26 November 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

I have not encountered Dan Colussi's work before this album, but the Turin-born artist is a bit of a lifer, as he has been steadily releasing music and touring for the last 20 years with various Canadian bands "of varying degrees of obscurity." His solo project, Fortunato Durutti Marinetti, first surfaced back in 2020 with the acclaimed Desire cassette. This latest release is his second for Soft Abuse (and his first for Quindi) and it is something of a bold creative leap forward, as returning collaborator/producer Sandro Perri has steered the project into a more synthpop direction with the addition of synths, drum machines, and other electronic touches.

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26 November 2023

Creaig Dunton

Albums and Singles

An artist who always has something in progress or forthcoming, Mark Solotroff's has been most prolific under his own name as of late. Different from the frenetic, yet organized chaos of BLOODYMINDED, the doomy bombast of Anatomy of Habit, or the murky improvisations of The Fortieth Day (and those are only a few examples), his solo material in recent years has been more introspective and meditative, at times drifting into almost ambient territories. Following 2020's You May Be Holding Back and 2021's Not Everybody Make It, Today the Infinite, Tomorrow Zero continues his focus on using analog synths alone with a four track, but creating a depth and variance of sound that belies its rather Spartan origins. Compared to these recent albums though (and the Return to Oneself compilation of digital singles), the depth is even greater and further realized, and the sound has expanded to one that is almost musical, without ignoring any of the intensity expected from Solotroff.

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29 October 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

This latest full-length from NY-based composer/multi-instrumentalist Lea Bertucci features two longform Just Intonation commissions composed for small ensembles. Given that, it is no surprise that Of Shadow and Substance is a unique album within her discography, but the added participants and the non-standard tuning were not the only new elements, as Bertucci embraced a "textural approach to composition" as well.

Cibachrome Editions

The results are quite unique and compelling, as Bertucci and her collaborators nimbly avoided any missteps or predictable decisions to produce a shapeshifting and emotionally intense drone album like no other. In fact, even Bertucci herself was a bit surprised with how Of Shadow and Substance turned out, as she notes that these two pieces feel informed by a "sense of deep, ancestral knowing" beyond herself as an individual, which seems like a valid and insightful claim, given that she shared the driver's seat with both ancient mathematical relationships and textural affinities and was also inherently prevented from falling back on any familiar scales or melodies. Ladies and gentlemen, Lea Bertucci has just crossed over into The Twilight Zone (or at least into releasing a killer album that borrows its title from that show's introduction).

The opening "Vapours" was commissioned and performed by Italy's Quartetto Maurice and was partially inspired by the dual meaning of the title (the elusive/precarious physical state and the "pseudo-scientific term to diagnose types of hysteria in women"). The musicians were instructed to visualize both meanings during their semi-improvisations and Bertucci's hand is additionally felt through her control of "the sonic space" through "subtle processing and spatial mixing." More importantly, it is one hell of a piece, as it gradually transforms from sensuously seething and simmering drones and whines into a visceral and heaving crescendo. Both halves are fascinating and beautifully executed and I especially enjoyed the spiraling intensity near the end, which calls to mind a swirling supernatural flock of birds. Moreover, there is plenty to appreciate in the details as well, as the various instruments enigmatically and organically "blur and coalesce into one entity, drifting from consonance to discordance in harmonic clusters." Few things reliably delight me more than incredibly sophisticated compositions that feel like spontaneous living entities that just miraculously sprang into being.

The following title piece for double bass, cello, harp, percussion and electronics was commissioned by the Philadelphia-based ARS Nova Workshop. The presence of percussion is the most immediately obvious difference between the two pieces, but the first half of "Of Shadow and Substance" is also quite a bit more groaning and convulsive than its predecessor. Given that prickly nature, it took me a little longer to warm to it, but it certainly features some sublime passages of its own. Bertucci's inspiration for the piece was "the accumulation of events over glacial periods of time as a metaphor for social and environmental shifts," which she evoked by mixing "loops and layers fragments of the performance in real-time, resulting in a diffuse, swirling, self-referential mass of experience." While it may sound a bit academic on paper, the reality is quite churning and physical, as the ensemble unleashes an inventive miasma of shudders, whines, moans, and squeals en route to an unexpectedly haunting final act that feels like viscous waves lapping at the shore of charred ruins (a fine way to end an album, I'd say). Of the two pieces, I still consider "Vapours" to be the album's clear centerpiece, yet Bertucci is in especially inspired form for the entirety of this album and Of Shadow and Substance may very well be one of her strongest releases to date.

