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![cover image](/brain/images/runhild-aplicon.jpg)
The disc is front loaded with the more jarring and frightening moments. It opens extremely frightening and, while not letting up, begins to lessen the demonic grab by the end of the disc. Opening track “Collapse-Lifting of the Veil” sounds like a demonic possession must feel. The piece is a constant battle between fragmented stabbing noisy guitar drone and gentle, acoustic strumming, just as the vocals alternate between soft folk singing and deranged, Linda Blair growls and shrieks. The follower, “Expanding Universe,” has a similar template, but of a more electronic flavor with synthetic noises and a split between ambient passages and harsh electronic noise outbursts.
Other tracks during the first half follow this disorienting mix of the beautiful and the beastly. Guitar noise, indecipherable noises, gentle vocals and spoken word elements balanced with growled, inhuman vocals, sometimes pure, other times electronically treated to be even less human.
“Incubation” and “Birth” both mark a slightly less terrifying turn of events…a deep heartbeat like pulse and calmer more restrained vocals, often pitch shifted to various levels make for a slightly lighter shade of black. I say this because the tracks still have a power electronics style synth drone, and “Love” is based over an awkward nauseating rhythm, and the acoustic guitar elements are occasionally interrupted by jarring blasts of distorted noise.
The unexpected blasts come in the form of violent, tortured screams on “Dying”, appropriately enough, which even upstage the noise blasts that punctuate the guitar drone. The final piece, “Void: Empty Spaces Between Filaments” ends in a restrained, but sinister way: layered vocals that are evil sounding and also relatively restrained, at some points the spoken word parts are even, thrillingly enough, reading physics equations.
As a whole, Amplicon is one of the most schizophrenic releases I’ve heard this year. There are elements of folk, black metal, and pure noise in here, and with its overall cut-and-paste structure, one element is just as likely to pop out as the next. It’s jarring, frightening, and tenser than any horror film I’ve seen in the past few years.
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![cover image](/brain/images/wire-object_47.jpg)
Back when they were Wir for The First Letter and Vien, it felt like a different beast entirely. Although they had been increasingly flirting with electronic instrumentation and programming, these two works were built most heavily on that. Both of them also took a couple listens to grow on me, while most of the quartet form of Wire’s work was instantly loved. Object 47 has been the same for me, as when I first heard it I definitely had mixed feelings. While a couple tracks stood out immediately as brilliant, others felt a bit out of character for the band. As a whole, it felt just a bit too “pop.” Not that Wire would ever shy away from making pop music—one only has to hear “Map Ref 41°N 93°W” or “Eardrum Buzz” to know that’s not the case—but material like that usually had a more difficult, edgy counterpoint to balance. For an album with “Mr. Marx’s Table” there was a “99.9” to just keep things a bit out of the norm. That is not the case here.
It continues the sonic trend that Read and Burn 03 started late last year, sort of the modernized A Bell Is A Cup to compliment Send’s updated Pink Flag digital thrash. There is a floaty, ethereal feel to a lot of these tracks that characterized much of their 1980s output. But, even on the EP, which was also sans Gilbert, there was the near-10 minute “23 Years Too Late” that kept things a bit enjoyably obtuse. Object 47 consists of nine tracks that all clock in at an average of four minutes. Not really overly oblique or difficult at all.
I do not want to come across as sounding overly critical though, because the album as a whole is most definitely brilliant and worthy of multiple listens, it’s just “different.” The opener “One Of Us,” which was released earlier this year as a free MP3 download, is an earworm slab of pop genius. Bolstered by a rhythm section that was most likely inspired by the DFA folks, it chugs along on a sharp neo-disco beat and a distorted bass line, with a chorus that is as catchy and memorable as any the band has produced in their 31 year career.
Graham Lewis’ increased vocal presence compared to Send is also greatly appreciated, and does give the disc a more Wire feel than it probably would without him. His swarthy delivery of the questions that make up the lyrics of “Are You Ready?” definitely recall the classic “Ambitious” from many albums ago. “Four Long Years” even gives a subtle nod to the Wir era, a mid-paced electronic based piece that feels more than a bit danceable. The album closer “All Fours” is the closest concession to difficult that the disc makes, its darker tone and angry Colin Newman vocals put it a bit more towards the Send side of the spectrum, a bit more raw than the preceding lighter material, but it’s no “Crazy About Love.”
