- Anthony D'Amico
- Albums and Singles
As Alter's album description insightfully observes, a collaboration between these two Editions Mego alumnae "somehow seemed inevitable," yet I was still pleasantly surprised at how seamlessly Lewis and Void were able to combine their visions into something that feels both new and wonderful. On one level, the success of this union makes perfect sense, as both artists tend to turn out some of their strongest work in collaborative situations (Carter Tutti Void and Lewis's KLMNOPQ EP with Peder Mannerfelt being prime examples of that phenomenon). However, both artists excel in extremely specific realms that have some limitations: Lewis is exceptionally good at collaging non-musical sounds, while Void seems particularly adept at crafting eccentric noise-damaged techno.
Obviously, beat-driven sound collages were a distinct possibility, but so were any number of other options, so I had no clear expectations about where this shared vision would ultimately land. Now that said shared vision has landed, however, I can confidently state that Full-On resembles a deeply unconventional beat tape and quite a good one at that. While I suspect some listeners will initially find the album's kaleidoscopic parade of brief loops and vignettes exasperatingly sketchlike (there are a lot of 1-minute songs), I personally warmed to Full-On almost immediately, as practically every piece that made it onto the album is compelling, inventive, and endearingly idiosyncratic.
According to the label, Full-On is billed as a series of "intense miniatures" built from "the process of unadulterated experimentation and whimsical interplay," which feels like an apt enough description to me. Any further generalizations beyond "this is basically an album of extremely cool loops" are hopeless, however, as it is damn near impossible to nail down a rough stylistic niche, identify who is playing, or even identify which instruments are being played (though it is probably safe to assume that any recognizable guitar sounds emanate from Void).
While the duo do provide a rough list of their sound sources (guitars, synths, euro rack modular systems, voice, sampling and outboard processing), the tools used are nearly irrelevant in the face of the extreme transformation that every sound underwent in the aforementioned whimsical interplay. Ingeniously, Lewis and Void treated the composition of the album as something akin to a game of ping pong, constantly challenging each other to take ideas further while also playfully derailing expected paths with teasing curveballs. That probably is not an ideal strategy for composing a conventionally focused and coherent artistic statement, but it does seem to be an ideal strategy for churning out an impressive number of great ideas and for crafting a fun and surprising departure from expected terrain.
A perfect illustration of the latter is "Junk Funk," which sounds like a detuned and lo-fi would-be homage to House of Pain's "Jump Around" (though Lewis and Void wisely restrain themselves from rapping, thankfully). Elsewhere, "Guitar Hero" sounds like a surf guitarist's sound check chopped into stuttering and (eventually) blown-out abstraction, while "Pop" sounds like a hazy and sensuous cloud rap groove looping dreamily into infinity.
On the other end of the spectrum, the opening "Say Why" feels like an excerpt from a killer noise set in which crackling blown-out bass wreckage collides with distorted fragments of melody and visceral slashes of treble violence. "Green" is yet another fine noise detour, as it eerily transforms a voice loop into a relentlessly churning and crunching industrial throb. There are also several pieces that hypnotically delve into more ambient territory, such as the shimmering backwards melody of "Teeth," the warm drones and echoing scrapes of "Found," or the sublime warmth of "Travel With Friend" and "To Hold" (though the latter's bliss is repeatedly threatened by a murky undercurrent). Additionally, there are some wonderful outliers that do not resemble much else on the album. "Swimming," for example, sounds like it could be a two-second sample of an Arthur Russell cello melody looped and stretched into lazily churning ambient beauty with a slowed-down train rhythm. I was also quite captivated by "Ski," which relentlessly loops a descending Turkish-sounding melody into increasingly jumbled and pitch-shifted mindfuckery, though I think I love the loop more than the piece itself. That brings up an interesting feature of Full-on: I cannot stop wondering what other directions these pieces might have taken or what might have resulted had any of them been expanded into something more substantial.
Naturally, If the album were less uniformly delightful, such thoughts would mostly be of the "ugh-what a missed opportunity" variety, but in this case they are more akin to experiencing a great film that ends with a cliffhanger: I love this album, but I also feel like this creative partnership is a long way from running its course.
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- Anthony D'Amico
- Albums and Singles
This latest album from Barbieri is intended as a sister album to 2019's landmark Ecstatic Computation and has been released to correspond with the imminent reissue of the latter. The central difference between the two albums is that Myuthafoo gradually and organically took shape during Barbieri's extensive touring, as the "nomadic, interactive energy" of those many live dates inspired her to play with experimental variations in her process each night. More specifically, she would program patterns into her sequencer, then feed them into her "arsenal of noise generators" to explore different combinations and the most compelling results were set aside for future expansion and/or eventual release.