Listen here.

29 October 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

This six-song album borrows its title from a beloved Croatian hotel damningly slated for modernization, which is a fitting inspiration for an album that "celebrates and mourns the tragedy and beauty of the ephemeral." Obviously, that is an especially resonant theme these days, given the endlessly accelerating pace of change and the relentless erosion of the comforting and familiar. Lattimore has always been unusually well-attuned to such feelings, but Goodbye, Hotel Arkada is also inspired by her passions for collaboration and travel, both of which "shake loose strands of inspiration."

Ghostly International

In keeping with those themes, this album features a number of intriguing collaborators (Slowdive's Rachel Goswell, The Cure's Lol Tolhurst, etc.), as well as a number of pieces inspired by warm memories of specific places and times from her travels, tours, and childhood. In fact, this is now the second Lattimore release that alludes to the island of Hvar (the first being 2020's landmark Silver Ladders). Naturally, the end result of all those reawakened memories and inspired collaborations is yet another gorgeous Mary Lattimore album, but it took a few listens before I fully appreciated this one's magic, as Goodbye, Hotel Arkada often feels deceptively simple on its surface. In reality, however, these are some of Lattimore's most focused and beautifully crafted pieces to date (they just take a little bit longer than usual to reveal their full depths).

My initial impression of this album was that it was a bit too conventionally pretty and straightforward to rank among Lattimore's strongest work, which I now attribute to the fact that the immersive, psychedelic touches of her "effects pedal" era have been toned down a bit. I am thankfully much wiser and more perceptive now, but I never would have gotten to that place if I had not been absolutely mesmerized by "Horses, Glossy on the Hill." That piece is an instant stone-cold classic right from the first notes, as Lattimore beautifully weaves together a bittersweet descending melody with a wooden clacking rhythm and lush Disintegration-esque synth chords. It initially has the feel of a delicate, dancing music box melody, but the deeper magic lies in the details, as Lattimore crafts a swoon-inducing dreamscape through quivering vibrato, tender melodies, lovely harmonies, subtle effects, and rippling chord sweeps. In fact, Lattimore does not miss a single trick, as even the clacking sounds have a wonderfully long and reverberant decay and the final stretch feels akin to being lovingly serenaded by an ensemble of harp-wielding celestial cherubs. Had "Horses, Glossy on the Hill" been the opener, the rest of Hotel Arkada would have had a damn-near impossible act to follow, but Lattimore wisely positioned it as a late-album climax instead. That allows the more modest and intimate remaining pieces a chance to blossom outside its long shadow, which is the sort of thoughtful sequencing that I have grown to expect and appreciate from Lattimore.

The album's other big highlight is "Arrivederci," which Lattimore ironically started writing after the heartbreak of being fired from a project for not playing the harp parts well enough (a wound that was later healed further by the arrival of Lol Tolhurst's contributions on New Year's Eve). It too has welcome hints of Disintegration-era Cure, but the deeper beauty again lies in the details, as the swaying rhythm, bleary psych touches, chiming melodies, and shimmering organ undercurrent provide a wonderful distraction as Lattimore sneakily assembles the pieces for a gorgeously intricate crescendo of interwoven melodies.
The pleasures of the remaining pieces are admittedly a bit more modest, but that does not make them any less charming or lovely–it just means that their inspirations were a bit more quiet and intimate than, say, a herd of horses or a painful rejection (for example, "Music For Applying Shimmering Eye Shadow" is exactly what it claims to be). Viewed in that light, Goodbye, Hotel Arkada is an understated masterpiece that weaves together a lifetime of sense impressions, fond memories, and lasting friendships and the album's pleasures only deepen upon learning the stories behind each piece. As Lattimore herself puts it, the fate of Hotel Arkady awakened her to the elements "that make a place special" and she set out to memorialize those places and people that had left their mark on her own life (to "bottle" their essence, if you will). For example, "And Then He Wrapped His Wings Around Me" is a reference to the time Lattimore and her mom got to meet Big Bird after winning a childhood drawing contest, while "Yesterday's Parties" evokes memories of late nights with friends in Brussels and "Eye Shadow" is partially inspired by learning that space allegedly smells like "walnuts and brake pads."

