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For their fourth release, these black metallers from Israel have produced an album of no worth whatsoever. The music is unimaginative and some of the lyrics are downright ridiculous; two huge problems that are not redeemed by even a shred of any sort of passion. This sounds like music made by people who understand how the genre should sound but do not actually like it.
The music is technically good black metal, the drumming is relentless and the guitars are a metallic dirge, but there is something lacking. There is no (hell)fire to the performance, it is more like black metal by numbers. This is not helped by Larenuf's vocals which are devoid of any menace or power. He sounds bored, when he roars it is a limp, dead croak which is normally something to be proud of in a band like Tangorodrim but here it just highlights how run of the mill this album is.
It does not help that the lyrics are cheesy and poor even by black metal standards, at least with a powerful performance a substandard lyric can be transmutated into something more. However, there is not much that can be done with the lyrics to the album's title track: "I am standing in a naked forest/And worship the clean ones!/They smell nice, I have to take a shower." Now I don't know if they are taking the piss but even if they are this is a poor attempt at any sort of humour.
By the end of the album (granted it is short), Justus Ex Fide Vivit has proven itself to be generic and bland, not words that would normally be associated with this genre. There are some excellent bands out there that are playing around with the black metal formula to make some riveting music but Tangorodrim is not one of them. I would not mind such an old fashioned approach to this kind of music if it at least had a bit of energy to it but this is a flaccid collection of music if ever I heard one.
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As a way of celebrating a decade of his label Intransitive, as well as the anniversary of his first album, Stone Blind, Boston based tape fetishist Howard Stelzer returns to his roots and dissects that early work to construct something entirely new but remaining true to his love of all things cassette.
Few artists would actually be willing to expound their love of this recordable magnetic medium. Everything about the cassette seemed more about convenience than art: fidelity was far from great, conventional packaging limited the visual impact of the medium, and brand to brand of blank tape could vary greatly in quality and reliability. Stelzer is one artist who takes these technical limitations of the format and uses them as a sonic palette to paint soundscapes that can be somber, soft and reflective, or terrifyingly oppressive torrents of violence.
Separated into two long tracks, much like the alternating sides of a C60 cassette, both pieces open with a slow build from tape hiss. The first track is all hiss and vibration from the tape heads moving, a subtle cluster of sounds that somehow begin to form a musical interlude, or perhaps it is just an artifact of my mind creating something from the chaos until everything is blown apart by a whiteout layer of pure, crunchy noise. The noise builds in both depth and sharpness as field recording elements and a deep hum rears its head and tries to add melody to the proceedings, but can't quite get its act straight. Even those cheap condenser mics built into so many cassette recordings are used to full effect, in this case for low end explosions to supplement the audio of mechanical failures. Then, after the barrage of controlled blasts and demolitions, a more expansive field of ambience begins to unfold, bleeps and tones that begin to roll upon themselves into noisier territory once again. Somehow this mass becomes musical by the end and sounds like a voracious cassette player devouring an entire music catalog.
The tape hiss from hell that opens the second part acts as the yin to the buried, filtered rumble of rotating tape heads yang, creating a deep sinister rumbling from caverns of analog technology long forgotten. Field recording elements are a bit more pronounced on this second track: random found sounds, someone whistling, etc. The harsh elements are just as harsh, and at times the tape elements are so processed that they resemble black metal guitar riffs, which makes perverse sense given that scene's love of "kvlt" lo-fi production. The disc comes to a close the only way it conceivably could: with a slow trail off to tape hiss and the sound of tape deck being turned off.
Stelzer's return to the material that formed his first release is a fascinating document that is so narrowly focused on one specific theme, and yet sounds neither monotone nor forced. In some ways I was reminded of Akifumi Nakajima/Aube's more subtle noise compositions, but with a more diverse amount of sounds making up the proceedings than his work. Bond Inlets is a fascinating disc that has both strong compositional elements as well as a lot of chance, chaotic noise explosions that work extremely well together.
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This single track, 18+ minute improvisation by a veritable super-group of six string abuse and experimentation (including members of Wilco and Sonic Youth), aided and abetted by the No Fun Fest curator and analog electronics wizard, actually has a misleading title. While these guitarists could be expected to create a squall of guitar noise like a bag of wet cats rolling down a hill, it instead shows an admirable level of free jazz type restraint and balance.
While it is balanced and restrained, it is never dull or too subtle. Instead, it has a massive sense of space in which the three guitarists are allowed to experiment and improvise; occasionally with massive amounts of effects, other times stripped down to the purest of guitar tones. Monotract member/solo artist Carlos Giffoni's electronic noise never overwhelms or dominates the space, but instead functions as yet another instrument that provides a good contrast to the generally more lower-end focused guitars.