Object 47 is a great pop album. It makes no concessions to the mainstream and is quite obviously the product of Colin Newman, Graham Lewis, and Robert Grey. However, it is pretty clear that the guy who was keen to throw the monkey wrench in a few tracks and increase the esotericness that was always enjoyable was Bruce Gilbert, who is no longer here (in the band, at least). It is an enjoyable disc that I have appreciated more and more with each listen, but the “feel” is just so different than most of the Wire discography. Perhaps it should have been released as Wie or Wre or Ire, but obviously none of those monikers make sense or look good on paper. With any other band I’d probably consider this one of the “Album of the Year” contenders, but given its context, I can’t make that statement, yet at least.
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TINTA INVISIBLE
new sound-fiction by Nad Spiro
GEOMETRIK RECORDS - GR DIGI-03
Nad Spiro (Rosa Arruti), fetish artist on the Spanish experimental music scene, is back with her third solo offering. In Tinta Invisible she goes one step further stretching the sonic reach of her guitar and exploring unfrequented audioZones, using what she calls 'sound camouflage', not shy of employing her voice either. With her we discover new magnetizing horizons in the outer peripheries of electronica pulsing with deeply narcotic cadences.
Possibly the least obscure of her three outings to date, in it Spiro plays further with evocations and shadows to create her 'Sound-Fictions': her musical riddles lean more toward movies by David Lynch or stories by Philip K. Dick. Perhaps what these seductive, indecipherable messages we hear really are is internal communications.
As we have come to expect from Nad Spiro, Tinta Invisible beggars label or description. It was co-produced by Victor Sol, and includes a special collaboration from Kim Cascone.
Tracklisting:
Ex Limbo Stars
Interruptus
Meremont Hotel
Helix
Tinta invisible
Time track
Soundhouse
Obauba
Miss Rotula
Eye TV
Rosa Arruti : limbo guitar, software and voice
Special limited edition released on http://www.geometrikrecords.com/fichacd_i.php3?ID=95
MP3 excerpts : http://www.rotordiscos.com/listadiscos.php?searcha=NAD%20SPIRO
available now through SOLEILMOON
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together with Faust, Nurse With Wound, DACH, Manami N, Incite... www.avantgardefestival.de
http://spiro.mess-age.com
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Car Alarm, The Sea and Cake’s seventh full-length record, is bracing, like the surge of wasabi on sweet sushi, like the slap of cool water on a diving body, like the head-rush of a rollercoaster just leaving summit.
Historically, The Sea and Cake have stayed the course since forming in Chicago in 1993, but over the last couple of years they have pulled in even tighter, recording hot and fast on the heels of a busy performance schedule without breaking for other projects. The sense of trust and communication that is key to a working band is cultivated over the long haul. Stop working together, and those connections go dormant, hibernate; keep on trucking, and they deepen and get sharper, allowing the band to reach for new things, experiment freely, evolve and develop and grow.
The Sea and Cake's aim in creating Car Alarm was to follow up quickly on its precursor, the stripped down Everybody. Sam Prekop says the band wanted to make a record that felt like they had never stopped playing, a continuously limbered up ensemble that parlayed its last tour into new material. They started working on it right after an Australian tour in March, and finished it after a miraculous three-month gestation. If the usual process in pop music is to make a record and then breathe life into it on the road, this flips that presumption on its head, starting with a vital, pulsing set-list on disc; what heights they’ll take the new songs to in concert only remains to be seen.
Where in the past, The Sea and Cake has disbursed between records to allow each member their individual pursuits – Sam Prekop and Archer Prewitt’s artwork and solo projects, John McEntire’s production at his SOMA Studio and work with Tortoise, Eric Claridge’s alternate identity as a painter – in this case they didn’t disband, but dove straight into Car Alarm. The quickness reflects a personal urgency, too, given the imminent delivery of Prekop’s firstborn. Thoughts of fatherhood may lend a kind of optimistic air to the record. It has the open, crisp sound that The Sea and Cake have spent 15 years crafting, but Car Alarm also has a palpable edge. That’s the edge of people who know each other well enough to push a bit harder, who aren’t worried about ruffling each other’s feathers or trying something different, difficult, intuitive, trusting. Something bracing.