In short, Lattimore distilled all of life's rich pageant into a wonderful album, then threw Muppets and outer space onto the heap as well, which is a move that definitely would never have occurred to a lesser artist. Given that, I have no hesitation about declaring Hotel Arkada to be a remarkable piece of art, as Lattimore has managed to soulfully channel all the sadness, yearning, joy, and wonder of being alive into a movingly beautiful and bittersweet celebration of the things that matter (even if some of them only exist in memory).

Listen here.

08 October 2023

Creaig Dunton

Albums and Singles

Out of print soon after its initial release in 1995 and on vinyl for the first time, the second collaboration between Justin Broadrick (Godflesh) and Kevin Martin (The Bug) has always been considered a high point in their lengthy collaborative discography. A sprawling two-and-a-half-hour masterwork of heavy beats and rich ambience, it is just as captivating today as it was nearly 30 years ago. Reissued and repackaged with care from all involved, it is a masterpiece that is deserving of the attention it is receiving.

Relapse

Any time some sort of social media prompt of "favorite albums of all time" or the like pops up, Re-Entry is one of the first titles that comes to mind for me. I still have vivid memories of purchasing the original CD set. It was a bit after its release, so roughly late 1995 or maybe early 1996, when I managed to get a special order (one of the few options in a pre-Internet ordering world) from Blockbuster Music in Brandon, Florida as an import. I had become a fan of Godflesh the year before, around the Merciless EP, and started tracking down some of Broadrick's numerous side projects, with this one being among the most hyped at the time. To say it was an influential release for me is an understatement: It fundamentally changed the way I perceived music, and electronic music specifically.

Originally separated into two distinct sub-albums, the beat-oriented Dream Machinery and the stripped back ambience of Heavy Lids, the sound was nothing at all like the duo put forth on their debut as TA via the 1991 heavier industrial Ghosts album that was more reminiscent of Godflesh at their most deconstructed. The opening moments of the "Flight of the Hermaphrodite" are permanently etched in my brain: a locust swarm of Jon Hassell's trumpet dissipating into vinyl sourced beats and a looped emergency siren immediately kicking in. It was well established that the record was heavily influenced by late 1980s/early 1990s hip-hop production, and that is immediately apparent. That looped siren and densely layered instrumentation is a clear nod to the work of Public Enemy's Bomb Squad production team, and the gritty sound treatments is certainly in line with some of the early RZA productions for Wu Tang Clan and the first round of solo albums that he produced.

The songs on Re-Entry are all lengthy, with none coming in at less than seven minutes, but the evolution and development of these is nothing short of astounding. "Narco Agent vs. the Medicine Man," featuring Kingsuk Biswas of Bedouin Ascent, opens with a wind tunnel of reversed sounds, strange chirps, and the eventual appearance of some sharp drum programming. Eventually a memorable synth sequence comes in and stays throughout, but the sound is slowly transitioned one from focusing on heavy drums into lush, melodic loops and complex electronic passages. This is even more pronounced on "Demodex Invasion": turntable treated drum loops and weird electronic noises are the initial focus, filtered through an array of dub treatments. Eventually Tom Prentice's viola comes in and adds a dramatic, beautiful lushness to metallic rhythms. After reaching a majestic peak of melody, the piece disintegrates into a vast expanse of pulsating synth and electronic detritus. The beats on the first half of Re-Entry are certainly the focus, but Broadrick and Martin do so much more beneath them. The entire gamut of electronic music is captured here via burbling 303 acid synths, dub echoes, concrete sound treatments, and even some new age spaciousness.

