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Tibet’s mythology grows more and more esoteric with each album, a blend of his own internal imagery and biblical terror (stemming from his ongoing obsession with scripture and study of Coptic in order to get closer to the source). “Almost in the beginning was the murderer” states the child’s voice at the beginning of the album. From here on in, everything explodes as one of the best line ups yet for Current 93 let rip. Alex Neilson’s drumming sounds like thunderclaps at the end of the universe as layers and layers of guitars, feedback and distorted vocals tear through reality. During “On Docetic Mountain,” fragments of the familiar folk strains haunt the works of Current 93 swim through the surging pulse, creating a thick and disorientating experience which brings to mind Thee Silver Mt. Zion at their most raucous. Bill Breeze’s viola and John Contreras’ cello sound almost regal amidst the grinding fuzz that the rest of the group are pouring out. Later on, the rock swamps everything; guitar solos that can only be described as shambolic, face melting blasts of white heat cut through a doom-laden riff on “Not Because the Fox Barks.” There is a first time for everything in life and playing air guitar along to Current 93 is one of them.
With no particular focus beyond a general feeling and Tibet’s vision(s), Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain sticks out like a monolith in Current 93’s canon. Fears that this album would be a disparate work breaking under the weight of Tibet’s many collaborators were completely unfounded. Andrew W.K. and Sasha Grey may be famous for things quite different to Current 93 (as every single article or Internet discussion related to this album seems to dwell on) but they sound as home here as any Current 93 regular. Grey’s detached vocals on “As Real As Rainbows” are a world away from her usual performances (researching for reviews can be a very tough job) and she provides a sober and melancholy ending for such a vivid and energetic album.
Aside from some of the electronics and effects dotted throughout Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain and the knowledge that it is just out this week, it would be difficult to place this album in time. It could easily be one of those obscure gems that was on the Nurse With Wound list; in fact it sounds almost like the perfect lost treasure from rock’s past. “26 April 2007” has a desert rock vibe but instead of the The Eagles and images of the great plains of America, the music instead conjures up visions of dusty vistas in northern Africa with wanderers trying to find their way back to Eden.
James Joyce once said: "It took me ten years to write Ulysses, and it should take you ten years to read it." While I am not going so far to say (yet) that this album is of the same magnitude as Ulysses the principle holds true here as Tibet and his colleagues have put two years of hard work into making this album the monument it is. Steven Stapleton and Andrew Liles have worked their wizardry in post-production to create the layers of sound that form the base of Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain, the level of detail buried in the mix is astounding. With each listen there are further revelations, a warped David Tibet as backing vocalist here and a loop of noise there. I imagine that it will be some time before I have exhausted all of the album's secrets.
With an album as epic as this, it is virtually impossible to sum it up succinctly. It is awesome in that from the opening moments to the dying seconds, I am taken aback by the intensity and conviction. As a listener, Aleph at Hallucinatory Mountain drains and exhausts; that Tibet can pull so much emotion from his soul and still function is nothing short of astonishing.
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Ringing for the Begin Again begins like any other Constellation album, delicate and mournful strings on “The Bringer” by the label’s resident violinist Jessica Moss and gently hammered xylophone combine to make a beautiful and moving introduction to the album. McKenzie’s vocals sound like a lived-in version of Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart, lilting in the rhythm of Moss’s bowing. His lyrics on this piece and elsewhere on Ringing for the Begin Again have a poetic quality that fits like a glove with the dreamy music. “The Living Light” is easily one of the best songs of the year; the driving rhythm combined with McKenzie’s almost religious singing makes a huge impression with each play through the album.
An entire album like this would be epic but Elfin Saddle have other, equally wonderful things to offer. Honda is the second vocalist in the group and sings exclusively in Japanese. Her songs have a very different tone to them compared to those sung by McKenzie, the music taking on a different beat to match the delivery of her carefully placed syllables. “Sakura” and “The Procession” have a delicate music box quality (although the presence of tuba on the latter track certainly beefs it up), Honda’s voice haunting the melodies. Honda’s crowning achievement however comes with “The Ocean” which complements the tone of “The Bringer” and bookends the album nicely.