In characteristically cerebral fashion, Barbieri's arcane processes have their roots in cosmogony, as she is fascinated with how a small number of limited options can "branch out into a much larger structure, eventually reaching towards an open-ended cosmos of possibility." Admittedly, comparing Myuthafoo to the birth of a universe will probably establish unreasonably high expectations for some listeners, but they can at least console themselves with yet another killer Caterina Barbieri album while they patiently wait for a new and better universe to form.
The opening "Memory Leak" sadly lasts for only a single minute, but it crash lands onto the album in truly impressive fashion, as the undulating swirl of smearing, howling, and tormented sounds almost makes me forget that precision, patterns, and repetition have historically been at the heart of all of Barbieri's work. Hopefully, she will someday explore that more feral and explosive side in more depth, as the rest of Myuthafoo is devoted to somewhat less radical variations upon traditional Barbieri fare. Far more representative is the album's lead single, "Math of You," which can only be described as "classic Barbieri": an intricate web of moving parts centered around tense minor key arpeggios that increasingly become more slippery, tumbling, and streaking. While the term "cyberpunk" always makes me wince, it feels weirdly apt to describe "Math of You" as a cyberpunk twist upon burbling synth-driven kosmische, as Barbieri's vision is similar yet significantly more tense, tight, muscular, and volatile (patterns subtly unravel and break apart throughout the piece). Interestingly, the similarly named "Myuthafoo" seems rooted in a similar melodic pattern, but takes a very different and more melancholy direction, as it is slowed down and dematerialized into tripped-out ghostly beauty.
"Alphabet of Light" opens the album's second half in similarly subdued territory, as it resembles a viscous slow-motion deconstruction of an organ mass in which notes gradually start streaking outwards to leave pulsing vapor trails in their wake. The following "Sufyosowirl" then snaps back into tense, complexly rhythmic patterns for one of the album's strongest pieces. In a general sense, it has all of the usual hallmarks of a classic Barbieri piece, but it also feels like a killer psychedelic upgrade for a whole host of reasons (though mostly because it resembles an intense and hallucinatory synth/marimba duet that culminates in a wild laser light show). The comparatively simple closer "Swirls of You" then ends the album with yet another gem, as it resembles the outro of a cool dreampop song expanded into warm, sensuously dissolving abstraction.
To my ears, there is not a weak piece in the bunch here (six songs, six hits) and some even feel like an significant creative leap forward for an artist who was already in a pretty enviable place to begin with. That said, whether a listener experiences Myuthafoo as a good album or a brilliant one is largely dependent upon how closely one listens, as Barbieri's genius for detail is what sets her apart from just about every other synth visionary on earth (or as the album description more poetically puts it, "phrases flicker like illusions, dissolving and dissipating as they snake and weave" while "rubbery möbius strips…twist romantically"). Caterina Barbieri remains a goddamn magician.
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- Duncan Edwards
- Albums and Singles
Matthew Cooper's newest Eluvium album is apparently inspired by two works of poetic literature by T.S.Eliot and Richard Brautigan. That's easier said than done, of course, and equally unclear is how Cooper has changed his compositional methodology because of a debilitating medical problem with his left shoulder and arm. It is hard to decipher exactly what is meant by, to paraphrase, blending electronic automations with traditional songwriting and using algorithms to extract from several years of notebook scribble. Perhaps this means he has worked in cyborgian harmony with machines, which would fit with the Brautigan reference point of All Watched Over By Machines Of Loving Grace.
I enjoyed the entire album, although did wonder a couple of times if I'd left the Buddha Machine on in the bathroom.
Opener "Escapement" is instantly inspiring and comforting in equal measure. It sounds to me like a cyclist awakened by their alarm clock from a dream of pedaling leisurely down a country lane. Cooper quickens the pace on "Swift Automatons" as if the bike is tipping over the top of a hill for a freewheel downhill. The piece relies on repetition, albeit with a light touch. There is a greater sense of urgency and foreboding to "Vibration Consensus Reality (for Spectral Multiband Resonator)" with overlapping pulses underpinning a cello-like synth melody, and expertly placed, if sparse, keyboard plinks.
