songs lies the jangly acoustic soundsof a guitar that might just be a little ragged, the kind that mightmake an appearance around a campfire after everyone's gotten a littleloose. From there, electronic beeps and slurs are used like garnish,never overpowering the heart of the songs, but working along with it,adding new layers of sound and melody to the already tunefulcompositions. "Self Catering" is a bright track that shows offmultitrack harmonies and taut, precise beats that are found throughoutthe EP. "Clap in Time" begins with a windy horn introduction beforegiving way to a cricket chirp of electronic beeps and the song's body,where the singers ask you to do as the title suggests. It's strange,but the electronic chirps, once again give that feeling of a campfiresing-a-long (and clap-a-long), albeit one that is being experiencedthrough a filter of software and ingenuity. "Chicken" is a raucous,stomping song with the words gushing from the singer's mouth andfollowing down the cascading progression before shooting back up to thetop in a strained yelp. "Radio Cat" is the most adventurous track, asgoes for total programmed abstraction, floating around onelectronically processed vocals and a fuzzy programmed beat. The trackis then manipulated and cut up with sudden, jerky clips. Still, itretains a certain swing that the Mountaineers drop into every track.It's not o sterile that you can't swivel your hips, or maybe walk witha little strut as it plays on your mental soundtrack. "Camped Out"features a gorgeous chorus with an excellent harmony that comes throughlike a slightly out of range radio broadcast from the past. "Your Gunnis Sett on Me" is a light guitar piece of obliquely longing lyrics like"If you're gonna step on me / you gotta give it / you heal thisinjury." Hidden behind this is the unlisted "Fuck You in the Eye," andwhile obviously a throwaway fun track, I wouldn't be surprised to seethe music recycled into something more legitimate in the future. Theway in which the Mountaineers use their conventional instruments,classical piano, guitar, in a manner that is perfectly agreeable totheir use of electronic instruments and production techniques, makesthe EP an alluring listen.
When I was seven years old, I received a rather exciting Christmaspresent, or at least it was exciting to me at that young age. It was aYamaha PSR-6 keyboard, with 99 special effect voices (including theever popular 'Machine Gun' and 'Ocean Wave') and 16 different styles ofbeat! Imagine the possibilities that were available to me, the things Icould do with so many features and options. It was an orchestra in abulky black casing, just awaiting the twitch of my conductor's baton.In reality, my seven-year-old virtuosity was capable only of hitting'Samba' and then goofing around with the funny noises. I am reminded ofthis warm childhood memory because Cut Out's "Interlude with FunMachine" sounds to me like it was put together by a group of seven yearolds with PSR-6's. Had I only known then that I could have recordedmyself (with that little thirty-second memory button?) and put out analbum. It honestly sounds, to my ears, as if every loop, beat, andvoice was drawn from this device and then sprinkled with a littlestudio work. The album's opener, "At It Again" goes on for five minuteswith only five seconds worth of music. "The Power Brokers" is theclosest to breaking from the unfortunate Yamaha sound, with drippyeffects, original beats and a bright organ loop that does not overstayits welcome. The track is relatively and thankfully brief. "Theme FromFun Machine, Part I," however, is an exercise in endurance, clocking inas the longest song on the album, though not by much. It's ten minutesand nineteen seconds of the 'March' beat with a rising and falling tonethat sounds like an advanced slide whistle synthesizer. I just keptthinking to myself, 'What could justify ten minutes of this?' In ashorter context, the ideas that Cut Out had for this piece may haveworked, however throughout the long (long) course of "Fun Machine,"they are repeated until your mind becomes desensitized to the audiowavelengths and you forget you're listening to anything at all. Thefinal song, "Fin" does come across well, with a mournful organ thatdrones on darkly, actually managing to evoke a mood or a feeling ratherthan just looping a tinny beat. Its ending is abrupt, but keeping itshort and knowing when to get out is a virtue that would have improvedthe rest of this disc immensely. "Interlude with Fun Machine" suffersfrom a dearth of ideas, and lacks sufficient style to hide that fact.Did they take the name Cut Out as an allusion to the cut out bin? Ihave a suggestion. If you're of a certain age range, chances are thatyou too received a PSR-6, popular among budding grade school musicians,at some point in your childhood. If it happens to be kicking aroundyour basement somewhere, I suggest you dig it out, dust it off, and hitthe 'demonstration' button. That song was always a lot of fun. It waslong, but at least it had variations. 