Admittedly, in my 28-ish years of owning this album, I always favored disc one over the ambient second half. TA's connection to that short lived attempted genre of Isolationism is most obvious here, but with so much more than just heavily reverbed and slowed samples. "Evil Spirits/Angel Dust" opens with a chiming bell, soon met with bassy synths and ghostly, dark melodic layers. There may not be heavy rhythms here, but the complexity and depth is no different than the first half. "Cape Canaveral" is similarly lush: A slow moving ghostly drift punctuated by clanging electronics and what may be a bit of guitar here and there, as well as guest bassist Damian Bennett's contributions.

The second half is not entirely without the beats, however. "Catatonia" leads with skittering cymbals and droning bass, but the more conventional drum loop that shows up is more cautiously filtered and placed lower in the mix to make the ambience and melody the more obvious focus. "Needle Park" once again features Jon Hassell's prominent trumpet throughout, albeit in a less forceful sense. Underscored by a slow drum machine clicking away, frequent Broadrick/Martin collaborator Dave Cochrane adds bass guitar, resulting in a slow throb that buoys the song throughout its duration.

Besides simply getting this material back in print, there is much to be said for Relapse's presentation. With the vinyl version packaged in a hardback book-like sleeve adorned with new art via Simon Fowler, it exudes refinement and care. As a purist, I am always a bit put off when reissues change album art and packaging, but in this case it was understandable. Kevin Martin's early Photoshop filter forays may have a visual parallel with the sound production strategies the duo employed, but it also clearly dates the album as a mid 1990s release. Fowler's monochromatic, yet beautifully dense art manages to capture the feel of the album in a different visual manner. Broadrick's remastering job for vinyl is also exemplary, adding additional clarity and separation to an already deep and nuanced album. Beyond the packaging, there was one minor change to the track list in order to accommodate the vinyl track list, moving the original closer "Resuscitator" to the earlier part of Heavy Lids, but that does little to impact the flow of the record.

Having actually been present for the original release of this album, it is one of the few cases where I feel I was exposed to such a pivotal development in music. This era for Techno Animal would be short lived, however. Besides the more concise Babylon Seeker EP from the following year, the duo soon drifted into less nuanced, more abrasive and distorted beats via a series of 12" singles, adding hip-hop MCs on Brotherhood of the Bomb, and then dissolving the project later rebranded as Zonal. The post-Re-Entry material is excellent in its own right, but this was always the standout for me. Even with both Broadrick and Martin producing a multitude of brilliant works in the near three decades since this albums release, it still stands as a zenith amongst all of their work, collaborative or otherwise.

Listen here.

08 October 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

This is not my first exposure to Nathan Nelson's freewheeling Twin-Cities improv collective, but it may as well have been, as the droning kosmische psychedelia of last year's Embrace You Millions provided no hint at all of the dramatic stylistic reinvention looming on the horizon. To my ears, the band's entertaining new direction is best described as "James Chance fronts the B-52s," but the album's description goes even further and promises both "a spiritually-charged journey" and "a shit-kicking party record." The fact that Presents emphatically delivers on the latter claim is quite an impressive feat indeed, as the number of shit-kicking party records successfully recorded by shapeshifting collectives of synth and space rock enthusiasts tends to historically be quite low. To their everlasting credit, American Cream Band buck that trend quite decisively, as Nelson seems literally evangelical in his desire to make a fun and raucous party album and he assembled one hell of a killer band to bring that dream to life.

Quindi

The "building blocks" for Presents were originally recorded back in December 2021, as Nelson brought ten musicians to Cannon Falls' Pachyderm studio to "live together," "eat together," and "lay down some drum-heavy sessions." That studio choice was presumably quite deliberate, as Nelson seems like a guy who is intuitively attuned to seeking and setting the right vibe and Pachyderm birthed quite a few iconic albums in its first heyday (The Wedding Present's Seamonsters and PJ Harvey's Rid of Me being two prime examples) and became a post-foreclosure labor of love for the late engineer John Kuker in more recent years.