Unlike would be the case with a similar conglomeration of pretentious 1970s rock guitarists, I for one have no way of clearly identifying the work of any specific artist over another, which makes the improvisation more of a cohesive entity instead of an exercise of whammy bar masturbation. The more quiet, reflective passages of lesser treated guitar work might be more consistent with some of Nels Cline's work with Wilco, while there is more than enough screech and feedback to show Lee Ranaldo's Sonic Youth background. And, I'm not going to lie; I'm not familiar with Alan Licht's stuff, so I won't pretend to be.
Over the duration of the long track, the sounds waivers from warm noise sheets to quieter, guitar driven passages. As aforementioned, there are never extensive harsh noise passages, but there are times in which haunted house style tones mix with carefully controlled feedback and deep, explosive pulses of electronic noise. When the noise is more prominent, it has a greater sense of tactile texture and thickness. It is plenty harsh and distorted, but in a complex, fascinating way. Giffoni even manages to work out a few solos on his electronic gear, sometimes resembling a trumpet, other times a snake charmer's flute.
Free jazz is the greatest parallel I can think of to describe this release, because these artists show that same level of restraint and working of each other's playing as would be expected from the likes of Sun Ra or Ornette Coleman's genre defining album. The liner notes, originally written for Lou Reed's Rock 'n Roll Animal are appropriate for the force presented here but sell short the subtly and complexity of sound that is also present.
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Recorded live in the studio over two nights, this is a double CD of jams by the ever wonderful Bardo Pond and Japan's equally loveable LSD March. The music tilts from sounding like outtakes from Bardo Pond's Selections CD-Rs to LSD March's heady live sound. All the descriptions and superlatives that have been attributed to either band apply just as well to this monster of an album that they have spawned.
The opening track of the first disc, "We are LSD Pond," fades in like the jamming has been going on for some time before we have been allowed to listen in. Based around a solid groove, the piece is like one long solo where everyone solos. It sounds self- indulgent (and sitting in a studio jamming all day is a fine way to indulge yourself) but it is fantastic nonetheless. There is only one way to describe the music and that is that it is white hot.
Amazingly, from such a high octane start the jams get wilder and better as the album progresses. Most of the pieces work so well thanks to the fantastic drumming on every track. Despite there being three people credited with drums and percussion, it never sounds over the top. On "Utuwa No Naka No Mizu," a Kraut inspired drum pattern allows for the rest of the band to go hog wild with some very exciting guitar with wah pedal solos going on.
On the second disc, the line up has been augmented slightly as it is from a second day of recording. The songs with this line up are substantially longer and unlike the instrumental first act, Isobel Sollenberger contributes vocals to the mix. It begins with a radically different "We are LSD Pond." Sollenberger's voice gets masked by the music, it sounds like she has a PA set up at monumental volumes in another building and it is bleeding through the walls over the maelstrom of LSD Pond's freakout. It works well with this and the subsequent tracks but it would have been nice to have some cleaner vocals too.
I cannot finish this review without mentioning the gorgeous presentation of this album. Archive always have attractive packaging for their releases and this is no exception. Designed by Keith Utech, this release has a textured outer sleeve with a design like old fashioned wallpaper contains a small booklet of photos from the sessions and the CDs (encased in simple black sleeves bound with more of the wallpaper-style card). The physical package matches the sounds heard on the disc perfectly.
Overall this is a phenomenal album, both bands have come together to form a glorious whole and a glorious din. This is a stand out album no matter which band's back catalogue you consider. It is one of the first new releases of 2008 and I would be very surprised if I was not still spinning it in December.
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Alex Neilson's extensive liners make it difficult to say anything that doesn't sound like paraphrasing of his perfectly on-point thoughts. Hladowski has a strong vocal that is ferociously fragile: a voice sometimes lost in character; broken but determined to finish her narrative. The accapella "In the Month of January" is no less musical for its simplicity. Instrumentally, it is an understated set of performances from The Family Elan's Chris Hladowski and Isobel Campbell. T
he contribution of the thin smooth flesh of Campbell's cello bleeds all the emotion of the worst moments of warmth over a pair of tracks. The steady tempo and beauty of Chris Hladowski's bouzouki on "Willy O'Winsbury" moves like the leisurely springs on a honeymooner's bed. It is his backing on "Andrew Lambie" that provides Stephanie's weary vocal bones a place to rest, his warm electric/organic hum filling the song. The final moments of this vinyl are the most startling with the end of the record leaving the sensation that something has been stolen from the room (life, air, words, resolution, perhaps a presence?). Even by returning to those last few seconds countless times, it is still unclear what it was.