-- John Corbett
Car Alarm will be released October 21st on Thrill Jockey.
Tracklisting:
01. Aerial
02. a Fuller Moon
03. on a Letter
04. CMS Sequence
05. Car Alarm
06. Weekend
07. New Schools
08. Window Sills
09. Down in the City
10. Pages
11. the Staircase
12. Mirrors
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![](/brain/images/dino_felipe-no_fun_demo.jpg)
Felipe covers a wide variety of what all meets the rather broad requirements for pop music across these 14 tracks. Regardless of the intention, all of the songs come across as covered in some thick grimy coating that can only come from equipment used to make the ugliest sounds for too many years. Not exactly harsh or noise based, but the intentionally murky production is there. A lot of this comes out on top of the vocals, but even the obtuse filtering and layering cannot hide the 60s girl group influenced falsetto vocals on “Stuck on You” and “Willow Waly.”
1980s pop gets a nod too, both on the cover of Haunted House’s “Chandeliers” and “What’s Wrong With Me?” The former’s early synth and electronic piano led melodies provide an odd counterpoint for the harsher vocals, but somehow the two work. The latter is purely a product of that era’s technology and sensibility: a cheap Casio beatbox, noise guitar, and a synth line right out of a Rick James album. Even the 1950s is represented in “Been Waiting” though it feels less Buddy Holly and more Alan Vega/Martin Rev with its abrasive elements.
The other tracks, while they may lack as specific of a temporal reference point are no less enjoyable or catchy. Tracks like “6 Feet Under” have that naïve, bedroom rock charm that early Ween albums exuded before they decided to take themselves more seriously. “Just Call Me” and “I Don’t Want To” throw a bit of punk into the equation, but more in a faster beat and slightly more aggressive approach to both the guitar and the vocals, but never straying from the simple and catchy nature of the tracks.
The No Fun Productions label seems like an odd place for this strange little disc to rear its head, considering it is a label much more known for promoting the harsher and more violent ends of the spectrum. Given the leaning towards pop filtered through a noise lens, it’s not entirely bizarre, but it admittedly is much more conventional than I would have expected, even for all its idiosyncrasies.
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![cover image](/brain/images/mawja-studio_one.jpg)
The raw, bass drones that open the first of the untitled tracks sets this mood early—later met with tightly controlled feedback from Michael Bullock, and other electronics, I’m assuming from Vic Rawlings—resemble an orchestra of power tools tuning up. The second piece as well stays in this rawer territory with its undulating analog noise rhythm and crashing percussion section of random objects being thrown about. Amongst all of this is some of the most pained, abused sounding trumpet playing courtesy of Mazen Kerbaj that I have ever heard on record.
The fourth untitled track, clocking in at over 20 minutes, is one of the more sparse, open tracks in this set. It is a track built more upon subtle electronics and frozen drones instead of the harsher, piercing elements of other tracks. With the exception of some rough bass string scraping, the track stays more in the spacious end of the spectrum. The closing track, also among the longer, is more into the realms of noise, with the sound of strings stretching and distant warbling electronics that are amplified in intensity by wheezing trumpet and the pulsating industrial noise.
The third and fifth pieces begin to cross that threshold from improvisation into much noisier territories. The former sounds like a dying robot: inorganic sounds throughout mixed with blasts of feedback and metal knocking percussion before all coming down into a crashing cacophony of ramshackle noise. The fifth piece is a bit more restrained in comparison, but includes feedback tones, improvised percussion and piercing mid-range electronic noise, that, in all honesty, would not be completely out of place as part of a Merzbow work. The stunted contrabass moments keep the harsher electronic moments more grounded in an organic base.
Although it would usually be expected that studio-based improvisations would be more restrained when compared to live ones, the inverse seems to be the case here. Neither is superior to the other and both represent differing sides to the same coin: a trio that improvise with each other just as well as any of the classic masters of jazz.