Amusingly, I half-expected to see a classic album from The Cramps in Pachyderm's history, as my second glib description of Presents would be something akin to "what if The Electric Mayhem were possessed by Lux Interior's ghost?" If that sounds like mere hyperbole, I present "Dr. Doctor" as my supporting evidence, as Nelson confidently proclaims that he is a witch doctor over a driving groove enlivened by skwonking sax and, of course, call-and-response vocals from a spirited group of "witches." Nelson follows that bold choice by doubling down even harder on kitschy fun, as the creative revelation at the heart of "Banana" seems to be that the word "banana" makes a very catchy hook if you tack on an extra "na" and throw in some very enthusiastic backing vocalists.

The band's streak of spiritual indebtedness to classic "Monster Mash"-style novelty records sadly winds to a close with "Royal Tears," but at least it ends with quite an exclamation point, as Nelson tosses off an entertaining parade of lines like "do you accept wet cash?" while Cole Pulice unleashes a honking and squealing sax frenzy (though the catchy refrain of "splish, splish, splash" still ultimately steals the show). Unexpectedly, "Royal Tears" is followed by a second top-tier highlight in a very different vein, as Nelson sets down his mic for a remarkably credible stab at a Feli Kuti-style afrobeat groove ("Birds Don't Try") that is further enhanced by a smoking sax solo and some spacy synth touches.

Curiously, a few of the remaining three pieces also harken back to the softer, trippier incarnations of the band, but the heart of the album is truly the four-song run that culminates in the one-two punch of "Royal Tears" and "Birds Don't Try." Notably, listening to this album pointedly reminds me of a show that I recently attended in which one band played their fucking hearts out, but were nevertheless blown off the stage by the effortless charisma and casual cool of another band on the bill.

Some people simply channel everything wonderful about rock music and some people do not (for example, a note-perfect rendition of Exile on Main Street performed by me would be absolute shit). For Presents at least, Nelson and his constellation of talented collaborators clearly have whatever "it" is, as they hit the mark with impressive regularity while organically embodying everything that is good and cool about raw, decadent, and spontaneous rock music.

Listen here.

08 October 2023

Creaig Dunton

Albums and Singles

As evident from many of my reviews at the time, I was (and remain) a big fan of the noise to EBM pipeline of genre overlap that was popular a few years back. Representing my two most momentous musical preferences during high school, hearing the two alongside each other was a perfect paring. Choke Chain, the solo project of Milwaukee's Mark Trueman is keeping this tradition alive, with a new album that leans more towards the rhythmic, rather than harsh end of this spectrum. Synth heavy, yet with aggressive vocals and production, it makes for an appropriate, fully realized album.

Phage Tapes

Mortality is the first full length from Trueman's project, following a handful of EPs and stray songs. Fittingly, it is the most definitive refinement of his approach to date. The components are consistent from what came before: pummeling drum machines; grimy/aggressive FM bass synths; and simultaneously angry/pained screaming vocals. The aforementioned noise influence is more notable on the unconventional production and the aggressive vocals that could almost be lifted from a power electronics record. The overall feel/aesthetic leans more in to the black and white austerity of the noise world, as opposed to the more cliché goth industrial world.

One of the most notable developments compared to previous works is Trueman's growth as a composer and songwriter. The earlier tapes used a similar sonic palette as here, and I can't help but love the bass sound he uses most consistently: a metallic digital clang that is somewhere between an early Front Line Assembly record and late '80s-early '90s arcade video games. But here he has developed beyond that. Something like "Burial" has that same intensity as his earlier tapes, but more nuanced mixing and effects, as well as a cautious use of melody bring it beyond just a bunch of great sounds into a catchy, memorable song. "Darkness" ups the lush synth pads a bit higher in the mix, and the higher pitched synth sequences and perfect snare sound coagulate perfectly. For "Despair (Misery Mix)," he adds in some synth patterns right out of John Carpenter & Alan Howath's legendary Halloween 3 soundtrack, and even a tasteful use of handclaps to further flesh out the rapidfire bass and distorted drum programming. Closer "Mortality" also shines in resplendent darkness via excellent production and sound design, as well as a overall more unique song structure.