It is hard to get these songs out of my head after listening to Ringing for the Begin Again, even the songs in Japanese stick in my brain for hours. Elfin Saddle combine incredibly infectious songwriting with a real passion that sets them apart from other quirky indie acts. Being based in Canada and with the huge list of instruments used on the album (guitar, ukulele, saw, drums, accordion, banjo, xylophone, tuba, violin, etc.) they could easily mistaken as a Broken Social Scene “everything including the kitchen sink” kind of band but they have a simplicity and humanity to them that the likes of Broken Social Scene lack.
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Some of the pieces are intentional details of singular sonic elements: both the opening "nchr.01" and "nchr.03" focus exclusively on singular stringed instrument sounds, left to repeat for lengthy periods with only the most minute changes in dynamics and layering. The changes and variations are there, but are extremely subtle, with more electronically effected sounds serving more as accompaniment to the organic sounds rather than being the dominant focus.
This is a pretty stark contrast to tracks like "pvn.," which opens with subtle ambient tones and cricket-like loops, while plucked string notes are there and clearly defined, the focus becomes much more on the processed sonic elements, via spacey pitch bent tones and more low frequency percussive thuds. The final minutes of the track pile on the effects and noises to a level of pure chaos. This dynamic carries over into “l. fll.” which, though opening with a large pastiche of silence, eventually becomes dominated by digital clicks and cuts over plucked string notes. Piano sounds are allowed to appear in their natural state for most of the piece, but the digital elements are much more the focus.
Unfortunately, these tracks are almost too chaotic for their own good, and the shift from subtle repetition to erratic texture shifts is a jarring one. Tracks like the symphonic "nchr.04" are among the most satisfying, balancing the natural with the digital well.
This is a good debut release, and the concept of limiting ones self to a single sound to create an entire piece is a good one, and definitely goes beyond the limitations of a Boss DD-5 delay pedal that Akifumi Nakajima was too reliant on, but the actual structure and composition needs more attention. A greater focus on development and sequencing as opposed to just a quick transition between moods and textures would be a definite asset to future releases.
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The LP side-long title track is an aptly titled excursion into metallic violence. It opens with dirty loops and junk metal rattling that are all pushed up on the low end of the frequency spectrum. The loops remain the focus, giving an awkward yet discernable rhythm with flanged stabs at irregular intervals. At full steam, the best comparison would be being within a large metal drum, filled with rocks and scrap metal, as its tumbling down a steep hill. After a lengthy study of tape hiss, the second half of the track focuses less on the physical sounds and more on tones and feedback. This also is given an ungodly bass boost that pushes it into the traditional overdriven grind of harsh noise, with an extremely subtle bit of metal percussion remaining.
The opening horn blast of "Execution Dock" is definitely jarring, a quick burst of multi-tracked trumpet abuse that quickly drops out into a ragged decaying loop of awkward brass. Personally, I’d have liked a bit more of the mutant-core jazz elements to stick around, but it does drop quickly into a stuttering analog loop. As the loop goes on, more horns enter, though much more quiet and restrained, groaning like a sick sheep. Though the horn loop decays away to allow some maxed out tape hiss and bassy percussive thuds, it never fully goes away, remaining up through the harsh noise mid section and into the final fragments of sound.
The third track, "Medusa," is exclusive to the CD and clocks in almost as long as the prior two tracks combined. At 28 minutes, it is given a lot more room to develop as a piece, starting from a barely audible hiss that slowly gets louder and louder, eventually being met with a bassier undercurrent. Static kicks in and is passed through a variety of filters and overdrives, and the old standby of water sloshing sounds appear as well. The track ends with squeaky squelches of noise and what resembles a leaf blower off in the distance. It isn’t a bad track, but it definitely does feel like a "bonus track" compared to the original Chain Shot material, which is much more varied and dynamic in its nature.