I grew up a military brat and spent seven of my most formative years inGermany. At the time, I was a total b-boy, listening to classic hip hopthat was on the charts, like Run DMC, Beastie Boys, and Kool Moe Dee. Ihated rock music and wanted nothing to do with it. At the same time, Iwas being introduced to new music through a number of friends andacquaintances. During this time I heard my first taste of Kraftwerk,and the industrial electronics of any West German metropolis. It waskeyboard tones, glitch beats, and the low rumbles of electronic voicesand bass tones. Back then, we didn't really care what there was todance to, as long as we could dance to it. We'd bug out and breakdanceand robot to anything with a beat, which always seemed to amuse theteachers and parents. Secretly, we wanted to know where this music wasmade, as it always felt like it was being made by machines with AI soadvanced they knew just what could make us boogie; and we chastisedAmerican artists who did anything that used similar sounds, from HaroldFaltermeyer to Herbie Hancock, labelling them "posers" like they werestreet punks who didn't know any better. How wrong we were when we werejust reaching adolescence, but how easy it is for a record to bring allthat rushing back. Luke Eargoggle, one of the new gods of robotelectro, displays a clever range of styles all with the same palette onAudio Warriors,and it's a cheeky listen that got me right back to 1983. Each songbounces with energy of a classic sound with updated technology. Fromthe start, you want to move to it, dancing around the room like youjust don't care. "I want to be free to do what I want," says Luke, andit's like an anthem for body-moving. Different rhythms, but all withthat hip-hop style and electronic production, frame each track, asswirls and bumps highlight the computerized vocals that sometimescontain real lyrics and sometimes just exclaim ("Yeah, yeah!"). There'sreally not much more than that to this, but the music begs for thatkind of minimalism. It truly feels like Eargoggle's overjoyed layingthis to tape or hard drive. That energy is catching, and it's been along time since I had this much fun. 
At the very least, the sound of Lazarus's lazy drawl and deliveryindicates someone who just woke up in the morning, if not actuallyrising from the dead. Guitars are plucked deliberately, syllables areenunciated slowly, and the music proceeds ploddingly. Sometimes it is arace between Montgomery's drawl and his guitar to see which can proceedmore slowly. Often they are neck and neck, two tortoises fumblingtowards a far-off finish line. The scratchiness of the vocals screamsfor a glass of water to dispel those early morning frogs in the throat.And on the fringes of the music are little electronic twiddlings which,at first, are more decorative than substantive but which eventuallycome to define the album. Lazarus is Trevor Montgomery, who has playedwith Tarentel and The Drift; this is his first solo album where heexplores some quiet acoustic compositions. The most unsettling (andfascinating) part of Lazarus's music is the ghostly background vocalswhich pop up in many songs. The background voice is a few octaveshigher than Montgomery's main voice, so it is hard to discern if it isthe same person singing them. But the background voice is alsochillingly more scratchy, unsteady, and frail. My impression was thatthere was a background banshee, rather than a human, singing. The firsthalf of the album maintains a monotony which is only broken by "Ocean(Burn the Highways)," a song which picks of the lagging pace and fillsin the space with some fine guitar plucking and a lively organ duringthe chorus. It also has the most unsettling instance of the backgroundbanshee vocals, where her voice threatens either to decomposealtogether or send us shivering to bed, curled up and frightened (thinkof the difference between Winona Ryder's characters in "EdwardScissorhands:" her young character in the film sounds normal, whereasher character as aged narrator has a geriatric, frail voice which stillmakes my hair bristle when I hear it). But the monotony persists in theother seven or so songs at the beginning of the album as they flowseamlessly into one another, not really making a name for themselves.Ironically, by the time the lovely short instrumental "(untitled)"comes about, Lazarus adds some interesting electronics to the limpingacoustics to spruce up the sound. The highlight of this is heard at theend of "Obviust" when vocals are overtaken by the more compellingelectronic frequency noodling. The last four songs are the mostcaptivating of the album, forecasting a darkness and a vision so bleakthat another resurrection might be in order. 