Without focusing on too much nostalgia, the Choke Chain sound is one that exhibits features of my favorite period in the EBM/Industrial continuum: complex layering aided by the rigidity of MIDI sequencing, digital effects that warp the sound in unexpected ways, and tasteful, non-plagiaristic uses of sampling. That late 1980s through early 1990s approach was where I first jumped into the genre, so anything that feels like a throwback to that era is going to resonate effortlessly with me. With those rudimentary components, and Trueman's distinctive vocals and production, Mortality is one of those albums that just hits all of the right buttons with me and is a favorite of 2023 thus far.

Listen here.

08 October 2023

Creaig Dunton

Albums and Singles

Austin's Rick Reed has been an active composer and performer of electronic music for over 30 years, but The Symmetry of Telemetry represents his first release since 2018. Using synthesizers, organs, vocoders, and found radio noises, Reed's compositional approach of developing smaller, disparate segments that are then later strung together in a collage is perfect for this material, juxtaposing different sounds and moods across the album's three lengthy compositions in a way that is dynamic, yet still coherent and cohesive as a whole.

Sedimental / Elevator Bath

The 20-plus minute "Dysania" is immediately a work of weird, wet electronics. Coded transmissions beep and bleep through what sounds like synth bass and stuttering machinery. At times the more modular qualities of the synthesizers pierce through constantly evolving idiosyncratic bursts. Reed eventually steers the work into old school sci-fi soundtrack territories, but just as quickly introduced luxurious, glossy tones. The dynamic nature of the piece is what makes it most captivating, as Reed jumps from different sounds, moods, and dynamics effortlessly, while still retaining the cohesion of a composed work. Symphonic loops, humming machinery, and crunchy wobbles all appear at some point, making for an almost disorienting pace and development.

The second side opens with "Space Age Radio Love Song." Initially a menacing vastness, Reed shifts it into active, sputtering electronics. Glassy pings and open, echoing spaces alternate. Bathed in delay, the emphasis is largely on textural noises and buzzes of an indistinct nature. He also focuses a bit more on the use of found radio transmissions, as well as static between stations, ending with odd, but distinctly human voices in various states of process and distortion. The shorter "Leave a Light on for Tony" is instantly heavy, rumbling low bass before organ loops become the focus. Amidst the static crunch and sparse mix, Reed makes a bit more concession to conventional musicality, with a slightly prog quality throughout.

One of the most striking aspects of The Symmetry of Telemetry is Reed's constant metamorphosis of his audio sculptures. His approach of weaving multiple shorter excursions together into singular long-form compositions can be a precarious one, as collage can often shift into chaos, but that is never the case here. Instead, there is a clear sense of order and structure, but one in which sounds never overstay their welcome. Instead, it just makes it even more engaging on subsequent listens, since different elements were more pronounced each time I heard it.

Listen here.

01 October 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

It has somehow been seven years since this long-running Vienna trio last surfaced with 2016's stellar On Dark Silent Off, but they seem to have spent that time diligently dreaming up innovative new ways to be amazing. In a general sense, Radian's vision is not a far cry from the austere, jazz-adjacent post-rock of their celebrated labelmates Tortoise. The magic of Radian, however, lies in the band's singular attention to detail and their quixotic compulsion to continually turn sounds upside-down in imaginative feats of dynamic sorcery. The overall effect is akin to that of dub techno being made by an incredibly tight live band, but the live aspect is quite illusory, as Distorted Rooms presumably sounds almost nothing like what the band originally recorded (in fact, the band themself note that one piece "eliminates nearly all traces of the original performance"). While many of the sounds do remain present in one form or another, Radian revels in celebrating and amplifying the barely audible and non-musical bits while also eliminating or burying the louder, more traditional "rock" tropes like chords and melodies. Obviously, The Dead C have made a fine career out of similarly deconstructing and inverting rock music, but Radian are the gleaming, precision-engineered opposite of Dead C's own shambling, spontaneous, and blown-out vision.