One thing that is definitely noteworthy on this album is simply the rawness and the grimy nature of the sound: everything sounds like it’s being played off cassettes that have been neglected in storage for decades. The original material is definitely what shines here, and it is definitely worthy of receiving this wider release, and while the bonus track is somewhat lacking in comparison, it is sill a bonus, and functions just fine in that capacity.
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- John Kealy
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The wavering recording gives the music an ancient, cavernous sound; the low fidelity giving the impression that this recording has been discovered under a pile of musty detritus in a derelict building. The sound is so mushy that most of the time it is hard to identify what instrument is being played. Due to this lack of definition and the limited range of tones being used, the music ends up blurring into itself and after a while my attention levels cannot help but drop; there is only so much wobbly guitar textures that one person can take.
Had Vest made this a shorter release or had been more adventurous with his sonic palette then The Correct Ritual would have been a far stronger release. The situation is not helped by the bizarre (and intentional) formatting of the cassette; the bulk of the album takes up one side of the tape but the strongest piece, the Throbbing Gristle-esque "Queened King," is split across both sides despite there being loads of room on side B to fit all of the music comfortably with a bit of shuffling. As it stands, The Correct Ritual is a sometimes alluring but ultimately confounding release.
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With more than one musician battling it out in a free improvisation setting, there is a tendency towards complete chaos and oversaturation of the sonic space. It is a testament to the patience and experience of these four players that Good Cop, Bad Cop is such a spacious and controlled listening experience. Control is not something that is usually praised in such music but all great improvisation is as much about restraint as it is about letting go. Across the five tracks that make up this album (each named after British police shows or phrases related to TV detectives), the moments where all four musicians are playing simultaneously are rare (only on the last and some of the first piece do they play as a foursome). Instead, they tend to pair up and spar with each other before swapping with another player.
On “The Bill,” Paul Hession’s drumming takes the centre stage as Otomo Yoshihide’s electric guitar squall flows like waves against his delicate clattering. It sounds dangerous, the hum of guitar feedback threatening to unleash all manner of violence against the listener like the proverbial bad cop standing silent in the corner of the interview room. It is this mix of almost friendly improv versus the menace of barely contained power makes this album work so well. The title track sees Bailey take on Tony Bevan’s saxophone and while it is a relatively timid performance by Bailey, Bevan is superb here. He sounds like he is blowing his entire life through the instrument’s reeds while Bailey is doing his best to keep things bolted down.
Taken together, the five pieces on Good Cop, Bad Cop add up to a tremendous album. The chopping and changing of the line up throughout makes for an hour of unexpected textures and clashes of styles; overall it is a fun approach taken by the four players and it is a surprisingly easy listen compared to how difficult free music can be. Not that it is usually a problem for me but this is one of those few improv albums you could sneak on during a party and would not get turned off after 30 seconds. I will be trying just that at a series of barbeques this year.
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Why Blackshaw named his album after a Herman Hesse novel is anyone's guess. Strong religious and romantic allusions aside, Blackshaw's music is simply and strikingly hypnotic. Its mantra-like quality is perhaps the only qualification required to share a name with Hesse's meditation on the intellectual and mystical. But, this hypnotic color is something every Blackshaw record has featured; his love for the likes of Terry Riley and Erik Satie is not hard to discern and his guitar-playing style lends itself to adjectives like "rolling" and "kaleidoscopic." He has flirted with American folk music and toed the line between classical and modern guitar performances. At a young age he has explored more musical territory than many bands do over the course of an entire career. What differentiates this album from his previous efforts is the quality of the voices added to the arrangements. Accompanying him throughout are Joolie Wood, John Contreras, and Lavinia Blackwall. Flutes, clarinets, violins, pianos, and a stellar vocal performance all support and deepen Blackshaw's already sophisticated and intense approach to composition and performance. It's as if this is the band he has always wanted with him. Together with their talents, Blackshaw sounds more spectral and colorful than ever.