After a few years in which only a handful of Merzbow albums seemed toemerge, the typically prolific Masami Akita has returned to histraditional, aggressive release schedule. Having overcome theexhaustion associated with the fifty CD Merzbox, the past six months have offered a plethora of new material, including Frog, Merzbeat, Merzzow, the collaboration with Pan Sonic, and the Russell Haswell collaboration Satanstornade.Finally, Ant-Zen has stepped into the ring with this cleverly packaged4x3" CD set. Each disc offers a bite-sized portion of the diverselynoisy flavors of Merzbow's modern noise compositions. The ferocious"Warhorse" opens this collection with a wailing guitar loop that soonsubmits to the cacophony of abstract percussion and sizzlingsoundscapes. Far removed from his earlier work a la Music For Bondage Performance,the piece hits like an air raid and offers little relief through its 21minute duration. In contrast, the second CD opens with the minimal yetbassy rumblings of "Space Trackin," whose somewhat rhythmic structureexperiences constant interruption from static-laden frequencies. Itstays relatively consistent until roughly the last minute, evolvinginto a squeaky filtered bleep-beat experiment. The accompanying"Ramatam" combines a white hot sheet of electronics with hard rockdrums before yielding to the sounds of burning hard drives. Disc threecomes from the same mindset, if not the same recording sessions, of theMerzbeat project. Of the two tracks here, "Stone The Crow"appeals to me more with its steady, sludgy rock backbeat churning underan array of dominant, menacing squeals and hisses. The final CD soundsmost like an Ant-Zen release. From the onset of "CD Hunter," a reworkof the previously-available "AB Hunter," a muffled rhythm lays thefoundation for stream upon stream of digital noise. After giving allfour discs a good listen, it has become clear to me that Merzbow isreleasing some of the most creative and interesting work of his entirecareer.
Neon Hunk walks the line between quirky and totally annoying. They playtwisted jerky rock music that was probably inspired partly by Boredomsbut is nowhere near as fun. Certainly their garish artwork seemsgreatly in debt to Yamantaka Eye, but like the music it seems a littlediluted. I bet they like the Residents a bit too. Brutalism withkittens might mess up kitchen table if the totally distortedsynthesisers don't mess up the lettuce first and the clattering drumscould probably crush your tomato at fifty paces. I can't really say Ilike this album or don't like it, it just kind of craps about like aflappy kid who tries too hard and knocks everything over while I trynot to get annoyed that I'm not listening to Boredoms instead, and endup mixing metaphors instead of chopping up Robert Sandell from 'MixingIt' on Radio 3 to feed to my pack of hounds who all sound a bit likeXTC but not really and the rest of the CD is quite different and notvery good in actual fact. Not in this HC fact though, its all of thesame quality with a super-dumb drummer who clatters off a bit behindthroughout but that's his minimal charm. Mothmaster seems to be after afingernails-on-chalkboard sound on the synth but falls just short ofutter shrillness. Sometimes they even fuck about playing the tapesbackwards. Its like they wanted the lunatics to take over the asylumbut only got the toytown version with Larry the Lamb and Noddy jinglingbells all night until their mums shouted at them to shut the fuck up.The quasi-songs threaten to fall apart any minute but are usually overjust before that happens. The album is also really short, which mightbe a blessing in disguise but could be one good reason not to shell outfull price for it, if I haven't already put you off. Like Pink andBrown,they give their tracks humourous titles that aren't really very funny,but who cares what the songs are called anyway? They might be quiteamusing to catch live if they pull off silly moves to match the twistsand turns of the gargled unintelligible babbling screeching vocals.Neon Hunk seems like a one trick pony one leg short, but you might keepit around out of some kind of misguided pity. Someone should flog thislot to the Hoxton trendies fast, while they wait for an exciting newband called Radio 2 to pretend they wrote an old Gang of 2 song, whilstnot mentioning that wave, punk and core are now acceptable to theafternoon teatime set. At least Jonathan Ross will never play Neon Hunkon the radio, and that's the immoral of this sordid abortion. Don'teven think about getting this until you have the ultra heavy killerNoxagt album on Load. Fuck Neon Hunk, they couldn't even be bothered toget a classically trained viola player in the band, and what good isthat? 