Thrill Jockey

The opening "Cold Suns" was also the album's first single, but it is unclear if it was chosen because the band believed it to be one of the most perfect distillations of their vision or if they merely thought it was one of the album's more immediately gratifying pieces. I suspect the reason may be the latter, as the album's second single "Skyskryp12" features a similar level of comparatively heightened drama. For the most part, however, "Cold Suns" offers a fairly representative first impression of Radian's current direction: gently stuttering loops, killer drumming, and a remarkably minimalist palette of guitar sounds. Unlike many other songs on the album, however, it eventually coheres into a brooding and tense chord progression, which lands the piece in somewhere near the post-punk revivalism of Moin (at least until the bottom drops out for a lengthy outro of distorted vocals, smoldering distortion, whimpering synth quivers, and broken, skeletal drums). "Skyskryp12" has a roughly similar aesthetic, but with one key difference: after it collapses upon itself, it kicks back into gear and builds towards a darkly cinematic crescendo. While both pieces are admittedly enjoyable and satisfying, however, the album's strongest pieces tend to be the ones with a bit of a lighter touch.

My personal favorite is "Stak," which also happens to be the piece in which Radian obliterated their original performance almost entirely. In place of that erased performance, Radian conjures a wonderfully seething groove of quietly thumping kick drum, skittering cymbals, insistent bass throb, and a host of subtle guitar and amp noises. To my ears, it sounds like a refreshingly novel strain of dub techno in which the omnipresent warm, hazy synth pads are jettisoned entirely for a lean, muscular and industrial-damaged groove enhanced with a host of subtly echoing and psychotropic creaks and gurgles. Unfortunately, I am not sure anyone else could replicate this particular strain of dub, as Martin Brandlmayr's virtuosic "quiet storm" drumming feels like an absolutely essential ingredient. The other big highlight is "C At The Gates," which opens in a deceptively entropic state, but gradually coheres into a pleasantly broken and jazz-inflected groove of heavy industrial textures, sludgy seismic bass, and strangled feedback.

The following "Cicada" keeps that post-punk party going a little bit longer, albeit in somewhat more stomping and driving fashion, as it calls to mind an ingeniously remixed performance of someone like Ike Yard on an especially good night. The album then closes with a bit of a departure from that winning formula in "S at the Gates," but it makes for a fitting coda, as Radian stretches and breaks their groove into a fractured, sputtering, and dissolving state of suspended animation. That one purposeful exception aside, Distorted Rooms is one killer, exactingly realized hit after another, so it looks like I will remain a devoted Radian fan for the foreseeable future. By any metric, this is an excellent album, as the trio are masters at manipulating dynamic tension, ruthlessly carving away every trace of fat in search of taut perfection, and inventively transforming familiar instruments in unexpected ways. In fact, serious fans of sound design and studio technique may very well consider this album to be a masterpiece of sorts, as this is one of the most fascinating examples in recent memory of how radically a performance by an ostensible rock band can be transformed into something sleek and futuristic through creative mic placement and unconventional mixing decisions.

Listen here.

17 September 2023

Anthony D'Amico

Albums and Singles

As someone who has loved Cécile Schott's work since 2003's Everyone Alive Wants Answers, I have long been fascinated by the various twists and turns that her vision has undergone over the years. While there have certainly been stretches in which she has lingered upon a vision for more than one album, Schott's creative restlessness invariably steers her into adventurous and unfamiliar territory eventually. As a result, Colleen's small discography is divided into an impressive number of distinct phases (the sample-driven collage era, the viola da gamba years, the synthesizer years, etc.). In a general sense, this latest full-length (her ninth) is a continuation her recent synthesizer phase, but it is also a significant break from her previous work in that vein: Le jour et la nuit du réel is seven-suite double album of minimalist vignettes exploring how a motif can be significantly transformed through the manipulation of synthesizer settings alone. Given the fundamental constraints of that vision, the album admittedly feels a bit less substantial than several of Colleen's previous releases, but connoisseurs of nuance and elegant simplicity will find much to love.