"Cross," the opening song, immediately communicates that Blackshaw and company are out to impress. With all pistons firing, Blackshaw paints a dramatic, but meditative melodic picture with his guitar. His strings are seemingly caught in a never-ending upward movement, each note intent on elevating the song to a higher and more introspective level. In the background, violins and cellos radiate a steady current of calm hums and ghostly utterances. Then, with just a brief pause, the band begins to weave their disparate melodic and harmonic patterns together, further enrichening the song's lively character. Each member bends their instrument, wringing from it more emotion than was present the moment before. This pattern continues until Lavinia Blackwall adds her voice to the mix. Wordlessly, she accentuates the song's beauty with eruptions of melody and effortless soul. Her voice seems to steam off of the music, occuring as a natural result of all the activity already churning beneath it. It's a stunning way to start a record and, after hearing it for the first time, I was uncertain that anything could live up to it. Smartly, Blackshaw goes into deep meditation with both "Bled" and "Fix." His nimble fingers create a ton of sound in both cases, but both songs are less showy than "Cross" and both find Blackshaw focusing on simple and direct arrangements. The latter is a brief and lovely piano-based song fleshed out by understated and cinematic string accompaniments. "Key" bridges the gap between all the previous songs and the concluding "Arc," which is as epic as anything Blackshaw has attempted before. It's moderate pace and gentle dynamics pave the way for the epic conclusion that follows.
"Arc" begins as though it were meant to be played at a funeral. Although the tones pulled from the piano are largely major and bright, they eminate an evocative quietude that only remembrance and yearning can accompany. After a short time Blackshaw's piano erupts into glissandi, as though an epiphany hit him in mid-song. As the piano fluctuates between high and low notes, the song and all of its parts develop a crystalline texture. Each of the instruments begin to blend into one another. "Arc" eventually becomes a mass of glowing sound with different elements peaking their heads above the cascade of music that's been created. The song completely destroys all sense of time and place. Instruments bleed into one another and become disassociated from their source. Whenever a particular sound rises above the others, whether its being made by a voice, an instrument, or a combination thereof can be difficult to determine. Played at loud volumes, it's an absolutely transfixing and ecstatic piece of music capable of procuring an emotional response from the listener. After I heard it for the first time, I found myself with my jaw agape and my breath left short. Something very magical happened when these musicians came together. I can only hope it won't be the last time we see Blackshaw collaborating in such a fashion. It's hard not to talk in a superlative manner about this record; it is majestic and deserving of more accolades and praise than I can possibly write.
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- Matthew Spencer
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As part of the spilt series by the Baltimore label Wildfire Wildfire, this single gives two exciting examples of fluid electronic songcraft. By different means, both groups evoke feelings of retro-futuristic goodwill by combining digital composition with analogue musicianship.
 
For a band, nothing can be more fruitful, or more dangerous, than attempting reinvention with every release. While constant change can be a sign that a group lacks basic aesthetic principals, there are a few that can maintain a distinct personality through every genre they work in. From the drum-less punk of their debut Freckle Wars to the shimmering guitar-scapes of last year's Way, Ecstatic Sunshine has become one of those groups. Now playing solo under that moniker, group founder Matthew Papich has used the recent shakedown to concentrate on guitar and electronics in equal measure. Even when his instrument is heavily processed, Papich's guitar tone has a bright, crystalline clarity. On "Easy is Right" he plays a simple, echoing riff that serves as base for obtuse, seemingly random synth tones. The bright, taffy like globs of sound push themselves into the foreground, threatening to but never burying the underlying guitar. The song drifts pleasantly along, undulating in pitch until the each sound element is gradually unraveled.
