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Brian Lustmord's latest opus, allegedly first begun 15 years ago, attempts to evoke the immense void and mystery of space using a host of cosmological recordings from NASA and others as his source material.  There are a number of serious hurdles standing in the way of that ambitious and quixotic objective, sadly, but Dark Matter boasts enough flashes of inspiration to make it an interesting and valiant struggle.  Though serious Lustmord fans will probably be delighted to hear Brian revisiting similar territory to his classic The Place Where the Black Stars Hang album, his epic vision is hobbled a bit by the limitations of the format.
Touch
Dark Matter opens with its strongest and lengthiest piece, the 27-minute "Subspace," which is centered around a wonderfully eerie, distant, and forlorn-sounding two-note melody.  While that "hook" is the most important part of the piece for me, such touches are quite peripheral to Lustmord’s central vision here: Dark Matter is primarily an album of deep throbbing drones, cavernous rumbles, ominous whooshes, volcanic bubbling, and distant crackling.  Therein lies the root of my issues with the album, as Lustmord is first and foremost a brilliant and exacting technician fixated on mood and texture, while his interest in being a composer is clearly of secondary concern.  To his credit, a lack of attention to melody and harmony makes perfect sense thematically, as space is ostensibly a soundless void.  Veracity and thematic purity do not always make for a great listening experience though.  On this particular piece, however, Brian strikes an excellent balance between composition and sound design: "Subspace" gradually becomes subsumed by drifting emptiness and mysterious crackles before a second strong theme emerges from the lonely void in the form of something that sounds like a whale song.  It is a genuinely satisfying arc.  That balance is the exception rather than the rule, however: if the entire album stuck with that precarious and unpredictable ebb and flow between form and formlessness, I would probably like it a lot more than I do.
Aside from "Subspace," Dark Matter often sounds like it is on dark ambient autopilot.  Each piece ultimately boasts a showstopping set piece, but there are a lot of lengthy, frustrating lulls between flashes of actual greatness.  For example, "Astronomicon" has a wonderfully haunting final motif, but it takes about 15 minutes to get there.  Of course, Brian was not actually on autopilot for this album and that is where things get thorny.  Part of the problem is that Lustmord (much to his chagrin) was one of the primary architects of the dark ambient genre, influencing a host of other artists in the '90s.  The resulting glut of lesser, yet very similar, music necessarily made Lustmord feel a lot less special.  As a long career in film and videogame and sound design can attest, Brian is head and shoulders above most of his peers in the actual mechanics of his craft–unfortunately, however, an amorphous flow of subterranean rumbles, deep throbs, crackles, buried howls, and whooshes in the hands of a dilettante sounds a hell of a lot like the same thing done by a master on most stereos.  Without anything resembling melody or rhythm, the only obvious differences between similar artists in that milieu are largely technical and conceptual.
Naturally, Brian is well aware of his predicament and has noted in the past that his rare live performances are partly done just so people can hear how Lustmord is actually supposed to sound.  Consequently, Dark Matter is fundamentally a bit an indulgent and insular release, existing almost as a site-specific work designed solely to be experienced on Brian’s own amazing home stereo system, as he has observed that very few people will be able to properly experience its visceral and seismic low frequencies.  Another problem is that sonically trying to evoke the bleak immensity of space is inherently futile (space's sounds are generally at wavelengths that we cannot hear) and conveying infinity in an absorbing way is also no picnic.  Trying to hold my attention for 70 minutes with hollow whooshes, clanging metal, cavernous gurgling, and muted roars is a similarly unpromising endeavor, so it takes a lot of patience, attention, and volume to fully appreciate Dark Matter's secrets.  Having to wait a quarter of an hour for both "Astronomicon" and "Black Static" to fully evolve into something remarkable is far from optimal, but both are great once they finally catch fire.