Thrill Jockey

The album's title translates as "The day and the night of reality," which is a nod to both the album's structure and its primary inspiration. The "reality" bit is a reference to how "subtle or radical" changes to synth settings can completely transform how the same melodic phrase is perceived by the listener, which Schott likens to how new information can transform our feelings about a person or situation (i.e. our perception of reality). In keeping with that theme of transformation, the album is divided into "day" and "night" LPs and the first LP concludes with a suite entitled ""Be without being seen," which is intended to function as a "twilight transition zone." According to Schott, the "day" pieces feature "more friction, tension, and abrasive timbres" in order to channel the "invigoration of daylight," while the "night" pieces feature "slower, more melancholy textures and longer trails of delay." Being a longtime fan of both melancholy and trails of delay, I personally prefer the album's second half, but both sides of the album share a hell of a lot more common ground than they do differences: every single piece on the album is essentially a simple melody unspooling over a shifting bed of arpeggios. Schott's gear was similarly stripped down, as the entire album was recorded analog-style with just a Moog Grandmother synth and two delays (Roland RE-201 Space Echo and "her trusted Moogerfooger Analog Delay") and "no additional digital production." Interestingly, this album is the first entirely instrumental album that Schott has recorded in well over a decade, but it began its life as an "an album of songs with lyrics in the style of her previous album," so Schott's muse definitely led her quite far from where she originally intended to go (and I suspect this new vision must have been considerably more challenging to realize than what she originally had planned).

For me, the centerpiece of the album is the five-part "Les parenthèses enchantées" suite, which Schott named for a French idiom that means "a beautiful moment destined to end soon." The suite is certainly beautiful and ephemeral enough to justify its title, but its duration (around 20 minutes) actually makes it the longest suite on the album by a significant margin. Lurking within those 20 minutes are both of the album's most sublime highlights. In the first, "Movement I," Schott delves into decidedly Satie-esque territory, as an understated melody quietly unfolds over a simple arpeggio pattern with appropriately wistful results (and the occasional trilling and fluttering flourishes leave behind a lovely vapor trail of hazy delay). Unsurprisingly, "Movement III" shares a similar mood, but features considerably more flickering and stuttering in its central melody, which gives it an unusually spontaneous, vibrant, and unpredictable feel.

Naturally, the other six suites have their own character and beautiful moments as well (the two-part "The long wait" being another favorite), but Schott's larger achievement lies in how masterfully she manipulates her synth and delay settings to seamlessly move between moods ranging from dreamy calliope to glassy murmurs of feedback to something resembling laptop-ravaged banjo (as well as quite a few other places that elude easy description). I was briefly tempted to observe that the album's other caveat besides Schott's aggressively minimal "nothing but a synth and some delay played in real-time" vision is that several pieces are far too brief to leave a deep impression, but I ultimately decided that she intuitively knew when to end each piece before it started to overstay its welcome. Also, it does not matter if there are six or seven 1-minute pieces if the album itself adds up to a substantial and dynamically satisfying whole (which it does). Consequently, the only real caveat here is that Schott achieved something both wonderful and highly specific, so how much one loves this album is entirely dependent on how much one appreciates her craft and virtuosic attention to detail: other Colleen albums may have more memorable or more moving songs, but no Colleen album can boast stronger performances or a more focused vision. It remains to be seen whether or not Le jour et la nuit du réel will someday become one of my own favorite Colleen releases, but I do feel confident in stating that is a gorgeously realized work of art, as I can think of very few other artists who could weave a few simple melodies, patterns, and arpeggios into a unique and quietly mesmerizing tour de force of perfect, uncluttered elegance like this one.

Listen here.