Highlights come faster than they would in real life, which is partly why we love music. From the title I expected "Scatterbrains" to be fast, wild and glitchy, rather than lovely, slow, somber, and downright sad. I've no idea what "Phantasia Telephonics" are but the track is so packed with sublime exit folds and reverses echoes of lost dreams that I actually don't care. Cooper uses a section from Eliot's The Wasteland on "The Violet Light". It is unclear why, but it sounds good.
"A current under sea/Picked his bones in whispers/As he rose and fell he passed the stages of his age and youth/Entering the whirlpool."
Cooper provides the knockout punch on the following "Void Manifest," which is a real choral sweet spot with an unabashedly emotional thwack. "Mass Lossless Interbeing" crushes all the feelings which Whirring Marvels has previously engendered into a blender which drips down like how Chinese Water (The Opposite of) Torture might sound. At which point couscous came to mind. I've been eating it a lot lately because it is the perfect light and easy summer food and the weather has turned very warm. Some people find couscous insubstantial. I'm digging it but will grow sick of it if I eat too often.
Matthew Cooper works with members of the American Contemporary Music Ensemble (ACME), Golden Retriever, and the entire Budapest Scoring Orchestra, often via the convenient "good technology" of teleconference during 2020 and 2021.
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- Duncan Edwards
- Albums and Singles
Emahoy Tsege Mariam Gebru passed on early this year, but not before this album was released to celebrate her 99th birthday. It collects pieces originally issued in 1972 as Song of Jerusalem, including the stunning title track and "Quand La Mer Furieuse" in which Gebru sings; a moment which probably should not draw parallels with "Garbo Talks!" (when the speaking voice of that star of silent films first shocked audiences to sleep) but is as startlingly beautiful as you might expect if you have heard her play her compositions for piano at all. These she does in a manner impossible to hear without feeling as if the sun has come out from behind a cloud and is gently warming the side of your face. Reach for adjectives and terms such as liturgical, classical, homemade, and heavenly, but the key word is definitely "transcendent."
No superficial label can stick to Emahoy Gebru—although some have been applied which won't be repeated here. The cornerstone of her music is her study of St Yared, the sixth century religious scholar and composer of thousands of hymns, known for devising an 8-note (and 10-note) notation system of music, capable of three different melodic categories. Yared's persistence is legendary and he is the blueprint for the traditional Ethiopian philosophy of musicians making themselves submissive in order to be open to receive musical inspiration from a higher realm. Yaredian melodies are viewed as literally heavenly, timeless or eternal, and capable of creating ecstatic out-of-body trances. Gebru's music follows this path. Her piano playing is neither icy nor flowery, but rather a calm cosmic spot somewhere between the two: like the quiet and tidy alley between rows of houses in a large town where the protagonist in Murukami's Wind Up Bird Chronicle shelters from the stresses and strains of his life (away from memories, strange phone calls, flashbacks, dreams of being pursued, urban ennui, and the obligatory missing cat.)
The notion of music creating out of body trances comes from a legend in which the Emperor of the Aksumite Empire is listening to Yared present some melodic works and the two of them fell naturally into a trance. In this state, the Emperor accidentally impales Yared's foot with his staff, a fact which they only realize after Yared has finished singing. Probably best not to test that theory but Gebru's music does conjure up a lovely feeling, with sporadic anti-metronomic looseness where the rhythm is elastic and can meander or slide happily out of time, lag behind or speed up; rather like how the great Trinidadian calypso singers of the late 1950s would deliver lines with little concern as to whether or not they could fit a prescribed number or bars
Emahoy Gebru persisted through depression and other obstacles, used her music to raise proceeds for building children's homes, and performed for Haile Selassie. Oh to have been a Coptic gadfly on that wall. The legend of Yared didn't end with his death, but concluded that he was hidden away and is still alive (a common way in Ethiopian culture to make a figure's contribution immortal). Earthly fame or riches held no interest for Gebru and thankfully she has avoided becoming the musical equivalent of sun dried tomatoes for the chattering classes. Others may debate the distance from Saturday barroom to Sunday pew, from bedroom to bible, and in which direction music is traveling at any given moment, but what counts is that this transcendent music fits the broader Yaredian worldview suggesting that music is eternal.