The more I listen to Dark Matter, the more I find myself conflicted about it.  The only things that I am certain of are 1.) an enormous amount of work went into it, and 2.) an album is hopelessly inadequate for conveying the full majesty of Lustmord's vision.  I wanted to love Dark Matter and I lamentably do not, but the reasons for my vague sense of unfulfillment were initially hard to nail down.  At first, I thought this was a significant regression from the crazily ambitious and divergent The Word as Power and that Brian’s day job has begun to bleed a bit too much into his art (at normal volume, Dark Matter would provide a perfect atmosphere for a dark sci-fi game or film). Those assessments are not entirely off the mark compositionally, as Dark Matter definitely retreats to Lustmord's longtime comfort zone, but it is equally true that this album may very well be Brian’s magnum opus, albeit with some asterisks.  I am not going to say that Brian was too ambitious, but I do believe that his intent here far outstretched the capabilities of the medium: Dark Matter is an album that begs to be experienced on a grand scale (like an earthquake) rather than just heard.  As such, it is a bit underwhelming and easy to ignore for long stretches in its current form, but it is not hard to imagine these three pieces feeling like the voice of God if they were experienced at apocalyptic volume in the right context.
 
 
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First issued in 1971 and out of print for over three and a half decades, Black Mass is the sole release from Canadian synth innovator Mort Garson under the Lucifer name. A fully electronic-based record, much of the album has a distinctly vintage sound to it, largely due to the electronic instrumentation that was still in its infancy. However, some moments shine through as truly innovative for the time, and with the resurgence of interest in modular synthesizers, it is the perfect time for it to be resurrected.
Make no mistake:Black Mass is certainly a record of its time.Not just in terms of the equipment used, but also the imagery.In 1971, the record is an early entry in the post-Black Sabbath evil landscape, and contemporaneous with early satanic bands such as Coven and Black Widow.This is also in cinema, being right in between Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist.With the real world immersed in the fear of the seemingly occult-tinged Tate-LaBianca murders, this era was when the seed was sown for the 1980s satanic panic.
Outside of this historical context, Garson’s work is less disturbing than it may have been upon its initial release.Synthesizers are no longer new and spooky, and the various forms of heavy metal have driven satanic imagery into the ground.So the twittering scales and white noise bursts as percussion of "Solomon's Ring" lack the creepy impact they may have had 45 years ago, but it still sounds good for what it is, especially in its creepy, lurching conclusion."Witch Trial" is another composition in which the instrumentation screams 1970s, but with a nice eerie passage placed in the middle.
The moments where Garson deviates from this formula are the stronger ones."The Ride of Aida (Voodoo)" is built upon a percussive electronic backing that, I assume, is supposed to be a synthetic approximation of tribal drumming.Which may not be entirely successful, but with its tape manipulated voices and percolating synthesizers, the result is still compelling and has a unique sound all its own.The synthetic bells and manipulated choral tapes of "Black Mass" give more of a genuine, rather than schlocky creepy feeling to it, even if it is still very obviously of the time it was released.
"The Evil Eye" also demonstrates Garson doing well in creating an atmosphere.Distinct, but sinister melodies and abstract electronic sound effects are effective, and the more rhythmic, percussive second half is excellent."Voices of the Dead" also avoids the more cliché synth sounds and instead mostly sticks to open, expansive passages and the result are something closer to a proto-dark ambient mood.
Make no mistake:Black Mass in 2016 has a kitschy, campy feeling to it that cannot be ignored.When listening to it in the context of when it was originally released, the intended darkness is a bit more effective, but of course its impossible to fully listen to it without thinking of modern sensibilities.But even today, with its dated sound and less-than-sinister imagery, the record is still a great one that, not only captures the old school horror movie vibe, but also some compelling early synthesizer excursions.
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In the over three decades since he first began the project, Paul Lemos has guided Controlled Bleeding all over the sonic map, from the early power electronics days into 1980s industrial, and eventually jazz and prog tinged rock improvisations. It makes sense then that, for the first full length release of mostly new work since 2002 (releases since then have been either reissues or contained earlier work), he and his assembled crew of Chvad SB, Mike Bazini, and Anthony Meola have put together two albums of work that draws from all of these eras, and effortlessly manages to shift between periods of the band’s lengthy history at every turn.
