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Take equal parts scummy sludge rock, power electronics, and free jazz and mix them together, and you'll get a loud obnoxious mess. Which is exactly what this album is, and there couldn't be a better compliment for it.
The first few seconds of "Town Hag" (previously available on a split 7") set the mood for the remainder of this disc: distorted screams, oodles of feedback and electronics, and a caveman percussion section that sounds like the earliest, most dissonant Swans tracks taken to the most extreme end, while still retaining a vestige of "music" somewhere in the chaos. The pummeling beat never relents, the disembodied shrieks continue and the feedback only becomes more shrill and painful throughout its (thankfully) short duration.
The two "long" tracks are no less messy and slimy, but also never wear out their welcome or slide into the abyss of boredom. "Skinned and Glued" meshes more blatant live tribalesque drums (think early Killing Joke) with the screams and feedback, but also some horns as well. This configuration, with the horn skronking clearly in the front of the mix, draws it more along the lines of the most dissonant free jazz ever, the unholy love-child of a three way involving Peter Brotzmann, Ornette Coleman, and the Incapacitants. "Faceless Nameless" also features Mark Van Fleet's horns as well, but in a more restrained fashion. Sputtering tape fragments and a dead slow, pounding percussion that makes even the likes of Khanate seem almost like Slayer, actually make for a track that feels musical in structure at least, if not the approach.
"Sights Not Long Gone," the remaining track on this disc, is another scream fest, the shrieks and yells completely unintelligible, yet are the main focal point of the mix. There's also a bizarre synth loop here and there, and a drum track that resembles a sniper firing at the listener from some unidentifiable dark corner in the distance. Considering these tracks are all based on live recordings, the attention to structure and detail amid the chaos is amazing.
Entrance is definitely not easy listening or subtle in any way. It is grating, it is harsh, and it is angry and violent. And those reasons are why it succeeds on so many levels.
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New Jersey's renaissance man of all things heavy has released his second solo album in as many years that explicitly shows his diverse array of skills at their finest, both in the shaping of complete chaos and the obsessive study of minutiae.
The two sprawling tracks that comprise Indirmek> are named after drugs that accurately reflect the sound created. "Afyon," or "opium" is pure subbass drift. A rumbling, rhythmic undercurrent of processed guitar propels the piece through gravity-less space. Sometimes sounding like a digital didgeridoo, Plotkin's guitar becomes the sound of time and space stretched to pure infinity. The shaking from the low end of the mix is a definite attention-getter, but the subtle, nuanced shifts in tonality and structure keep the attention, almost forcing the listener to listen carefully just to hear what will happen next. At times the guitar work drifts into the higher registers, yet the crystalline shards of guitar are always coupled with the low end rumble that is characteristic of the track. Much like the titular drug, it is slow, disorienting, and forces one to focus on every little bit that happens.
"Amfetamin" is in stark contrast: stuttering feedback loops, phased tones, and hyperspeed edits are the polar opposite of the previous track. The spastic vomited sounds stay locked in a rhythmic groove that may not be danceable, but do indicate some underlying sense of structure or method to the madness. Percussive sounds enter the mix like the death rattles of a legion of plague victims over digitized bass elements, and loops like locust swarms fade in and out of the mix. There is an extremely unworldly element to the track, with processed tones sounding like SOS beacons from somewhere out in the infinite darkness.
While some may know his work best from his more metal projects like Khanate and O.L.D., Indirmek shows that more experimental side of James Plotkin's work that is no less compelling than his more heavy handed musical endeavors, and this makes for one of the best "experimental" works this writer has heard all year.
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This slab of vinyl is perfectly on point in referencing metal twice in its title. Heather Leigh Murray's pedal steel, the cornerstone of Taurpis Tula's sound and energy drenches both of this album's sides in metallic offal. From rust to the molten spread of wet metal to the hiss of megalithic spear-tip in water, this is amongst their heaviest (and best recorded) work yet.
The majestically titled "Judas the Lion" begins with the sound of running Daydream Nation through a shredder with the needle still on the grooves, and builds from there. The charges of notes from Murray and David Keenan's guitar surge like great girders of steel growing from the earth, their roots buckling the forest floor around them. There are moments of cloud nine when the music feels like it'll invert in on itself, with things slow down enough to hear the dream machine grind of the guitar and Murray ghostly strum. Alex Neilson's percussion plays it solid and steady while still managing to avoid an actual static tempo. The spine buckling and snapping like a crash test meat and bone bodybag going through windscreen after windscreen. Taking a triple fingered pinch of doom metal's aesthetic in with their psych side worship, this side alone feels like it is lighting up pyres across the mountain tops.