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- Anthony D'Amico
- Albums and Singles
This latest LP from Big Blood is their first for Ba Da Bing and a spiritual successor of sorts to Do You Want to Have a Skeleton Dream?, as the band are back in "full family trio retro-pop extravaganza" mode. For the most part, Quinnissa (who was apparently only 13 when this album was recorded) handles the lead vocals for a series of hooky, bass-driven garage rock nuggets, though there are also a couple of headier Colleen-sung gems for fans of the band's darker, more psychedelic side. Notably, Caleb's frayed yelp is entirely absent from the proceedings, but it probably would have felt out of place among the unabashed throwback pop fare. Moreover, First Aid Kit feels like a full-on Quinnissa showcase, which makes for a rather unique entry in the Big Blood canon, as she is one hell of a belter and also spontaneously improvised all her lyrics during recordings. As Caleb notes in the album description, being in a band with your teenage daughter is admittedly something of a messy and volatile situation ("lots of practices end with her being tossed from the band"), but I can see why they are sticking with this format, as Quinnissa increasingly feels like a pop supernova in its formative stages.
This album's overall feel is something akin to a raucous wedding reception in which members of The Cramps and B-52's join forces for a spirited and spontaneous set of half-remembered '60s bubblegum pop covers. The opening "In My Head" represents that vein in its purest form, as it is built from little more than a meaty bass line, a simple thumping beat, and a subtly surf-damaged guitar tone. The most perfect iteration of that aesthetic comes much later on the album, as "1000 Times" feels like a raw and raucous cover of an imagined classic by someone like The Ronettes. Elsewhere, the dark paranoia of "Never Ending Nightmare" is yet another notable Quinnissa showcase, though its unsettling subject matter is nicely invigorated by a bouncy bassline, quirky percussion, and a killer chorus hook. Quinnissa also handles lead vocals on "Infinite Space," but that piece feels like a comparative anomaly more akin to Big Blood's non-Quinnissa fare. It still feels a bit unusually anthemic and driving for a Big Blood song, but reaching infinitely to space is a more traditional lyrical theme for the band and there are some very cool howling psych touches in the periphery. Admittedly, a lot of Quinnissa's lyrics sound like they were composed by a 13-year-old, but as the album's description insightfully observes, "teenage impulses fit right in with the band's intent, which is making music that's honest, inclusive and flawed." To their everlasting credit, Big Blood seem to be endlessly resourceful in their balancing of flawed spontaneity and thoughtful art, as Mulkerin harvests "the ghostly presence of past takes" as a subtly trippy background layer throughout the album.
To my ears, the strongest pieces on the album are "Ring Telephone Ring" and "Makes Me Wonder." The former is a Barbara Lynn cover transformed into a smoldering, psych-damaged slab of country heartache and beautifully continues Big Blood's near-unbroken run of perfectly chosen and brilliantly executed homages to their favorite songs. It is also a prime example of this album's unusually nuanced approach to psychedelia, as Colleen's sensuous vocals leave a ghostly haze of harmonies in their wake. Similarly weighty is "Makes Me Wonder," which is dedicated to Ma'kihia Bryant, an Ohio 16-year-old murdered by a cop. Given its dark inspiration, it is unsurprisingly a fiery piece, but it is also a wonderfully driving and lushly psychedelic one, as Mulkerin allows himself to go a bit wild on the production side, resulting in a swirling feast of harmonized Siren-esque vocals, field recordings, sound collage elements, and dreamy synths (courtesy of guest Chris Livengood). It almost feels like it could be a stomping, muscular Kate Bush cover that plunges into a gently lysergic rabbit hole, as the gorgeous chorus hypnotically repeats as the piece descends deeper into hazy trippiness. The closing comedown "Weird Road Pt. 1" offers yet another throwback to more traditional Big Blood fare, as it is a Colleen-sung reverie that seems like it is built from little more than harmonium drones and a lazily swooping synth melody (though the buried ghostly vocal layers add a wonderfully hallucinatory touch).
As far as album-length Big Blood statements are concerned, I would personally categorize First Aid Kit as a fun (if uneven) detour rather than a fresh classic, but the album's reception thus far indicates that I am in the minority on that. I suppose it all depends on which side of Big Blood one prefers: the fun, spontaneous and punchy side or out-of-body transcendence of songs like "Destin Rain." For those of us in the latter camp, First Aid Kit will probably never be in heavy rotation as much as some other Big Blood albums, but "Ring Telephone Ring" and "Makes Me Wonder" would certainly earn a place on the imaginary self-curated greatest hits retrospective in my head.