Larval Lumps is actually two separate works combined into one single release.The first disc is a suite of five compositions that show heavy studio treatment and processing, while the second is a more immediate, almost live-in-the-studio set of recordings with Martin Bisi at the helm in 2011."Driving Through Darkness" launches right in with Lemos' virtuoso guitar playing and what sounds like an intentionally chintzy synth organ backing.The crew injects a bit of free jazz-like expressions into the mix to keep it fresh and energetic throughout, and the result is what could pass for an action TV show opening, even with the calmer guitar outro.
For "Carving Song", the guitar is present with a throbbing mass of synth noises, along with Lemos himself on vocals.His vocal style is right out of a 1987 Dossier industrial record, so they sit strangely alongside the prog virtuoso guitar and eventual weird, jazzy horns, but it is that exact sort of head-scratching weirdness that has kept CB so innovative all of these years.The tight rhythms and rich synth arrangements of "Trawler’s Return" may go in an relentless, thrashy direction, but the following "As Evening Fades" does the opposite, and instead the band manages to settle into an oddly relaxed, piano driven work that could easily slide into bland contemporary jazz, but never does.
The 22-minute "The Perks of Being a Perv" (parts of which appeared on the split album with Sparkle in Grey) is one of the high points of this whole set, however.For the first few minutes, it is all distorted noise and deep, pounding chug that could be a leftover from one of the band’s early Broken Flag releases.Before long, however, the more modern guitar sound sneaks in atop the distorted rhythms.The piece then becomes a tug of war from the old power electronics days to the newer, squalling guitar sound, shifting between the two beautifully, and resulting in many great variations on the same theme.
Compared to the first disc, the Martin Bisi sessions are more consistent in their sound and style, focusing more heavily on conventional guitar/bass/drum arrangements.While some of these songs appeared on Odes To Bubbler, this is the first release of the full recording sessions."Return of the Quiet" stands out exceptionally that, even with its rapid guitar and big, echoing drums, there is an inviting and comfortable warmth throughout.Both "Fusion Song" and "Swarm" sound like the band taking more of a jazz direction, with both having quick tempos, but ones that become looser and chaotic, free improv more on the former and almost punky on the latter.Electronics have a larger role on "Eye of Needle", even though they are still secondary to the guitar and bass leads.However, with its overall slower pace and softer arrangement, it makes for a memorable high point.
"Trang's Song" is a bit of an odd duck on the whole disc.Featuring female vocals and a more programmed sounding backing track, complete with house music piano appearances, there is a slightly amateurish but endearing quality to it, and it is actually a very fun little footnote to the record.The disc actually ends with an unlisted bonus song, which seems to be a deconstruction/remix of "The Perks of Being a Perv".It emphasizes that song’s more distorted and noisy elements, pushing the original further and further into strangeness.
Even with mostly contemporary work included, Larval Lumps and Baby Bumps is an odd but highly engaging combination of the various styles Paul Lemos has dabbled in since beginning his career as Controlled Bleeding.Somehow, even with all of these conflicting styles, there is a notable sense of consistency from song to song, making for a sprawling and weird, yet wonderful record that is unpredictable to say the very least.
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After a number of years listening to Celer's slow, expansive take on ambient and drone sounds, I would have never expected Will Long to suddenly start making house music. But he has, in a series of three double 12" singles (and compiled into a double CD compilation), and it only takes a few minutes to realize that it is actually a very good combination. Even with the addition of drum machines, Long’s knack for creating warm, inviting spaces of electronic music is still vividly on display, and with some assistance from ambient legend Terre Thaemlitz (under the DJ Sprinkle guise), it may be heralding an entirely new direction in his work.
Through my own personal contact with Will Long, I was aware that he had a strong interest in house music and its various permutations for a number of years, and after thinking about it briefly, the amalgamation of the two styles makes perfect sense.Both are electronic-centric genres that strive to do a lot with very little as far as instrumentation goes, so joining the two is not as bizarre of a thought as it may seem.
