Purported to be Ireland’s first noise 12" (send any refutations on a postcard to anyone but me), this EP is at least going to be one of the best even if it is not the only one. The duo of Gavin Prior and Andrew Fogarty conjure up four stellar pieces, each one covering a different aspect of noise as an expansive genre without resorting to just pushing up all the dials and leaving the microphones recording.
Lisa Germano’s first proper album for 4AD is a rare thing: a transitional album that stands as a career highlight. Somewhere midway between the jangling folk-rock of Happiness and the woozy, melancholy piano ballads of her more current work lies this uncomfortably autobiographical and disturbing examination of disillusionment and the dark side of sexuality. While she certainly continued to write great songs after this album, she would never again be edgy, sharp-focused, or harrowing (or experimental). Of course, that is no surprise, as this sort of wrenching catharsis can only come from a dark psychological place that no one could possibly want to regularly inhabit.
For his first album without founding band mate Stephen Malkmus, David Berman opted to abandon the band’s signature drawling slacker-rock for something totally different: stripped-down and drawling slacker-country. Given that the best things about the Jews have always been Berman’s singularly excellent lyrics and endearingly deadpan delivery, increased intimacy could not be anything other than a great idea (especially since these are some of Silver Jews' most dark and personal songs). The Natural Bridge is David Berman's Nebraska.
This Chapel Hill five piece is at least superficially crafting big, noisy rock songs, with more than a passing nod to classic grunge, but with an approach that is closer in spirit to the free jazz configurations of Ornette Coleman than any traditional metal group. With hard panned dual drums, and bass and guitar segregated to left and right channels, respectively, the result is a highly structured racket that runs the gamut of rapid fire hardcore to slow, lugubrious sludge.
Ashley Hutchings and John Kirkpatrick caused a rumpus of sorts with Morris On, an audacious electric folk treatment of Morris dancing tunes. Next they created this treasure, a project spanning about seven centuries of dance music in England. They broadened the folk-rock palate by focusing more on traditional instruments such as crumhorn, spinet and viol, and linked musical pieces with historically relevant spoken word passages read by actors such as Sarah Badel, Michael Horden and Ian Ogilvy.
This split single presents two very different takes on art damaged rhythm music. While both cuts are rooted in popular dance idioms (Dub, Afro-Beat, Drum & Bass), Urick and Willet seem more interested in demolishing genre conventions than cultivating them. They share a penchant for wobbly, amorphous productions that incite more head-scratching than ass-shaking.
Pianist Espen Eriksen’s debut album with his trio stands out but not in a good way. The insipid compositions are more at home in the background of an expensive restaurant or bar rather than on my stereo. Monotonous and emotionally detached, this collection of instrumental jazz fades into the background far too easily. The term "audio wallpaper" gets thrown about far too freely but You Had Me At Goodbye certainly deserves this classification.
This album has been sitting on a shelf for 15 years but it sounds as vital today as it would have had it seen the light of day back then. Featuring the kind of rhythm section that can be charted on the Richter scale and pose the danger of serious structural damage, this is one of the best "lost" albums to surface in recent years.
Tucked within the psychedelic and synthetic lo-fi of Shawn Reed's Night People label is an album that is as much an anomaly to the label as it is a sibling to it in its reimagining of classic sounds. Broken Water, a trio from Olympia, Washington, tap into their region's roots to dig up the blue collar crunch of a past as quickly forgotten as it was widely embraced. Whet touches every stepping stone of grunge without falling into the tar pit of predictability, not only proving rock and roll is still a powerful genre but that it can be as weird and untamed as the bands that call Night People home.
Beginnings are sacred, even for punk rockers. Whatever path they may follow later, musicians carry their formative experiences with them like a talisman. The Endtables carry that kind of sacrosanct aura. Their influence trumps any concern about style, recognition, or even competence. For a few freaks in Louisville, Kentucky circa 1979, they were the most important band on earth.