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![](/brain/images/tzolkin-haab.jpg)
It’s an exotic concoction indeed, combining as it does primal rhythms that spear their way directly to the primitive heart of mankind’s brain, creating a delicious friction between the base appeal of something quite untainted, untamed, and raw, and the fear of the alien and unknown elicited by the same. Even those not entirely aware of the significance of the band name, as well as the album and track titles, would still take from it a glimpse into a world of danger, primitive instincts, and precarious existences lived out against a wild—if brightly-tinted and draped—backdrop, where garish flashes of primary colors burst out amongst the dark leafy greens and woodiness, as if to say that appearances here are deceptive; despite the peacock finery of the some of the creatures here (both animal and human) alongside them comes brutality and unalloyed cruelty. Welcome, indeed, to the heady world of Tzolk’in.
Despite the fact that most of the sounds here are digitally generated, allied to breathy voicings and whisperings in addition to the sounds of alien life, there is an undeniable natural feel to everything, that the emotions and the shivers that freely flow up and down the spine are the result of extracts from the real world, that somehow Tzolk’in have been able to reach back through history and forcibly wrench huge chunks of jungle and historical authenticity into the light of modern scrutiny. Perhaps the premier epitomisation of that comes in the form of the track called “Sotz”, flowing from the deep bass rumblings, breathiness and mournful howlings of unseen and unidentified forest-dwellers, to the loping percussive pattern that eventually breaks out into a heavy rhythmic-industrial engine that impels the whole on a headlong rush, carrying the listener crashing through the undergrowth and greenery. All the while, allied to this, there’s a distinct feeling that this wild careening is a running away, that something massive and generally inimical to the personal health of humanity has got its hungry sights set on the audience.
One of the greatest, and most remarkable, assets about this production was its innate ability to place me right in the middle of the action. I did indeed feel as if I was there, wherever ‘there’ is meant to be, and that I was completely wrapped in an environment constructed from sound and rhythm. Alongside the aforementioned “Sotz,” mention must also be made of “Yaxk’in,” an equally dramatic piece dripping, literally, with hidden disembodied beasties, twilight-garbed forests, and a deeply embedded sense of unseen menace, all propelled along with a meatily gargantuan beat, the very dark heartbeat of the jungle itself. Ensuing from here, and just to round things off, is “Xul,” the brooding intelligence of the rainforest made tangible, a slow circular croaking supported by layers of tribal percussion, moving it forward and giving it substantial weight and menace, pinning us hypnotically in its thousand-yard stare.
Without any doubt, this is one of the better, in addition to being one of the more coherent, amalgams of dark ambient atmospheres, rhythmic and tribal industrial, and intelligent dance music to come my way – the sinister and dark atmospheres are admirably sustained throughout and do so without any let-up – and furthermore each track can be recommended as being of equal quality and interest, with not a duff note between them. Personally, I tend to find that such music generally blurs into one homogeneous whole after a while; and even though there's a definite and discernible aesthetic flavoring these pieces, Tzolk'in introduce enough range and variety to sharpen my attention to stop it from wandering. In other words then, I couldn't have done better than to just sit back and let the liana- and vine-encrusted mystery that is Tzolk’in completely enfold me in its leafy and darkly primitive embrace.
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![](/brain/images/charles_atlas-social_studies.jpg)
Here are sound-paintings of a mythical, lost America almost, an America portrayed by literature, cinema, and the popular imagination. Guided by glassine guitar and shivering keys aided by mournful strings, soulful brass, and assorted other instruments, Charles Atlas pull us into their world of multifarious moods, of pained romanticism and muted colors, of driving on lonely stretches of desert highway bisecting washed out empty landscapes, of nights spent alone in isolated hotels and drinking in smoky midnight bars, and of endlessly sunny days. These are compositions of ordinary lives lived in small ways, of insignificant but meaningful moments celebrated, of tragedies and triumphs marked—all the tiny moments of life that somehow get swamped by the bigger events but are just as important in sculpting the shape of a person’s journey from birth to death. It is these intimacies of unknown lives and people (but which yet echo our own) that Charles Atlas highlights, shining a torch on sorrows and happinesses alike, bringing the small details into razor sharp relief.