The mix of smooth-jazz and four-on-the-floor beats on this new full-length is rather bland on this release from Shitkatapult, who is more commonly known for excellent releases that are usually somewhere between airy and desolate beat-driven songs and flat out boogie down, break out the boom box party pleasers. The grooves on Revolv_er do not always connect, however and I'm left feeling disappointed by its combo of live and electronic sounds.
Whether one enjoys these label-sampler compilations depends mostly onhow one's taste agrees with that of the person who runs the label.There are no record labels whose taste I agree with 100%, but I like alot of what LTM does, enough to keep me interested in what label-bossJames Nice decides to issue next. This CD compiles tracks from therecent batch of LTM releases with a few otherwise unreleased songs tosucker in the completists. Hell, it works for me, why not. LTM and itssub-label Boutique seem to have several related missions: to reissuemusic originally released by Factory (other than the bigshots, JoyDivision, Durutti Column, and New Order) to music by bands who might atsome point have had a record (even just a 7") on Factory, and torelease new music by bands who were on Factory long ago and are eitherstill going or who have been ressurected due to Nice's enthusiasm. Oneof those bands, Crispy Ambulance, has donated a live album from thierreunion tour as a bonus CD that comes free with the first run of "BlackMusic" CDs.
Listening to the overtly Eastern influenced percussion Angus Maclise plays on parts of this double CD, I can't help thinking that replacing him with Mo Tucker might've been the best thing that ever happened to the Velvet Underground. They're such different drummers, almost opposites, that you suspect Lou Reed had totally had enough of the hippy dippy guy who'd turn up to play gigs half an hour late and then carried on playing half an hour after the rest of the band finished. Tucker's monotonous tub thump became such a signature of that band that it's hard to imagine them any other way.
Further into the Angelika Koehlermann riddle, here is a release thatsurprised me by actually not being that bad. It's not really that good,either. However, I'm surprised that a release like this made it onto alabel that seems proud of its unbroken record of pure, unadulteratedsilly crap. B.O.S. is an Austrian trio whose sound is informed both byKrautrock and by current German lap-pop like The Notwist and Lali Puna.B.O.S.' songs use the classic Can formula: a dark, insistent bassrhythm that repeats ad infinitum, to which is added instrumental andpercussion overdubs, trance-inducing vocals, and galaxy of spaceyeffects. B.O.S. alternately use simple guitar chords, trumpet,clarinet, harp, toy percussion and burbling electronics to round outtheir kosmische music. None of these instruments are played with muchskill or virtuosity, but that's really not the point, is it? They havequite a knack for writing a pop hook, as well, even if you can't reallydecipher what the vocalist is singing. As a first release, O-Land showsa lot of promise. There's nothing terribly inventive about a song like"Bring Back," but it does have a passable atmosphere and a rathercatchy melody that make for an engaging listen. Unlike Ted Minsky andBoulder dDash, this album does not have me sprinting for the ejectbutton. Will the Angelika Koehlermann riddle ever be solved? I thinkAngelika herself sums it up best when she says "[My friend Gerhard]stopping swimming after an accident. He's finally like sinking to thebottom of his lonely life. I also try to get home in a way. I had ahouse some times ago, but one day, I went there, and the house haddisappeared." There is absolutely nothing I can add to that statement. 