"This Narrow Way" is a wilder, windier tale and the spikier of the two sides. The song's audio trails flashing across the line of visions and staying there, the musical layers riding each other in quick-speed rot. The harmonica played here should have offered softer textures, instead its brass reeds acid scratched with psychedelic line drawings. This is the best record this year for getting vanished to.
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Eight years after his debut, one of this label's first releases, this producer returns with a sophomore set of moderately appetizing tunes that thankfully haven't been left out to spoil in the summer sun.
Despite being my first encounter with the bizarrely named DJ Mayonnaise, one-third of the So Called Artists, I engaged Still Alive with somewhat elevated expectations after a busy afternoon sampling other experimental instrumental hip-hop albums. Shifting gears away from tasty snippets by J Dilla and Dr. Who Dat?, I settled into Chris Greer's latest eagerly anticipating ideal weekend music for my lazy day indoors with the curtains drawn. In retrospect, I probably should have avoided such a presupposition.
Opener "Post Reformat," replete with perfunctory scratches, only casually drew me in, though "Easily Distracted" quickly changed that with its cut up loops and strident tones. Greer tinkers with his sounds just enough to stave off the looming threat of monotony. While "Munjoy Moments" cauterizes AFX-esque melody and dissonance to his fastidiously organic rhythm, jazzy horns produce an artificially calm atmosphere against the distant trashcan clang of "Dawson's Anthem 2005." "Quiet On The Set" emulates a beleaguered session drummer immersed in a narcotic haze, like chopped and screwed hip-hop for the two-drink-minimum lounge set. Similarly, a somber church organ is prudently appropriated for "The End Is The Beginning," a far-too-brief slice of squirmy deconstructed gospel.
Still Alive is consistently satisfying but yet never goes above and beyond, much to my dismay. "Strateegery," the sole deviation from the plotted path, features Mush recording artist K-The-I???, spouting the typical ostentatious free verse we have all pretty much come to expect from indie label emcees. Although the politically charged content makes it worth repeat listens to absorb all the references, it is not enough to save this plebian album from the category of musical boilerplate. Sure, Still Alive gets the job done, but after so many beatmakers have trod this already well-blazed trail, and with so many others breaking new ground, it is hard to get too excited over yet another garden-variety downtempo traveler.
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The band's second EP was recorded live in the studio in one take and left as is: no overdubs and no polishing of the sound. Aside from a couple of stumbles, the performances are remarkably good and those few mistakes (for want of a better word) sound natural. The end result is a recording of what sounds like a real band playing real music. The backing vocals are sometimes a bit off key or out of time but this just adds to the charm of Allusions of Grandeur. Their country-ish rock brings to mind Will Oldham's many different pseudonyms but they are not quite so much old man of the mountains as they are young men of the valleys. Songs like "Birth" and "Could I Even" are vibrant works, elegant and straightforward songwriting with enough bite to set Elsworth Cambs apart from the usual singer-songwriter clique of Dublin.
Packaged neatly in what seems to be a piece of a cereal box with wallpaper glued on to it, this release feels almost like a present that needs unwrapping and upon playing, it sounds like a gift to the ears.
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Recorded over different nights of the Final Academy exhibition, this album features Gysin reading early cut-ups from the time of his early collaborations with William S. Burroughs. Musicians several decades younger than he add a spontaneous excitement to his animated recital, lending this document a vitality that far exceeds its historic value.
Joining him are Tessa from The Slits, Steve Noble of Rip, Rig, and Panic, as well as Gile/Jail of Penguin Café Orchestra, and Ramuntcho Matta, who also provided the music for Gysin's poetry on One Night @ the 1001. The music here was created during the event's sound checks and works much better than I had anticipated. The style of music ranges from sparse abstraction to tribal rhythms to frenetic rock. Although Gysin was generations removed from these musicians, little awkwardness exists between he and the group. Instead Gysin jumps right in and infuses his words with emphatic rhythms to fully integrate them with the music. His health wasn't so good during these readings, but the only obvious effect it had is on "Cut-Ups 1960 (Bardo Hotel)," when he complains that all the "fire and brimstone" in the air has given him an attack of asthma and subsequently forces him to shorten a few words.