In fact, the first few minutes of the opening "Time Has Come" establishes this:the light electronic drone that defines many Celer releases appears shaped into an organ-like passage that fits the house style, married to intentionally stiff, synthetic Roland drum machine beats.With samples of Civil Rights era speeches peppered throughout, the mood and sound is as fitting for 2016 as it would have been in 1986, albeit with Long at the command, the pace is more pensive and the mix is more intentionally skeletal.
These elements recur throughout the seven pieces on disc one."Get in and Stay in" is more of a beat focused song, first a taut, stiff mass of hi-hat programming, and then a heavy kick leads the way, being more of the primary focus as the Celer-like drifting electronics surround the song in a warm, inviting haze.The latter half of "Under-Currents" especially embraces the beat, most explicitly via clinically sharp handclaps that cut through the mix wonderfully.
Each song features an overdubbed (not remixed or reworked) version by Terre Thaemlitz, using the DJ Sprinkles moniker that has been used primarily for dance and DJ related performances.Thaemlitz’s presence is perfectly fitting, being another artist who is well known for first a rich career in electronic ambient music, who then began to implement more in the way of conventional beats and rhythms under a different name.
The distinction between overdubbed and remixed is an important one, because Sprinkles mostly just adds elements to Long’s original recordings and minor production tricks.For example, "Time Has Come" has a slightly more bass-heavy presence, and the addition of a pulsating synth bassline throughout."Daylight and Dark" has some treated hi-hat sounds and additional layers of sequenced synthesizer, and eventually a denser reverb sheen later on.The most dramatic addition from Sparkles is on "Under-Currents":an additional drum loop appears right at first and stays throughout, as more electronics and layering make for a richer, more dance floor oriented performance that is a bit more distinct from Long’s original, but still retains its essential elements.
Even with the addition of beats, Will Long’s music is a bit too subtle and delicate to be fully club ready.Not that this is a shortcoming by any means, it is exactly what makes the music stand out.The overdubs by DJ Sprinkles/Terre Thaemlitz maybe push the recordings a bit more towards the dance floor, but the sound is much more intimate and cerebral, making it best enjoyed in quiet, intimate settings, rather than in a loud, thumping context that would obscure the delicate beauty of these works.
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In 1984, long before anyone's grandparents were only a few keystrokes away from obtaining every morsel of information, this non-descript album cover appeared in the shops. Nowhere on the record were there band member photos or names and roles, producer credits, or lyrics. It was a gamble to purchase a costly import record if you were located here in North America, especially without hearing it first, but most of those in-the-know would gladly take that risk. In this case, it certainly paid off.
In only four years, 4AD had established themselves as a popular "collector's label," as they were an organization who reliably paid meticulous attention to stunning artwork, used solid top quality materials, and were behind critically lauded releases from Bauhaus, The Birthday Party, Cocteau Twins, and (then) ex-Wire members. CAD404 (C was for full length single album; 4 was for year 1984; and this was release 04) followed Modern English's final LP for 4AD (two years after their monster international hit song), the "Say You" single from Colourbox, and preceded the Cocteau Twins' "Spangle Maker" single. With these records, it was apparent that most groupsin the 4AD stable were established by now and the trends were shifting towards the more colorful, away from the somewhat dark, cold, mysterious first years.
Side one opens with crashing noise, followed by robotic drum machine, brooding bass guitar, and an ominous anthemic lead guitar riff more reminiscent of Martin Hannett productions of years gone by than anything from 1984. Even its title, "The Fatal Impact," is bleak and not surprising for what is probably yet another British group whose members grew up in a grey industrial factory town. The contrasting styles of tunes that follow opened all of us first listeners up to the diversity of the group, but also set us up on some preconceptions, which were destroyed sooner or later.