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- Anthony D'Amico
- Albums and Singles
This latest LP from Wolf Eyes is something of a major release for the duo, as they are currently celebrating their 25th year with "their first widely-distributed non-compilation album in six years." Fittingly, Dreams In Splattered Lines is one of the project's most compelling and sophisticated albums to date, which is likely the result of some recent developments that would have seemed absolutely unimaginable when the project first began (collaborating with a Pulitzer Prize winner, a viral video for a fashion company, sharing stages with jazz titans, a residency at The New York Public Library, etc.). The library residency in particular played an especially large role in shaping this album, as the duo built a number of new instruments while they were there and also spent a lot of time absorbing the Surrealism Beyond Borders exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Of course, the truly interesting bit is how inventively Nate Young and John Olson assimilated all their new ideas, as well as the fact that their more high art/avant-garde influences amusingly collide with a newfound fascination with how "hit songs" work. While Wolf Eyes have sporadically dazzled me over the years as a cool noise band, Dreams In Splattered Lines feels like the album where they have arguably become the spiritual heirs to Throbbing Gristle in channeling the best ideas of the 20th century avant-garde into a zeitgeist-capturing mirror of the times (a post-hope world of crumbling institutions and widespread alienation).
The album is billed as "a surreal dreamscape of disorienting sound collages, where hit songs are transformed into terrariums of sonic flora and decimated fauna," which is a considerably more elegant description than my own "a masterfully choreographed ballet of shit." The album itself is not shit, of course, but the sounds themselves are quite a cavalcade of rotten, shambling, broken, strangled, and ugly sounds conjured from inventively misused gear. The opening "Car Wash Two" is an especially illustrative example of the latter, as it "includes a Short Hands track playing on the car radio while waves of white noise and contact microphones are plunging into water buckets." That trick was then coupled with an added "meta" twist: the recording was then "played in a car while going through an actual car wash" before it was ultimately layered and mixed in the studio. Notably, that piece is singled out as an example of the duo's new "hit single" mindset, but that trait is only evident in an oblique way that involves terrariums. More immediately graspable, however, is the fact that almost every song on the album is distilled to a punchy two- or three-minute running time. On the lesser pieces, it can sometimes feel like a song is over before it gets a chance to make a deep impression, but the stronger pieces tend to regularly attain "all killer, no filler" nirvana.
While terms like "horror jazz" and "psycho jazz" have been used to describe Wolf Eyes many times before (presumably because of John Olson's arsenal of self-built wind instruments), this is the first album that I have heard where the duo genuinely seem to evince the virtuosity of a visionary jazz unit. That virtuosity is admittedly not of the rhythmic, melodic, or harmonic variety, but I cannot think of many other artists that can pull off more impressive feats with texture (or who could even figure out how to use the duo's eclectic arsenal of gear). The analogy that springs immediately to mind is that of practical special effects versus sophisticated CGI effects in horror films, as DIY gore can sometimes feel a lot more viscerally disturbing than digitized perfection. The same is true here, as plenty of artists get amazing sounds from expensive gear and powerful software, but Young and Olson regularly churn out wonderfully squelching, gnarled, and sickly sounds that no one else can get with their array of self-built instruments and convoluted chains of electronics. More importantly, they have a deep intuitive understanding of how to wield all those weird sounds, embracing a seething strain of minimalism that leaves plenty of space for each screech, gurgle, and splatter to be felt.
Unsurprisingly, the strongest pieces are those that most feel like songs, which tend to be those where Young delivers some kind of morbid deadpan monologue over a drum machine pattern strafed with sputtering, buzzing electronics and squalls of noise (such as "Exploding Time" and "My Whole Life"). That said, once the album starts to catch fire around the midpoint, just about every single song is noteworthy in some way. My favorite piece is a bit of an aberration, however, as "In Society" sounds like a bunch of Muppets were unknowingly dosed with LSD before covering Aaron Dilloway's "Karaoke With Cal" and chaos ensued. I'm also quite fond of "Days Decay" though, as the thumping drum machine is a bit more muscular than usual and a Middle Eastern-sounding woodwind motif elusively surfaces in the seething undercurrent of machine noise like some kind of post-industrial Debussy homage. Obviously, it is not hard to become numb to Wolf Eyes' vision, given their insanely voluminous discography and passion for messy spontaneity and experimentation, but the fact that their evolution is a bit overdocumented does not make that evolution any less impressive, as there are plenty of genuine flashes of outsider brilliance to be found on Dreams In Splattered Lines.
