Following their excellent eponymous debut, this outré music supergroup reconvened after a brief break sans Elke Skelter, but with a pretty exciting new addition in her place (Jim O'Rourke). Given the pedigree of the players involved, it was no surprise at all that the resultant album was a strange and difficult one, but it managed to subvert my expectations anyway. Of course, having my expectations subverted when my expectation was "this will be a brilliant album!" is not entirely a good thing. Mimir clearly had admirable intentions and a formidable line-up for these sessions, but Mimyriad's success is much more evident as an artistic statement and an experiment.
This 1991 release marked the beginning of the trilogy that many regard to be some of Andrew McKenzie's finest and most inspired work. Appropriately enough, its 2004 reissue by devoted super-fan Frans de Waard (Beequeen) marked the beginning of something still more notable: an ongoing campaign to track down and reissue as many hopelessly unavailable Hafler Trio albums as possible—with all omissions, glitches, and compromises eradicated and all financially suicidal packaging triumphantly intact.
Considering the album’s title suggests a bleak monochromatic soundscape, Colin Potter and Phil Mouldycliff quickly confounded my limited expectations with their vivid field recordings and processed sounds. They take us by the hand and lead us on a tour of a sleepy village found somewhere between the Mediterranean coast and the edge of consciousness. Trembling and sonorous, the music the pair generate over the course of the album is rich with delicate textures and hidden beauty.
For Sub Rosa's second blues compilation, they swing their gaze from relatively unknown blueswomen to unsung bluesmen. Crackling, distorted recordings betray the battered, forgotten nature of these individuals but through the murk of time come songs and voices that sound utterly alive and unblemished by almost a century of pillaging at the church of the blues. Although varying in quality (both in terms of the songs and the recordings themselves), I'm Going Where the Water Drinks Like Wine is a fine presentation of undeservedly obscure musicians long lost in the dusty recesses of personal record collections and thrift stores.
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This 1995 album is one of those extraordinarily rare instances in which a remix album was actually a great idea. For one, it focuses almost entirely on material from Evanescence, an album that many (myself included) consider to be Scorn's peak, capturing Mick Harris during that all-too-brief nexus in which his more visceral impulses and his love of disquieting ambiance were in perfect balance. Then, of course, he managed to assemble several of the most compelling and uncompromising denizens of electronic music's shadowy fringes (Coil, Autechre, etc.) to warp it all to their liking.