He reads mainly from Minutes to Go, Terry Wilson's book of interviews with Gysin, Here to Go, and what was to become his final book, The Last Museum. His choice of readings serves as an excellent introduction for those unfamiliar with his work, and the addition of talented musicians adds a significant element for those who already do know it. "Minutes to Go #1" and "Cut-Ups (1959)" explain the ins and outs of the cut-up method he created and subsequently shared with Burroughs, how words from any source can be excised from their context and reshuffled in permutations to reveal hidden truth. Although it is true that Tristan Tzara had already done something similar by pulling random words out of a hat, Gysin's method had compelling mystical intentions rather than Tzara's Dada nonsense. The only questionable inclusion here is "Ad Lib" because the recording quality is at odds with the rest of the disc. Sounding as if it were recorded in a bucket, Gysin is nearly inaudible and the band's live mix is poor.
Yet just about everything else on this recording is fantastic. Gysin is an enthusiastic entertainer, and his energetic performances here, combined with a strong supporting cast, go a long way toward illustrating why he has been such an influential figure throughout the years.
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Waldteufel returns to conjure primeval forces deep within forests shrouded in darkness. Using hypnotic tribal percussion, cosmic drones, and unearthly chants, they have created an album of dense Germanic pagan hymns that is both transcendent and mystifying.
The vocals on this album are all in German and are usually read or chanted. The lyrics come from texts by two mystic poets from fin de siecle Munich, Alfred Schuler and Stefan George, as well as from the ancient Indian Vedas, sometimes even within the same song. While Schuler's work mostly concerns the divine light of the universe, that of George is frequently preoccupied with power struggles and the ego. Supported by the Vedas, the collision of these two different obsessions erupts in powerful and frequently harrowing music.
Primal forces are unleashed with the invocation "Telesma," which embeds a folk accordion in subtle washes of drones and electronic pulses to combine with the recitation of Schuler's text in evocation of what is translated as "a vibrating complex of light." According to Schuler, it is the substance of the universe itself. The difference between the poets is noticeable immediately when anthemic metal guitar passages roar into life to accompany George's paradoxical and egotistical words on the album's title track. Even as the two poets frequently ran in the same circles, here the band cleverly entwines their ideas by adding to the song the chant "Sanguis," or blood, which Schuler believed was the source of creativity.
In addition to the lyrics, percussion is also a significant part of this album. Propulsive and insistent rhythms command the listener's attention at every step. Combined with the layered chanting of esoteric poetry, there is a palpable ritualistic quality to this music. A militaristic undercurrent also creeps into some of the songs. Occasionally, a march might add a counter rhythm, but the most obvious example is the bugle calls and martial barking of "Kupferwut" or "Copper Rage." The lyrics come from Schuler and deal with the idea of bringing forth joy through sacrifice and rebirth.
This theme of contrasting yet interwoven opposites, of the darkness enclosing the light, is the pulsing heart of the album. On Sanguis, Waldteufel reduces life to its most primordial element, and the result is a uniquely spellbinding and otherworldly experience.
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The third album from Michael Moya's wonderful group picks up where the last one left off. The nine hymnal songs here are sung from the soul, each one heavy with emotional weight. Moya and company manage to merge melancholy with hope and joy. The end result is an evocative and captivating journey.
Moya's ghostly mastery of the guitar here is as beautiful as ever. The tremulous notes howl in a melancholy dirge, his playing cutting through the music like a razor. The warbling, singing-saw guitar that has made previous Hrsta and the early Godspeed releases so evocative is still present. On "Entre la Mer et l'Eau Douce" it almost brings a tear to my eyes, Moya's guitar is hauntingly beautiful. However, his guitar does not play a hugely prominent role on Ghosts Will Come and Kiss Our Eyes. Much time and space is instead given to Hammond organ and harmonium. These instruments backed with soft and sympathetic percussion give rise to a lush sound to the album. "Hechicero del Bosque" exemplifies this rich sound, the band filling up the song but not allowing it to become cluttered.
The album finishes on an unlikely cover: The Bee Gees' "Holiday." What could have very easily been a mawkish interpretation of a housewife's fave is instead quite a beautiful, if slightly sinister, rendition. Moya's voice is comfortable within the confines of the music and the song sounds like it belongs to Hrsta more than the Bee Gees. Indeed, "The Orchard," from earlier in the album has a very similar vibe to "Holiday," both sounding like they were cut from the same cloth.
I would be hard pressed to pick a favourite out of the three Hrsta releases but Ghosts Will Come and Kiss Our Eyes definitely stands proud with the other two. It continues the trend of gorgeous sleeves; the bold but delicate colors of the flower on the cover reflect the organic, lovely music on the CD. Hrsta may be often lumped in under the "just another Godspeed spin off" umbrella but that does an injustice to their music. This album shows that although some musical elements are shared, Hrsta are a very different animal deserving their own respect and identity.