The songs, like most lives in this imagined reflection of the real world, slowly unfold, taking time to reveal their stories and narratives, coaxing shyness and reticence out of their protective shells and giving them their moment in the sun. Shimmering electric piano on opener “Chapultepec” for instance intertwines with strummed acoustic guitar and a subtle latin beat, an exotic little number that breathes a superficially sunny disposition but which hides a melancholia which seeps through in the subtlest of ways. “The Snow Before Us” is perhaps my favorite track on here: mandolin delightfully weaving in and out of strummed and plucked acoustic guitar; the instruments seeming to swoop around and chase each other like two swallows cavorting in the air. This is probably one of the brightest compositions on here, broadcasting a quiet unspoken confidence that all is well with the world. Contrastingly, along comes a track like “The Deadest Bar,” a startlingly beautiful slow-burning 12 minute long drone and guitar track that successfully evokes a lonely 3 in the morning vibe, where the only customers in the bar are the loners and drifters, the itinerants, and the haggard worn-out whores who are desperately still trying to turn a trick, but only managing to drink themselves into a running-mascara stupor instead. Similarly, “Neither/Nor” carries a melodica and string-fuelled downbeat melancholic feel to it, a perfect evocation of sitting on a bed in some godforsaken bedside lamp-lit roadside motel room, a short rest-stop while running away on the road between somewhere and nowhere.
It’s good to know that people are still wrenching affecting emotion and atmospheres from traditional instruments like strings, horns, melodicas, pianos, and guitars, and that there is still a place for craft and musicianship. Make no mistake about it, each of the 11 pieces proffered to us here have been carefully crafted and constructed, and given due consideration as to how best to illuminate each story and tale being told. The overall effect is to bestow a spotlight on the unremarkable minutiae of the everyday and elevate it into something entirely special and enlightening. That, to me, is what epitomises the music of Charles Atlas.
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![cover image](/brain/images/harveymilklifethebestgameintown.jpg)
“Death Goes to the Winner” has it all; it starts with a delicate Christmas-themed ballad and then explodes into a mesmerising rock out before boiling down into a soupy, sludgy chug with The Velvet Underground and The Beatles being assimilated and mutated.After starting so strong, the rest of Life... The Best Game in Town doesn't quite reach the same levels of excitement but that is not to say that it isn't a solid album. The riffs are huge and the songs are pummelling, each drum beat almost starts a tectonic movement (drummer Kyle Spence must play with sledge hammers and have arms like tree trunks). It is a picky person who would ask for more.
Yet about halfway through this album it all gets a little samey. Songs like “Decades” and “A Maelstrom of Bad Decisions” bookend a decisively Harvey Milk-by-numbers middle section. The music is good (see my above description) and I cannot pick out any particular flaws but it feels like they could push themselves further. At times they seem to be just running off the same ideas that have fuelled their previous album, Special Wishes, without ever climbing to the same dizzying heights. Although this is nothing new to Harvey Milk, after their classic Courtesy and Goodwill to All Men they released The Pleaser, a less than classic album in my view. So maybe every second album will be a bruiser so whatever comes next (if there is a next) will crush like no other.
The band’s humor is still present: the album’s closer “Good Bye Blues” finishes most unexpectedly with the Looney Tunes theme tune. Along with the bizarre picture on the CD itself (a photo of person with the hole in the CD over the person’s face) keep Harvey Milk apart from the super serious bands that may sound a bit similar. This funny streak is perfectly in keeping with Preston joining the band, a man well known to mix the heavy with the strange.
So while this may not be their best effort, Life... The Best Game in Town is classic Harvey Milk. Long time fans will enjoy it and hopefully thanks to it being on the relatively high profile Hydra Head Records, it will deservingly introduce the band to a wider audience.
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![cover image](/brain/images/dan_friel-ghost_town.jpg)
Awash in effects pedals, oscillator squeals and whining modulations compete for attention over punchy beats. These elements frequently pull against each other to antagonistic effect but their struggles are mediated by syrupy melodies that resolve the conflict peacefully and pleasantly. While the rhythms and some of the supporting electronics may be abrasive, it's Friel's pop instincts that ultimately guide these songs. Unlike a lot of other noise or beat-driven music, he never belabors the point ad infinitum.