The drums, chugging bass, and abrasive guitar on "The Trial" provided more insight to the band behind the music. It's a rock band, right? The rugged instrumentation is no match, however, for the male singer's beautiful, brooding voice. His powerful, flawless voice feels like some stunning larger-than-life nordic hero has just hijacked a viking ship and is steering it with all his might. The next song sounds like an entirely different group, however, as all traditional "rock" instruments are foregone. What follows, "Frontier," would be more apt for a chase scene through a rainforest jungle, with all of the aggressive, fast-paced percussion, faint hums of a male voice, and a nearly incomprehensible, yet shimmering beautiful female voice. Whoever is behind this recording are certainly experienced for a debut record.
The trading off of vocal duties continues throughout the record, as a bombastic Perry-sung rock piece is usually followed by the more unconventional Gerrard-sung pieces, ending on the hammer dulcimer dominating "Musica Eterna," which gives a hint as to how the group's music was going to evolve.
In the years following, photos, interviews, magazine articles, press releases, and performances would help give the rest of us the context for who Dead Can Dance were and how they evolved to this debut and through subsequent albums. Brendan Perry and Lisa Gerrard were identified by the following year's Spleen and Ideal as the core of the group. Perry, born in England--but played in New Zealand punk group The Scavengers/The Marching Girls in the late '70s--emigrated back to the UK in 1980 with Gerrard, whose distinct vocal style graced some very short lived Australian groups. Group members for the debut included James Pinker, an early SPK member from New Zealand,percussionist Peter Ulrich, who continued to contribute to the group through Spiritchaser, and Scott Roger, whose name never appeared on any subsequent releases.
The debut album may sound slightly out of place, as it consists of music composed from 1980-1984, a time with rapid progression of styles and technology, from a duo with different backgrounds who brought different approaches to the songs they sung.
As a whole, this is a forceful debut. This isn't easy listening by any means. The biggest criticism over the years of the music on the record is that during the rock songs, the music can arguably tend to be derivative. The presence of Gerrard's vocalizations, hammer dulcimer, and unconventional drumming, however made the album unique, and those elements remained as a mainstay for future releases while the more aggressive rock arrangements faded.
For this reissue, the artwork has been faithfully restored. The album continues to be a beautiful item, lacking the abundance of information littering the space as its original issue, but don't throw out your MFSL remaster! There have been some complaints about the pressing have an abundance of sibilance, and I do hear it on this record. It's not a deal breaker but it is a reminder that this album should be accepted as not one for the high fidelity junkies.
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The ongoing project by Los Angeles-based sound artist Richard Chartier (b.1971) sends you a new coded message of sumptuous distant drones and glacial orchestral heartrendings. Poised and polished slow motion pulsations tug at your emotions (but only a portion of them).
For those listeners desirous of the output of The Caretaker, Angelo Badalamenti, William Basinski, and other such dark wistful wonderment.
Pinkcourtesyphone is dark but not arch, with a slight hint of humor. Amorphous, changing, and slipping in and out of consciousness, operating like a syrup-y dream and strives to be both elegant and detached.
Please don’t hang up. This call is important. You’re coming with Pinkcourtesyphone… leave everything… it’s getting late.
Out November 25th, 2016 on Editions Mego.
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Some of Jason Anthony Harris' previous recordings as Public Speaking have flirted with more traditional song-like material, but would just as often end up being more in line abstract and chaotic world of noise. For this newest album, however, it seems as if he has settled more comfortably into the role of songwriter, and here, across these seven pieces, he creates a dark, at times very disturbing world presented as off-kilter, bizarre electronic pop.
The most recent release I heard from Harris was last year’s Mountainmurals tape:a well executed release of found sound tape collages, so the rhythmic throb and clean vocals of opener "Blacksite Blues" were a drastic departure, though not far removed from the 2013 Blanton Ravine record.It is the perfect start to the album, with clattering noises, synthesizer, and saxophone (by Johnny Butler) melded into an insistent blues throb.Harris’ vocals are croon-heavy and appropriately dramatic, shifting between notes effortlessly as the backing track bludgeons.Only during a jolting, unexpected delicate breakdown passage does the hammering cease, but when it comes back it is all the heavier.