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A couple of years ago, when Justin Broadrick decided to sing instead of shout and focus more on atmospheres instead of riffing, Godflesh became Jesu and an entirely new genre ("shoegaze metal" perhaps) was born. The Angelic Process have been quick to put their mark on the genre, and this disc is a good effort that is unfortunately hindered by spotty production.
The duo of K. Angylus (guitar, vocals, drums and electronics) and M. Dragynfly (bass, vocals and electronics) follow along in the Jesu style of thick, slow atmospheres (probably just as inspired by The Cure's Faith as Broadrick himself) though their approach emphasizes the electronics and synths more than just the guitars. The vocals are consistent with the rest of the style: mostly singing and occasionally shouted but always so deep in the mix to be nearly unintelligible. From what can be discerned, the vocals by Dragynfly occasionally resemble a slightly more histrionic Susan Steinger, which is not a bad thing.
Opening track "The Promise of Snakes," clocking in at nearly 10 minutes, is one of the highlights of the album: opening with dark atmospheric synth and a metronomic drum machine rhythm, the track soon blasts open with thick vocals and guitar riffing before picking up the tempo to a nearly metal pace. Though long, the track shifts in tempos and dynamics enough to never become stagnant. "The Resonance of Goodbye" begins similarly, but the distortion is at such a level that it almost resembles a noise band more than anyone playing guitar. That is, until the vaguely prog-rock guitar solo makes an appearance.
"We All Die Laughing" is one of the few tracks that focuses a bit less on the ambience and a little more on the riffs: heavily monolith ones that, if it were not for the muddy distortion wouldn't be out of place on an early Swans record. "Dying in A-Minor" is instead more focused on the electronic elements of The Angelic Process' sound, but digital clipping unfortunately hampers the more gentle passages.
Which brings me to my biggest gripe about this album: the production. There are a lot of interesting moments on the disc but most of them are hampered by a mix that is based on heavy, mid-range distortion that unfortunately blurs everything else. Nothing is distinct and this distortion is pretty much identical from track to track, leaving, superficially at least, very little variation. Close listening shows that there is a lot of diversity from one song to another, but on the surface it all sounds the same. Plus, there is too much reverb. (This is coming from someone who subscribes to the Lee Perry/Martin Hannett "mo' reverb is mo' better" school of thought.) Perhaps it was an attempt to sound "kvlt" like so many black metal bands, but in actuality it makes what could have been a great album just a good one.
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Fresh after a couple of collaborations with noise god Merzbow, this disc shows Henrik Nordvargr Bjorkk (no relation) balancing the words of electronic drone and harsh noise across two long tracks.
Bjorkk, also the mastermind of "black industrial" band Mz.412, is no stranger to working in the darker reaches of the electronic realm. In Oceans Abandoned By Life I Drown... To Live Again As A Servant Of Darkness, therefore, doesn't reflect any stylistic shifts or drastic departures in his approach, but it does opt not to use the stereotypical "evil" imagery associated with some of his other projects. Instead, the disc sits in a lovely Stephen O'Malley designed, Seldon Hunt photographed fold out sleeve that compliments the sound very nicely.
"In Oceans Abandoned By Life I Drown…" begins with almost pure silence before horrid, processed screams cut in, with a queasy, bassy gurgle, shrill sine waves, and almost psychedelic, distorted synth lines. This harsh noise backing stays in place for awhile, never relenting, but also never becoming stagnant, before it all drops off for a passage of stark, black ambience. Of course things won't stay peaceful, and the noise pummeling begins anew, this time resembling previous collaborator Masami Akita's personal blend of junk fuzz screech, but even through the cacophony there is a sense of control and direction, as if Bjorkk is conducting a noise orchestra.
Diametrically opposite of the previous track's opening, "…To Live Again As A Servant of Darkness" opens with the sweet sound of processed feedback and a subtle hint of percussion off in the distance, like some distant spacecraft looming ominously. As before, the noise eventually gives way to a bleak, desolate passage of minimal electronics and mood before coming back with scraping metal, crunchy electronic distortion, and a subtle rhythmic pulse, a combination that will sound intimately familiar to fans of the golden age of Japanese noise. However, the track slows down and mixes in a very bizarre bass synth line before ending on some distant rhythm loops.
In Oceans Abandoned… does not do anything innovative or surprising, but its quality and diversity in sound more than make up for it. As a whole the disc has an almost familiar feel, like one of those discs that has been played many, many times before that just never gets old or boring.
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- In Oceans Abandoned By Life I Drown
- To Live Again As A Servant of Darkness (Excerpt 1)
- To Live Again As A Servant of Darkness (Excerpt 2)
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- Matthew Amundsen
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