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The A side of this 7" has an alluring and fractured sensibility. The hypnotic effect is like sitting in a car in the desert, turning the radio dial, and stumbling upon ancient transmissions returning from deep space. Valentine's elusive lyrics ensure that the exact reason why he has chosen to consider the great writer, along with baseball pitcher Nolan Ryan, remains a puzzle. Perhaps it hints at an encounter similar to Dick's VALIS. I only wish the latest scandal to "rock" baseball could be the discovery that Ryan is an android.
The flipside, "We Can't Build You," is a longer piece with a title negating that of a P. K. Dick short story. It is even less decipherable, with a similarly sparse atmosphere, slightly more effusive guitar effects and an occasional bend into a warped doo-wop or rural blues sensibility. The only problem with this strange addition to the ever-expanding body of work inspired by PKD is that it is not a whole album.
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Accessible, improvisational jazz is given new life at the hands of this exceptional quartet. Australian pianist Marc Hannaford leads his group through a variety of musical approaches, drawing a lively dialogue out of each of them that entertains with ease. This quartet reaches deep into their imaginative bag of tricks and pull out one stunning performance after another.
Extreme
In some ways it seems all too easy to release an album of improvised music. With the advent of cheap recording it is possible for almost anyone to assemble a bunch of half-assed recordings produced over the course of a few extended jams and call it an album. Woe to the thoughtless noise-maker indeed, for his kind is populating the internet with increasing regularity. I expected so much from Marc Hannaford. I must admit a certain amount of cynicism when it comes to modern jazz recordings; all too often they favor technique over content and, as is the case with other genres that claim improvisation as a cornerstone of their craft, fail to provide much to appreciate beyond the technique itself. Hannaford, Scott Tinkler, Ken Edie, and Philip Rex know a thing or two about improvisation, however. They exhibit a thoughtfulness in their play that the likes of Albert Ayler and John Coltrane recognized as invaluable to the art form. With an eye on certain compositional principles and methodologies, each member of this quartet contributes their own character and reason to eight superb recordings of controlled chaos.
"Sauna Twins" begins with Hannaford's incongruous and drunken piano playing; he stumbles and careens across his ivory keys in seemingly random jumps, ranting with a persistent vigor that pretends coherence. Philip Rex soon answers his call on bass, entering open spaces in the conversation with light jabs and punchy deliveries. It's not hard to imagine that the two musicians are in conversation with each other, one calling out in a certain chord, the other responding with a quick urgency. The addition of Edie's drums and Tinkler's trumpet suddenly clouds this exchange, but soon each musician falls in with the other, filling in the gaps that one or the other leaves. In no time at all (and without introduction), the massive "G.E.B." is in full swing. The instruments have, in the span of just over four minutes, become characters of their own. Sometimes they compliment each other by falling into near silence together, other times they appear to argue, one yelling in order to claim dominance, the other three huddling together before launching a counter-attack. The beauty of many of these performances is that they feel genuinely organic, like the best written dialogues. For all the random components at play, however, there is a unifying theme at work in the background, a theme that each of the musicians manage to keep in mind as they parade through their own musical arguments.
Clocking in at over 17 minutes long, one might expect "G.E.B" to become boring or overwrought, but each of its varied movements not only seem necessary, they're downright beautiful. Tinkler's trumpet performance, especially in the last five minutes or so, is nearly epic in all its 64th-note glory. Rex's percussive force is immense, his hands creating a virtual parade of power throughout the entire piece. It might be argued that "G.E.B." lays too many cards on the table too early; both "Pure Evil" and "All Booze" seem small in its shadow, but both are appealing and set the rest of the record up quite well. The initial and deceptive calm of "I'll Go Down..." (Hannaford's solo piano performance) is all the more powerful because of the way it contrasts with "All Booze" and "Pure Evil" features some pseudo-funky bass and drum explosions that'd make Squarepusher more than just a little jealous. There is a lot going on throughout The Garden of Forking Paths. It is equally diverse, random, tight, well-conceived, and welcoming. I'm as impressed with the music as I am with the technique that spawned it.
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Rolan Vega's ambiguous debut on Community Library suffers from its unfocused genesis. In part a tribute to movie and television soundtracks, Documentary is an intriguing compilation of Vega's synthesizer compositions but not an entirely successful album.