On the flip-side, "Take Turns" by Lucky Dragons is much more muted and organic. The song begins with a simple melody plucked out on a thumb piano. After a few measures, the notes quickly pile on top of each other, snowballing into pentatonic, gamelan like arrangements. Shakers, mouth trumpet, and muted voices join in the chatter. The song feels like some animistic rain-chant, but it never becomes raucous or loose. Each instrument stays firmly rooted in its pre-programmed position. What’s exceptional is that were it not for the artificial precision of the playing, you would never know the song was constructed electronically.
What unites the two songs is creative use of electronic instrumentation. Rather than letting their working methods determine the aesthetics of their music, the two artists use their tools in unexpected ways. Solo guitar music can be overly sober and technical, but Ecstatic Sunshine makes it bright and relaxed. Lucky Dragons so successfully blend native instruments that the whole process sounds natural. Though this single is a brief entry in each band’s catalogue, it neatly condenses what is appealing in both.
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Green Tape /olFactory /Lost Treasures of the Underworld /Tanzprocesz
Gang Wizard is a band with ever-shifting membership, but they can reliably be depended upon to feature dissonant guitars, abrasive electronics, some guy shouting and ranting, and a drummer. They cannot, however, be depended upon for unimaginative conceits like structure, rhythm, melody, or coherence. In the past, they've been favorably compared to Throbbing Gristle, Dead C, and "the next logical extension of Black Flag" and for good reason: Gang Wizard exhibit a feral and unhinged nihilism that bring some much needed danger and unpredictability to the experimental music scene. They also show a knack for impressively ambitious album titles (and for managing to get four separate record labels to band together to release an abrasive noise album).
"Whoever Invents" commences the proceedings with dissonant guitar scratching coupled with deep electronic oscillations. A ride cymbal keeps time as squalls of rumbling noise build to an escalating unholy din until the tension finally subsides into an almost calm spoken word interlude. Of course, that calm is ephemeral, as the vocals gradually become more maniacal and cathartic as electronics whir and buzz around them. Eventually, form and nuance is disposed of entirely and the track culminates in a spastic freak-out.
"Bad Teacher" begins with electronic bleeps and blurts, seemingly random guitar squonks, and some vocal caterwauling. It all seems very arbitrary, but the free-form drumming and thick low-end oscillations give it a visceral inertia that ultimately coheres into a groove of sorts. As with he first track, there is eventually an oasis of calm amidst the ugly maelstrom: the guitars drop out and leave only queasy organ and some rambling incoherent vocals. Gradually, a gathering storm of electronic squiggles and pulses forms around the meandering wreckage while the low-end rumbles rise and plunge. The atmosphere becomes increasingly disquieting before fading out in a surprisingly intentional-sounding and dignified fashion.
The second side of the album consists solely of one amazing lengthy piece ("Why Pharaoh Hanged the Baker") which begins with a great deal of throbbing, rumbling, chittering, and squelching. That doesn't change much for a while, but it certainly becomes more intense and could reasonably be described as "power electronics". A stomping kick drum eventually blunders into the sound blizzard, as do some distant distorted vocals. Eventually, the chaos ebbs into a surprisingly restrained and otherworldly interlude before the drummer gets a bit more ambitious and some odd mantric vocals spur a renewed swell in intensity. By the time it ultimately fades out with some gurgling white noise and a two-note drone, it seems as though the band knows exactly what it is doing.
This release is vanishing quickly, although Deathbomb Arc (run by band member Brian Miller) seems to be a consistent repository for the endless and multifarious Gang Wizard oeuvre. Regardless, you can rest assured that there are scores of other ones out there of varying quality and half-assedness (Thurston Moore put one out on Ecstatic Peace, while another one was recorded in the bathroom of a club). However, it seems unlikely that a mere recording can hope to approximate what Gang Wizard must be like live: they sound far more like a fire or an earthquake than a band.
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