"I Turn Over His Body" is another more rhythmically focused piece, this time a pastiche of programmed militaristic snares and more conventional saxophone leads.Compared to "Blacksite Blues," the instrumentation and musical structure is more varied and dynamic, while Harris’ vocal performance is more restrained and muted.The album closing title song is another one where he puts the beat first, via a steady thumping rhythm and strange, far off guitar from Zach Ryalls.With the voice processing bending the lyrics largely indecipherable, the focus is the beat and effects.
Where Caress, Redact shines the most is Harris' narrative lyrical content being juxtaposed with drastically different musical accompaniment, making for a stark and fascinating contrast.The twinkling electronics and up-beat tempo of "Protect Me From My Own Paws" have a light, electronic pop sensibility to them, but with lyrics about immolation being delivered so smoothly, the pairing is unsettling.The understated, electronic tinged piano ballad "Shifting Weight" may superficially come across like an experimental R&B song, but the lyrics from an abusive father’s perspective, tossing out homophobic slurs about his son, is something much darker.
This sensibility is continued on "Processed By The Pound," at first by means of rave synth stabs and bent electronics, it eventually comes together with a dark, rhythmic structure and sputtering tremolo effects.With its lyrics covering spousal rape, domestic violence, murder, and body disposal via meat processing, I could not help but draw some parallels to the lyrical content of a big portion of Big Black's discography, though Harris’ presentation is more of a sympathetic, introspective one compared to Steve Albini's over-the-top shock tactic style.
Caress, Redact is not only an excellent work on its own merits, but it also excels because it sounds so little like no one (or nothing) else.The songs are all rich in composition but intentionally fragmented and disjointed in their production, channeling the familiar and the alien perfectly.When this is mixed with Harris' strong lyrics and powerful vocals, the combination is compelling and fascinating and stands out exceptionally among this year's best records.
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This latest opus captures The Dead C at their most endearingly perverse, brilliant, and anti-virtuosic, as they have somehow managed to craft a double album without actually having any conventional content at all: no real riffs, no hooks, no grooves, and no songs (unless some mumbling in a sea of feedback counts).  That approach seems to tailor-made to alienate most potential new listeners, but the towering monolith of guitar squall that is Trouble is an absolute delight for the faithful like myself.  These five sprawling and amorphous pieces sound like someone dropped napalm on rock music, leaving nothing but a smoldering, heaving, and howling wreckage.  Occasionally something resembling a melody will emerge from the blown-out entropy, but the album’s real appeal is its visceral chaos.  In some ways, this may very well be The Dead C's finest album yet.
The trio does not waste any time at all in establishing their malign intent, as the opening "One" erupts with a stammering two-note riff amidst a roaring gale of white noise, then the almost-riff disappears entirely to leave a gnarled miasma of distortion and feedback bolstered by Robbie Yeats' wandering and fitfully spirited drumming.  Such a formula hardly seems like ideal grist for a 20-minute song, but somehow Michael Morley, Bruce Russell, and Yeats make it work, seamlessly ebbing into interludes of lazily sputtering guitar noise and almost-vocals, then building back up to eruptions of churning and formless density.  Unexpectedly, however, the piece ends with an eerily beautiful coda of quivering feedback.  Dynamic wizardry and feedback-wrangling aside, I am also particularly fascinated by Yeats' bizarre drumming choices, as he continually rides the line between lunatic and genius, seemingly losing interest in his beats almost instantly yet somehow maintaining a weirdly appealing and faltering momentum despite himself.