Community Library
Released last year, Documentary wobbles between being an academic salutation and a directionless compilation of synthetic melody and rhythm. The music itself was composed at different times for different media and purposes; these songs were used variously as live scores, soundtracks for short films, and accompaniments to Vega's own video projects. The result is an uneven collection of songs. No matter how intriguing many of these compositions are, listening through from beginning to end can become a chore. While an emphasis on completion may have demanded the inclusion of many short and unique tracks, their inclusion on Documentary represents the majority of the album's disposable fare. Video may have originally given depth to these tracks, but standing alone they inspire little more than an anxious desire to move to the next song.
Fortunately Vega is an adept composer capable of producing uneasy moments, triumphant crescendos, fecund sound-scapes, danceable rhythms, and unique aural episodes. Given time and patience, Documentary blooms and showcases some undeniable gems.
Both "Viva Myria" and "Playlite" contain an enchanting depth and complexity. The former relies upon synthetic drift to weave its spell while the latter hums to the stuttering of a suffocated percussion section. Neither offers more than a minimal number of musical sources, but both call very strong images to mind with little effort. If it were not for the two intervening shorts, "4 Autiim" would have complimented them both nicely. For five minutes it pulses with electronic waves of sound and metallic snares, engendering a fleet of sci-fi memories as played by whirring robotic musicians. My three favorite pieces on this album call to mind sci-fi movies, actually, all of them dense and distorted with an undeniable element of foreboding included.
The disc closes with "Documentary," a piece sure to call some other soundtrack-obsessed musicians to mind. With the sound of chirping birds in tow, Vega ends his album with a warmth characteristic of the soundtracks composed for nature documentaries and PBS specials. It does not come as an unexpected surprise nor is it wholly un-listenable, but its simply a disappointment. Vega is at his best when he's cutting his own path, not emulating someone else's. Documentary provides enough to enjoy, but lacks both continuity and consistent quality.
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Rare records are funny things; to some people the value of the record is in how many were pressed and the quirks of individual pressings. To others it is the music that counts, to hell with catalogue numbers and whether it has misprinted labels. This is a release to appeal to those in the former category, rare as hen's teeth but nothing to write home about.
A lot of this album sounds like jams without much direction; the music does not have enough energy to warrant a jam for jam's sake. Moments of excitement do occur like the savage bass line of "Burcak Tarlalari" or the organ solo in "Zeytinyagi" (which is strangely faded out just as it gets going). However, much of the music just blends into one amorphous blob. There is no identity to the music, no fire in the performance and considering the 35 years since its first release, there is nothing here that does not sound completely dated.
This is surprising considering that according to the album's sleeve notes Ozkent was a whiz kid when it came to modifying and inventing instruments. Yet despite the talk of guitars with extra frets and his apparent mastery of electronics, Genclik Ile Elele comes across as a soulless version of Can's Ege Bamyasi as covered by the resident band of a tacky Istanbul drinking establishment. It fades into the background just as much as a holiday resort band does, it does not command attention in any meaningful way.
I can understand why B-Music would like to reissue this considering that the breaks are pretty cool but I would rather hear the end results of this being sampled for use in other works. Even then, I am not sure how important a good break beat is any more considering the vast majority of sampled music (read: pop) is incredibly boring and astoundingly lazy. What was cutting edge in the early days of the turntable is a hackneyed standard now but I digress.
Genclik Ile Elele is of curiosity value for those who do not have big enough wallets to buy an original copy or for those afraid of devaluing an investment. Yes it is a rare record but rarity does not equal quality.
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This is the second release from Eamon Sprod's field recordings project and a wonderful collection of sound collages. In spite of a fairly hackneyed premise (the beauty in decay), he has created a number of fragile compositions that wander somewhere between Chris Watson's clear recording style and Francisco Lopez's disorientating approach to presenting sound.
One thing that must be said about Wind Keeps Even Dust Away is that it requires full attention to appreciate. Many of the sounds are very quiet and variations in volume throughout the album mean it is definitely not something to listen to on a portable media player or in the car. With the right listening environment, the detail on offer is mesmerising. The key word here is texture (which is obvious from the macro photography of the album's sleeve) as Sprod explores everything from the fine grain of a strong wind on "Keeps" to the unidentifiable hiss of "Dust" (it sounds like rain but the promotional material insist that any water sounds are a trick of the ear). This is music I want to touch.