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- Duncan Edwards
- Albums and Singles
Back in 2017 Jan Jelinek created a 43 minute radio play called Zwischen featuring Alice Schwarzer, John Cage, Hubert Fichte, Marshall McLuhan, Susan Sontag, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Joseph Beuys, Friedericke Mayröcker, Joschka Fischer, Jonathan Meese, Jean Baudrillard, Lady Gaga, Slavoj Zizek, Richard Buckminster Fuller, Marcel Duchamp, Karlheinz Stockhausen, Miranda July, Yoko Ono, Ernst Jandl, Arno Schmidt, Herbert Wehner and Max Ernst.
He took speech from these 22 people and edited together their pauses into sound collages of silence. Each collage was also wired or programmed to control the amplitude and frequency of a modular synthesizer. The resulting electronic sounds were then mixed with the unarticulated words and silence to form twenty-two pieces. A shorter version trimmed to twelve sound constructs was released as an album in 2018.
If that sounds like a bizarre carry on then Jelinek's latest arguably tops it. For Seascape he has rigged up a way to have the speech patterns from Gregory Peck's performance as Captain Ahab in John Huston's 1956 film version of Moby Dick generate music. Ray Bradbury helped with the screenplay, but the movie—which also starred Orson Welles and Richard Baseheart—is chiefly remembered for Peck's portrait of angry deranged obsession.
Seascape is a hilariously cool concept (developed as an audiovisual software with Clive Holden) and the album is way more listenable as music than might be expected. My only gripe is that the first track is one of the least impressive so an impatient listener might ditch the recording right there. My attention was only fully grabbed as soon as the second piece "Ropes Sing in The Air" began, and I stayed with it and thoroughly enjoyed the rest. To be honest, though, I haven't seen Moby Dick recently, so if you told me that Jelínek had generated music using Peck's speeches from To Kill A Mockingbird I would accept that without a murmur. I can see Atticus Finch calmly wiping the racist spittle from his glasses even now.
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- Duncan Edwards
- Albums and Singles
Dorothy Moskovitz was the singer in The United States of America, a short-lived group which made one legendary self-titled album. That was in December 1967 and she later became a member of Country Joe McDonald's band, sang live jazz, composed for children, commercials, theater, and became an elementary school music teacher. Her return on Under an Endless Sky, recorded with Italian electronic composer Francesco Paolo Paladino and writer Luca Ferrari is astonishing, and never more so at the moment around two and a half minutes into the opening title track when we hear Dorothy Moskovitz sing for the first time in a very long time*. If her voice once sounded cooler and more urbane than Catherine Ribeiro's, more innocent and intelligent than Grace Slick's, in 2023 it has a crumbling beauty and defiant timbre usually associated with Robert Wyatt or Nico (who apparently once tried to join TUSoA). Comparisons are entertaining but also odious; Moskovitz is a strange, distinctive treasure, perhaps unique.
The United States of America is indeed a legendary recording, and I realize that term is overused nearly to the point of being meaningless, but the record holds up more than fifty years later. The group had some fairly obvious 1960s politics at their core, but also a serious avant garde intent in their sound. They dispensed with electric guitars in favor of strings, keyboards, and primitive improvised electronics. Electrical engineer Tom Oberheim was commissioned to make a ring modulator and aerospace engineer Richard Durrett built electronic oscillators into a monophonic synthesizer. An octave divider was applied to electric violin, drums wired with contact microphones, and slinkies hung from cymbals for a musique concrète effect. Group leader Donald Byrd—previously a member of the Fluxus movement which included John Cage and La Monte Young—also threw in references to older American music such as ragtime, country blues, and—perhaps in a nod to Charles Ives—marching bands.
Moskovitz studied at Barnard College where she was taught by Otto Luening, the composer of such works as Gargoyles for Violin & Synthesized Sound and Sounds of New Music to demonstrate the potential of synthesizers and the electronic music editing techniques. She had also sung in a group with Art Garfunkel. At that time, ditching the guitar for electric harpsichord, organ, calliope, piano, electric bass, percussion, and the aforementioned primitive synthesizers, was close to sacrilege. Amidst all that—and the unfunny rejection of bourgeois hippie idealism—the beauty and integrity of Moskovitz's singing stood out and still does. She even makes "Love Song for the Dead Ché" sound absolutely great. It is a cracking album. If distorted electronic pseudo-classical discordant psychedelic elegance, albeit legendary, is not your thing, well it should be.