The following "Two" roughly adheres to the same formula, but initially features a fairly coherent groove.  In fact, it almost sounds like the band attempted to play an actual song, but were instantly derailed by their inability to control their chain of effects pedals.  Even that semblance of order soon disappears, however, and the rest of the piece is a push-pull between shambling, overloaded meandering and rare, ephemeral convergences into actual chords and hints of melody.  Near the end, the more structured elements seem to finally win and something songlike briefly emerges before falling apart again.  In classic Dead C fashion, even the most coherent parts still features mumbled, unintelligible vocals and a guitarist who sounds like he does not realize the song started and is still unhurriedly trying to tune.  Unsurprisingly, the remaining three songs essentially offer up more of the same, albeit with somewhat shorter durations.  While The Dead C do not have any tricks up their collective sleeve, they compensate with their admirably thorough commitment to this aesthetic of snarling and wrongheaded feedback sludge.  If the band does have a trick, it is only that they create such an effective illusion of lumbering sloppiness at times that I am still caught off-guard whenever a piece like "Three" suddenly blossoms into a striking passage of strangled notes or hauntingly swooping feedback howls.
If possible, I suspect Trouble might be the most ingeniously incompetent-sounding Dead C album yet, as it is very easy to imagine a guitarist with no fingers or a kid who just bought a drum set being able to happily jam along with it.  That is not dissimilar to how some people view free-jazz, yet the gulf between titans like Ornette Coleman and Pharaoh Sanders and mere dabblers and dilettantes is enormous.  With Trouble, it would not be crazy to say The Dead C have become the Ornette Coleman of noisy rock deconstruction, as this is arguably their artistic zenith.  Previous classics like Harsh 70s Reality certainly have better (or at least more accessible) songs, but Trouble willfully throws away absolutely everything that makes rock music great and still sounds amazingly vibrant, dynamic, unpredictable, and complex.  It is easy to see why The Dead C is so underappreciated, as this is a singularly messy and uncompromising vision, but I cannot think of any other bands that could produce a satisfying double album without the benefit of hooks, melodies, or strong rhythms.  The Dead C admittedly offer some raw power at times, but Trouble would quickly become a numbing experience if that was all they had to offer.  What they bring to the table instead is considerably more unique and intangible: an intuitive hive-mind genius for both artfully falling apart and unexpectedly shaping ruin into beauty.
 
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This collaboration between David Tibet and early Current 93 alum and erstwhile Killing Joke bassist Youth is quite a fascinating, bizarre, improbable, and intermittently perplexing release.  Given how little attention I pay to mainstream music, I had completely forgotten that Youth also has an ongoing project with Paul McCartney (The Fireman) and a long history of production and remix credits involving artists like U2, Depeche Mode, Erasure, and almost Duran Duran.  In short, he is primarily an ingenious chameleon whose greatest gift lies in adapting to new situations, figuring out how to make the most of them, and egolessly fading into the background.  That is exactly what he has (mostly) done with Create Christ, Sailor Boy: consciously opting to be as invisible as possible.  As such, this album is primarily a showcase for David Tibet's snarling and singular poetic rantings presented on an epic scale, some of which rank among his best.
Throughout its many incarnations, Current 93 has always been a reliably eccentric and aberrant project, both musically and lyrically.  Consequently, the most immediately striking aspect of Create Christ is the straightforward simplicity of Youth’s synthesizer arrangement on the opening "Your Eyes in the Skittle Hills." In one respect, it feels somewhat anonymous when compared to David Tibet's usual fare, but the lush neo-classical grandeur nevertheless suits Tibet's wild-eyed proclamations quite beautifully.  If Tibet has composed an epic, impassioned, and otherworldly tale, it makes sense that it should have a suitably epic-sounding backdrop.  It is no small feat to wield dynamics so effectively that lines like "You and moonbeams walking through the walls" or "In the dead forest, your lips like planet cream" can seem incredibly heavy and deeply profound.  Also, it definitely seems like Tibet found his new sonic environs quite inspiring, as he does a lot more actual singing than usual, surprising me with lots of sustained notes and frequently straining into the upper end of his range.  He is also quite throaty throughout Sailor Boy, escalating the intensity of significant moments with an impressive battery of growls and howls.  In fact, the album actually feels like a bizarre religious experience at times, unpredictably and seamlessly veering from sublime chant-like beauty to demonic snarling ("you groovy girls with teeth!") within the same song.