Sprod plays with dynamics in a similar fashion to the aforementioned Lopez. On the opening piece there is a constant drone cut short by the shattering of glass. The glass is not significantly louder than the ambience that precedes it but the sounds are different enough for the transition to be jarring. The silence that ensues is quiet indeed. The volume ebbs and flows on all of the pieces in surprising and captivating ways, it is like the soundscapes are there to habituate the listener to a sound before shocking them out of their comfort zone.
The album closes with the superb "Away." Here, Sprod goes wild with all his techniques and saves his most interesting recordings for this piece. It is 13 minutes of disturbing moods and seriously unsettling sounds ranging from a thunderstorm of metallic clangs to something that sounds like a man made from glass cracking his knuckles. This piece is worth the cost of the CD alone.
I have always had a soft spot for field recordings and found sounds but finding artists that can either record sound in a way that captures the essence of the location or can use raw recordings in a creative manner is difficult to say the least. When dealing with sound works like this, it is the little details that make or break an album. Luckily Sprod has a good ear for details and brings the most out of them when assembling his compositions. The care and detail that have gone into Wind Keeps Even Dust Away make it a very satisfying listen.
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Some nine years ago I remember hearing much about this German industrial/power electronics band, mostly about their ultra limited LPs that fetched exorbitant amounts on the then-nascent eBay, so they instantly had cult appeal. Dear reader, remember: this was before the days of widespread file sharing, commonplace CDRs, etc,... So I was unable to actually hear what all the fuss was about until a friend recorded me (to MiniDisc, no less), a copy of the double live LP Remember, which I instantly remember loving. Fast forward a few years and their entire discography is online, and I remember feeling let down once I heard these original albums. They're not bad by any means, but they didn't quite live up to the hype that had been generated. Now, ten years after its original release, Remember is reissued on CD, with 18 minutes of extra material recorded between 1997 and 2000.
Before putting in the first disc, I wasn't sure how I would feel. My initial exposure to this material was as a fresh faced computer science undergrad that used to listen to my MD copy frequently on the way to class, always proud of my overly obscure and esoteric taste in music. Now I'm a bitter, cynical doctoral student who can't be arsed with such things and actually owns that recent Feist album. However, once the opening sample of a militia training camp of "Dogday" began, all was once again good with the world. For those not as familiar, Remember is a variety of live material culled from various shows played by the band between 1989 and 2000, taking into account the additional material that was not on the original double LP set. The newer material is appended to the second disc and fits right in, mostly consisting of non-studio material as well as selections from 1999's The Truth Will Make You Free LP. As aforementioned, I felt that in some ways Genocide Organ were a victim of their own hype, from ultra limited out of print releases and the like. Once they were more easily accessible (the self-titled disc that was issued on their first Japanese tour and the In-Konflikt album are both still available for purchase most places), it was pretty apparent they were not the most amazing industrial band ever, but did have a distinct skill at creating atmospheric tracks that could be either violently noisy or subduded, sinister atmospherics.
Any review of the band would be remiss to at least not recognize the controversial elements of their imagry, which has been consistently pegged as fascist, racist, and so forth. Most signs seem to point to a penchant for irony and showing the ugly side of humanity, and that is the side I would lean towards as well. Regardless of the subject matter, the band's equivalent of "Freebird," "White Power Forces" (here abbreviated as WPF…are we going politically correct, guys?) remains one of the most powerful, punishing noise/industrial hybrids of music since SPK's "Slogun" some 25+ years ago. Even the infamous Klan Kountry single appears here in a live form that seems much more varied and complex than the studio recordings. The band as at their best when they allow in rhythms in my personal opinion: the simple thump of "1…2…Tod" mixed with the atmospheric electronics and looped Apocalypse Now sample remains compelling in its simplicity, and I'm sure some geek could find a way to dance to the fractured drum machine on "John Birch Society."
Genocide Organ need not focus so heavily on the controversial to be compelling though. One of my all time favorite tracks of theirs, "Slap In Your Face" is all subtle, restrained clicking and industrial pulsing over a reading of Moby Dick of all things. The tension that builds to the looped climax is brilliant. The balance between subtly and harshness is apparent on "Harmony," which, even in its sub-bass pulse and yelled vocals, still feels somewhat restrained and controlled, like rage seething beneath the skin.
While referring to Remember as a double live album reeks of 1970s prog rock pretense, it functions much better as almost a career overview, but with the selected tracks almost entirely being stronger, more forceful incarnations than the studio takes. The addition of the more recent material serves to strengthen the disc as a whole and do not feel out of place among the tracks I heard so many years ago. I would definitely rank this among the best classic industrial/noise/power electronics recordings ever, and now it can be had without having to sell blood to buy an overpriced copy of the original vinyl on eBay.
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