Moskovitz, Paladino, and Ferrari bring serious intent to Under an Endless Sky. Paladino's incredible album Doublings & Silences Vol.I and his work with Pier Luigi Andreoni is definitely worth checking out. Ferrari's choice of subjects for the biographies he has written (Third Ear Band, Tim Buckley, Syd Barrett, Captain Beefheart, Nick Drake) gives strong clues to his lyric writing for Moskovitz. There is a marvelous feel to this album, not least as virtual textures are balanced by strings, woodwinds and percussion as if making a similar machine/human balance. Naturally, Moskovitz is central to proceedings but not in an artificial way. The fragility in her voice is matched by lyrics acknowledging the complexity of human existence. The paradox is that she allows resignation and inescapable fate to sound perfectly natural, calmly singing of being "afraid, insecure, under an endless sky". Even the bleak content of "My Doomsday Serenade" sounds bearable as she tells it "no recriminations then, only measuring the weight of my soul" because "denial and contrition don't amount to much at all."
*In 2021, Moskowitz sang on Todd Tamanend Clark's Whirlwind of the Whispering Worlds as well as The Secret Life of Love Songs with Tim Lucas, but I haven't heard these, nor her collaboration with Peter Olof Fransson.
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- Creaig Dunton
- Albums and Singles
Releasing two full length albums mere months from each other, Colin Andrew Sheffield has been especially active in 2023. Considering his previous Repair Me Now dates back to 2018, it is a veritable flurry of activity. However, this is not a case where Don't Ever Let Me Know and Images seem like a double album split into two separate works, but both are thematically and structurally different from one another, even if both clearly showcase his approach of mangling samples and recordings into entirely different creations.
Simply looking at the song lists, the difference between these two records is clear: Don't Ever Let Me Know is two side-long pieces, while Images is a suite of eight more conventionally timed songs. The underlying models are different, also, with the former specifically drawing from recordings from or about his (and his father's) hometown of El Paso, Texas, and the latter exclusively sourced from jazz records. As expected, none of these recordings are at all apparent, but there seems to be a sense of nostalgia imbued into the album conveyed abstractly.
"Don't Ever Let Me Know (Charms)" takes up the first half of the LP, consisting of loops of dissolving music, open resonate spaces, and bizarrely treated frequencies. Density builds and there is a sense of speed throughout, as he swaps out musical loops for harsher, digital sounds. There is definitely pre-recorded music used as some of the source material, but Sheffield sculpts it into something entirely different.
On the other side, "Don't Ever Let Me Know (Bliss)" is more polarized in sound, blending lush, melodic layers and buzz saw-like noise passages. It can be oddly pleasant at times, especially considering sections sound like a dungeon-y creak or wet, noisy crunching. There is a distinct combination of quieter, reflective sections and harsher swells, with his careful manipulation of delays and feedback bringing things just to the point of chaos but never crossing that threshold.
Images, besides having a more traditional "album" structure, also is unique in that it is drawn entirely from jazz samples. This carries over to the cover art, which could be an homage to vintage ECM or Windham Hill designs, but I may be reading entirely too much into that. Another unique facet here is that in this case, some of the actual sounds he utilizes are recognizable, at least as far as the instruments sampled, but maybe not the actual recordings per se.
"Crescent," for example, is a metallic resonance that eventually comes into focus as the clattering of cymbals, and processed horns eventually rise into the mix later on. "Song No. 2" could almost be a continuation, as a swarm of cymbals set the stage for a wobbling tone to take the focus. There is obviously music in here somewhere, but it is anything but obvious where it was sourced from, and the whole things ends in this beautiful interstellar drift at the end. That drift and use of melody is also notable throughout "Daylight," but in this case blended with sputtering, elongated delays and what sounds like a plucked sitar.
Other pieces are less apparent in their pre-recorded music pedigree. Metallic reverb drenched noises open "Images," leading to a shimmering, aquatic sense. Subtle melodies are weaved within, but they are more subtle here. "Embers" leads off with Sheffield morphing what sounds like a snare drum roll into a swarm of locusts, and the abstract tones that appear feature a bit more bass than what precedes it. "Silhouette" is a fitting name for a piece that leads off with a shadowy dark hum and turns almost symphonic with Sheffield reshaping the recordings into something heavily cinematic overall. It is only towards the end that a decipherable sound, in this case heavily processed horns, actually comes into focus.
It is clear that Sheffield uses some similar techniques on both Don't Ever Let Me Know and Images, but the two records are entirely different, and not just because of their structures. I personally felt a bit more nostalgia and emotion pervading throughout Don't Ever Let Me Know, and Images seemingly more the product of exploration and a focus on pure sound. However, given the intentionally abstract nature of his approach, I could be reading them entirely wrong. This is irrelevant, of course, because both records stand strong as purely sonic endeavors that of course raise questions and curiosity of their pedigree, but remain captivating solely on their own qualities divorced of any concepts.