Youth's decision to hang in the background "so you only hear the stories" means that Create Christ is a lot like being harangued by a half-mad prophet who just emerged from a few decades (or centuries) of seclusion in the desert: the breathless torrent of words is a bewildering mixture of striking poetry, arcane wisdom, cryptic jokes, puzzling allusions, beautiful imagery, and personal obsessions.  I mean that in the best way possible, of course.  Skittles, the stars, cats, penguins, Christ, Archie comics, ghosts, dead languages, flowers, the moon, and Pinocchio all seem to hold a place of honor within Tibet's hermetic personal mythology and all seem importantly intertwined.  I have long believed Tibet to be one of most brilliant and fascinating artists around, but his vision is a unquestionably uniquely personal one.  The gulf between his world and mine is quite substantial, so the trick is always to harness and present the phantasmagoric fever dream of his words into something more universally meaningful.  When that fails, Hypnopazüzu merely sounds like distinctive free-associative poetry that presents an enigmatic and beautifully worded puzzle of associations.  That is fine, obviously, but it is an intellectual pleasure rather than a visceral one.  When the trick works, as it does on pieces like "Skittle Hills" and "Christmas with the Channelers," it can be absolutely revelatory.  Words are Tibet’s unquestionably primary weapon of choice, but the meaning and power of these pieces can greatly transcend those origins when the flow, content, emphasis, melody, and underlying chords unexpectedly converge in the perfect place.
As distinctive, striking, and mesmerizing as this album is, it is not without its occasional misfires.  The most egregious one is "Sweet Sodom SingSongs," where Youth abandons his trusty Moog for a foray into a languorous tabla- and tambura-fueled raga groove.  Initially, it is quite good, but then it unexpectedly departs from Om-like territory into a major key hippie jam with the deeply unfortunate refrain of "It’s tool time!"  Elsewhere, Youth is guilty of over-egging the pudding a bit, particularly with the dramatic faux-string flourishes of "Pinocchio’s Handjob" and the soaring orchestral swells of "The Crow at Play." David Tibet is already a dramatic supernova, so bolstering his performances with any sweeping, cinematic touches just feels uncomfortably over-the-top (though the line separating epic and bombastic is admittedly quite a blurry and subjective one).  Elsewhere, I found the shifting nature of the Hypnopazüzu aesthetic a bit awkward, as "trippy Eastern-damaged rock band" and "lush neo-classical goth pop" are fairly divergent threads to seamlessly bounce between.  The brief and gently psychedelic interlude of "Incidentally, Shaitan" worked quite well though–I wish that facet had been explored much more.  Shortcomings, missed opportunities, and unevenness aside, however, Create Christ is still quite a unique and inspired statement and worthy addition to Tibet's impressive oeuvre.  Obviously, it would be nice if every song were as wonderful as "Your Eyes in the Skittle Hills," but it is hard to be begrudge an album for only containing a couple of stone-cold, transcendental masterpieces.
 
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- Albums and Singles
A companion piece to the 2016 LP Strangers, consisting of home recordings contemporary to that album's sessions.
More information can be found here.
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- Albums and Singles
THE CARETAKER IS RELEASING SIX NEW WORKS.
Everywhere at the End of Time is a new and finite
series exploring dementia, its advance and its totality.
Featuring the sounds from the journey The Caretaker
will make after being diagnosed as having early
onset dementia.
Each stage will reveal new points of progression,
loss and disintegration. Progressively falling further
and further towards the abyss of complete memory
loss and nothingness.
Viewing dementia as a series of stages can be
a useful way to understand the illness, but it is
important to realize that this only provides a rough
guide to the progress of the condition.
Drawing on a recorded history of 20 years of
recollected memories this is one final journey
and study into recreating the progression of
dementia through sound.
--
Stage 1 - September 2016
Here we experience the first signs of memory loss.
This stage is most like a beautiful daydream.
The glory of old age and recollection.
The last of the great days.
--
More information can be found here.
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