Ted Minsky is actually Anne Grabow. Why has Anne Grabow chosen such a masculine moniker? Who is Anne Grabow? Who, for that matter, is Angelika Koehlermann? That's like asking who Betty Crocker is. Someone. Anyone. No one. And in the end, does it matter? What evidence can we glean from the press release? Nothing important, it seems, except that Ted Minsky is described alternately as a "young costume designer" and as a "super-architect" leading us "to the borders of pop music." This is pure hyperbole, I'm afraid.
The further I investigate, the more Angelika Koehlermann seems to be a fictional character. According to the press release, she is a girl from Paris who, on a whim, took a train to Koln and met a guy who suggested that they "make an electronic music label." She decided to try her hand at playing "guitar tracks for Japanese young people."
Pop music has become associated recently with certain bands that loveto either impersonate early rock n' roll to no avail or slickeverything up in fancy production to make up for the horriblesongwriting. This delicate debut does neither and ends up inducing aneased state of mind. It also happens to include a second full albumwith each track mixed by the likes of Rafael Toral, Hrvatski, andChristoph Heemann. Every instrument and every little nuance takes itstime to develop and never raises its voice beyond a low murmur. Thelyrics are lighthearted, sometimes nonsensical, and always have atendency to pass in and out of the spotlight. There's a sense ofheartbreak here and there, especially on "Moon" and "I Don't Mind."Slightly treated guitars and pianos phase in and out of eachother andon the latter a small, gentle voice declares "I don't mind if I'm notby your side" as if it were a catharsis and a resignation. Sun has afantastic sense of space and their more laid back songs areparticularly excellent: there's always room to breathe and stretch outwithin the songs themselves and so every small detail stands out andsparkles as if it were the proud star of the show. The closing "It'sNot Real" is a blues-inspired mark that puts a pit right in the centerof my stomach. The impression is one of loneliness and a dying sense ofhope. I've often sat down outside at night with this playing and justzoned out completely; everything just slows down right along with themusic. The remix album is entirely different from the original. Themusic is still mostly low-key and some of the original elements areretained but there are noiser and more cavernous waves of sound used.Perhaps I'll go take a drive and remember all the places I used to hangout while listening to this, there's a sense of childhood throughoutthat makes me want to reminisce about a few things. 
Tell the hippies come back and be crushed to dust! This is easily BardoPond's best album and maybe the most dazzling recording I've heard in adecade or so! Straight out of the flimsy artwork bereft plasticenvelope on its first wonderful spin even their previous run ofoutstanding vented trip-fuck drone-rockers hadn't quite prepared me forsuch fine honed intensity and sheer beauty. Bardo Pond have alwaysliked their psychedelic stew very heavy and deeply hypnotic. These sixsongs take a trip through beautiful cosmic mindfuck sex energy and outspinning around stars, dissolving into pure light. If you want headexpanding drone rock with mammoth slow guitar overkill, this is theplace to find it. I didn't think they'd ever be able to surpass theirprevious highpoint Set and Setting,but they have and then some. The recording is sharper but that doesn'tdetract from the heady riff brew, just fires it to harder glory. Whereonce they were sludgey they now burn clear and bright with no sops tovapid commerciality. Two guitars overdriven with effects trace patternson the sun. Isobel Sollenberger sings beguilingly of every man being astar which sounds trite on the screen but fits the music perfectly.There is a deceptive lull when one of the guys, probably bassist ClintTakeda, takes a mumbling stroll through "Walking Clouds" in a superiortake on the kind of psych-folk Flying Saucer Attack used to excel at.When the final swirling megablast of "Night of Frogs" atomizes solarrevolution time, it's obvious that Bardo Pond have penetrated so farbeyond the mundane now that there isn't any turning back. Just at thepoint of collapse, about to t(r)ip over into infinity, On the Ellipseis such a fitting title—this would be a great soundtrack to leaving theplanet, dropping out forever.Mogwai have proclaimed them theirfavourite band, but Bardo Pond are universes beyond. The word is thatthey're going to be touring Europe with Jackie-OMotherfucker and Threnody Ensemble in the Autumn. Maybe it'll be timeto hit the road and never come back. 