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- Creaig Dunton
- Albums and Singles
The latest cassette from the enigmatic duo Zizia (astrologer Amber Wolfe and natural scientist Jarrod Fowler) is intentionally ambiguous just from its presentation. No information presented within the tape itself, its neon green case covers a blurry photo of the Zizia flower and an intricately printed abstract image on the cassette shell, without a single bit of text included on either. A quick search online finds a website that offers details, listings of insects, plants, and artists that serve only to confound more than clarify. The self-identified concept of anti-musicology is apparent, however, and results in a complex and diverse suite of two lengthy noise works.
Split into two 18-minute segments, each covering half of the tape, the first immediately explodes with an intense blast of noise that quickly recedes to allow sustained tones and metallic rattling to fade in. Wolfe and Fowler utilize consistent sonic building blocks throughout, but layer them in what seems to be superficially sounds like chaotic and erratic structures, but extremely complex. Digital stuttering and metallic pinging noises appear throughout, the use of cymbals being the only easily identifiable element from the list provided via the release's website. Noise surges and drops, with insect and field recordings cast atop murky textures.
The second side does not differ too significantly from the first from the onset. Opening with a similar violent noise burst, but one that lingers a bit longer and takes on some monstrous qualities as opposed to the tonality that appeared rather quickly in the first half. Overall, there is more of a noise crunch to the piece, and one that is a bit more grounded compared to the first half. With more consistency, but by no means static, the noise and complicated layering once again builds to the end.
Nuanced compositional structures and thematic approaches aside, Genera is a fascinating tape of noise that obviously has depth to it, but functions well purely on its own sound. The details Wolfe and Fowler share via the online "guide" add in appreciating the complexity of the sounds provided on Genera, but even taking it in as purely text-free cassette tape is extremely engaging. It is a microcosm of sounds guided by an abstract, but structured approach to composition makes perfect sense coming from a scientist and an astrologer, and it works beautifully.
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- Creaig Dunton
- Albums and Singles
These two albums from Seah, also known as multimedia artist and philosopher Chelsea Heikes, seemingly draw from different elemental categories, which ends up setting the foundation for the sounds contained within. The first, Conduits of the Hydrosphere, clearly draws from water while Clouds and Spectres is appropriately expansive, vapor-like, and ghostly at times. Released separately, they feel like complementary works that act as variations on sonic exploration.
All five pieces that make up Conduits feature either direct or indirect references to water, which is unsurprising given the title. Seah makes this immediately apparent from the opening "Asteroidal Origin of Water," with multiple layers of water recordings, filtered differently and stacked atop one another to create a wall of liquid sound. She utilizes space well, as echoing, warped noises and rattling shrieks all vie for the focus. Aquatic field recordings also obscure a subtle tone beneath on "Songs Stones Sing to the Sea," which remains understated amidst scraping noises and a deep, lo-fi digital rumble.
Water is more insinuated in the sound of "Ova1" via heavily processed deep sea-like pulsations, which almost coalesce into some semblance of rhythm via the frequent use of loops. The mix is open, but there is a greater sense of lurking creepiness throughout. She collects slithering noises and cinematic-esque sound bursts on the lengthy closer (and amazingly titled) "Dinosaur Piss Runs Through Our Veins." Here, she patiently builds an excellent tension, which becomes almost overwhelming as the piece builds, but gently drifts away at the end.
For Clouds and Spectres, the overall vibe is less aquatic and more ghostly, characterized by lighter drifting passages and sounds. "Unfurling" feels just like the title, as Heikes patiently expands the structure an ethereal series of melodic tones. On "Accumulation," she more densely packs the sound, incorporates what sounds like buzzy phased analong synths in the foreground. While still using a great deal of space, it feels as if the clouds have gotten darker, as she emphasizes lower frequencies and darker synth buzz on "Skillter." Individual sounds are more distinct among a more prominent white noise hiss throughout. Even though it is noisier than the two preceding pieces, it overall remains restrained and quiet.
Listening to these two records sequentially the liquid/vapor/gas elemental qualities of each is clearly apparent. However, both are distinct experiences. As Seah, Chelsea Heikes has created fascinating diverse studies of sound and processing while retaining obvious themes.
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