Friel proves himself a master of the craft on the title track that opens the album like a switchboard anthem. "One Legged Cowboy" uses a pretty basic blip as its foundation but is carried along by its whirring accompaniment. "Appliances," appropriately enough, might be an interpretation of a washing machine's cycle, whereas "Buzzards" is like a video game soundtrack with its 8-bit leads and sweeping rhythm. Because the songs essentially have pop structures, I occasionally expected a voice, though not necessarily lyrics, to enter the mix for a brief change of pace, but that never happened. Even so, there's enough going on that these songs never overstay their welcome.
Friel's ability to make pop candy out of caustic components is what makes his music so enjoyable. While Ghost Town has only eight tracks and runs just shy of half an hour, Friel packs enough fresh ideas into each song to make this album a bewildering head rush.
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![cover image](http://www.brainwashed.com/common/images/covers/durtrojnana93.jpg)
One of the most immediately noticeable changes is the stripped back personnel that comprises Current 93 for this release. Instead of the huge and unwieldy collective of musicians used on Black Ships, this EP recalls Soft Black Stars or Sleep Has His House in its limited instrumental palette and group; this time out it's only Baby Dee on keyboards, Tibet on vocals and Andrew Liles inhabiting the usual Steven Stapleton role, producing and mixing. Hearing someone other than Maja Elliott tickling the ivories for Current 93 is an interesting change: Baby Dee's style is less impressionistic, more traditionally melodic, tracing beautifully symmetrical piano figures informed by popular music or church playing. In some sense this is appropriate, as Tibet's lyrics become increasingly focused upon Biblical prophecy. In another sense, it seems utterly at odds with the apocalyptic visions being related, creating an unorthodox hybrid of gentle pop and ferocious, unhinged teleological visions.
Andrew Liles' production contributes to this unorthodox quality, splitting Tibet's vocals between the left and right channels, and placing them slightly out of sync for the first track, "I Looked to the South Side of the Door." The lyrics are typical for Current 93, and yet longtime fans will notice a certain evolution in Tibet's text. Gone are the extremely personal confessions, replaced instead by vaguer and more cryptic prophetic visions: "Adam stands on docetic mountain/The woman's face is full of stars/And in the words of The Book/And with the lips of The Book/And the trumpet and the seal/And the candlestick that lights up your bed with seeds and flowers/And the lion on your rug that's roaring like a lamb/On the rack and on it's back/I call the martyrs on wheels/To this piss-poor mess/With the blood spreading like flies/Under the table and the gable breathing like curtains of eyes/That shift uneasily." Tibet's vocals are punctuated with mimetic sound sculptures, the sound of trains arriving and animal noises.
"She Took Us to the Places Where the Sun Sets" is something else entirely, with a dramatic multitracked piano part that forms the bed for Tibet's vocals, which are mutated to sound like the monstrously distorted, satanic, wintry howls of a Nordic black metal vocalist, affected with delay that bounces between the stereo channels. As such, it is pretty much impossible to hear what Tibet is saying, but no matter, as the track is deadly and effective, chilling the bone like precious little Current 93 music in recent memory. When, at the very end of the track, Tibet screams quite audibly: "I will murder you!" I felt like I was back in the days of Dogs Blood Rising or Imperium, when Current 93 was unproblematically a gothic/industrial project, still quite capable of scaring the shit out of me. "The Nylon Lion Attacks as Kingdom" uses another outré vocal distortion, one which makes Tibet's vocals sound more tortured and morbid than usual.
"Suddenly the Living Are Dying" ends the EP on a lighter note, reminiscent of something from Soft Black Stars, but with a bit more psychedelic fuckery, especially as the track fades out into piercing crescendos of atonal electronic drone, and the apocalyptic galloping of horse hooves, climaxing in an explosion of Merzbow-esque noise. The generic appellation of "apocalyptic folk" for the music of Current 93 has rarely seemed more appropriate than here.
samples:
- I Looked to the South Side of the Door
- She Took Us to the Places Where the Sun Sets
- Suddenly the Living Are Dying
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