The Ear-Conditioned Nightmare

Ear-Conditioned Slump

2010-06-29T06:51:00.000-07:00

Quick word on the recent hiatus review-wise. Closed out the school year with a crawl to the finish and now off to Europe for three weeks but I have a ton of stuff waiting for the return from the likes of old standbys such as Stunned, Holy Cheever, Existential Cloth, Anarchymoon, 905 Tapes and even the first Holy Cheever vinyl (no review necessary (though one will surely come). just go grip it...) Hang tight for more but just putting in a good word. Sorry for the deeeeeeelaaaaaaaay...

Mortuus Auris & The Black Hand - Freiheit ist immer Freiheit der Andersdenkenden (Stunned Records CS)

2010-05-03T11:22:00.000-07:00

Latest batch from Stunned is, as always with that glorious operation, sold out completely. Seems they've got a healthy enough following by now that they've been eeking the production runs up ever so slightly, which is great news always for the world. This batch is amazing as always, so it's no surprise either, though a sad day did arrive in the form of the label's last CD-R edition (an incredible disc by Sparkling Wide Pressure). The CD is dead and the tape is back? What is this world coming to?! (Something good)...

Anyhoo, speaking of strange operations, Mortuus Auris whips one out here in a big way. A full hour long offering, the album starts with a blast of screwed screams and chopped noises before tapering out into blooping oscillations and wooden rotary blades tapping ping-pong balls rapidly against a mare's back. Apparently the whole thing incorporates patterns found in spider webs, fishing nets and tantric sex as it's organizing principle, which might explain the sensuous quality of each little snippet that's together here. There's a warmth to it all, but also a hollow shell, an empty space outlined by defining principles. Geometric it may be, but it exudes a more organic loose feel than that, despite it all appearing fairly closely composed and restrained. Hold it together with a silk thread and maybe you'll achieve enlightenment. In a strictly post-industrialist, pre-arachnid way of course.

Always seemed to me like people just took their releases on Stunned more seriously than usual. These things are always well conceived, always carefully concocted, always well recorded, etc. etc. Each little world on this label has got to be met head on, and whether you like it or not you've gotta give props for that kind of commitment. This work isn't drone, but it's got elements of it. It doesn't read as composition either, but that's there. And it's not noise at all, but it's playing it's part here too. More like a soundtrack to some tropical noir film, two worlds clashing up against one another and finding a new space. Good stuff, and lovingly treated as it always is. Sleeper status on it, so have a zonk.

Simeon Abbott + Chris Dadge - A Menu Isn't a Meal (Bug Incision Records CD-R)

2010-05-03T10:57:00.000-07:00

On the Riggs tip I just mentioned, it's great to see established dudes taking new blood under the wings and giving them some exposure. Riggs certainly deserves it, and so does Chris Dadge, Bug Incision head honcho and percussion maestro deluxe. Fresh off a trip playing with dudes like Eugene Chadbourne (a personal favorite...) Mats Gustafsson, Dadge met up with electric guitarist Simeon Abbott for these two jams, and he sounds stronger than ever. Maybe it's that special Chadbourne punch, but me thinks it's just Dadge doing what Dadge do best, collaborating in super loose improv sessions that dangle ideas around like fireflies over a pond.

First track moves through some wild territory real quick. The percussion is always drawn out and glommed up, like splashing a bag of nickels on a diamond back skull and letting it rust over for a few millennia before picking it up with a contact mic. Abbott's jangling guitar cycles around itself with a hollow reverberation that's often prettier than your usual extended technique go-to's, chiming along like some undersea buoy signal. WIld stuff that convulses out once in a while before settling into a groove, nodding it's head down for a snooze before waking with a snap just as soon as the REM sets in. And hwen it wakes it wakes, fritzing about like a Carl Stalling score played on a kitchen sink next to the refrigerator box. Maniacally quick discussions that change topics speedy as a binge drinking flea frat. But more fun than that. Come to think of it, what could be less fun than that?!

Second track opens with some Atari style electronic mulch which, by the way, they've been incorporating in various forms throughout the proceedings. Sounds like a straight up Speak & Spell glitched over, and while that usually leaves me cold as ice and willing to sacrifice, this time around Dadge jumps on board for a duet with the thing, laying all his spoons out in disarray for some real illogical motivational speaking. Orator: Spell CAREEN. Kid: Z-O-N-K-E-D L-O-G-I-C. Or something like that. Sometimes you get straight up moments of hoe-down hijinks, but mostly it's sans hoe-down and pro high-jinx, Dick Dale gone awry. Killer sets both, and grabable where grabables are had.

Gino Robair / Christopher Riggs - Punishment Allows the Evolution of Cooperation (Holy Cheever Church Records CS)

2010-05-03T10:39:00.000-07:00

Riggs dropped his latest batch yesterday, which got me thinking about this little number again. I've been spinning it on near repeat for nigh a month now, but as so often happens with these kinds of tapes it gets stuck in my deck and without a review. Well here's a review, damn it.

Gino Robair is, I believe, the drummer for Schnuffler, whose tape on Holy Cheever got the review treatment a ways back. Beyond that though, dude's played with the likes of Anthony Braxton and Tom Waits, so right off the bat you know he's a heavy hitter. So this one really fits the bill as a meeting of the minds, cross pollination, generation Q merger of sorts, Riggs repping the new style hard while Robair brings a taste of class and history to the proceedings. Not that it matters at all of course once it gets down to the sounds... whole thing begins like some malnourished farmyard get down, chain link fence and corn huskers rattling away over the rooster caws. Really strange stuff that opens up into a slinky of textural gratings and percussive mishaps. Incredible how on the same tip these two are right from the jump off... not a single move sounds out of place. Robair even pulls of some Tietchens bloops and plops on his kit while Riggs saws gentle nocturnes into your cranium from behind. Restless stuff that sounds as process oriented as it does improvisational. Where are we in the continuum?!!

Halfway between the AMM types and Mimaroglu, that's where. Skittered acoustic textures that sound like circuitry gone wild in a basement gamelan setup while some throat singing yak herder thaws out his skins and sings a little tune. Just as gone as it is there, just as rich as it is bare. So great to see Robair and guys like Morris trading jabs with the younger crowd, as it signifies the life of what is too often considered a dying breed of improv. The whole beauty of it, it seems to me, is that there's an infinite variety of combinations due to the internal logic of the best's playing. So just mash em up and see where it goes. Thick bass dub over string cries? You got it. Droned out hyperbolic Himalayan artifacts? Sure. These tapes are going to be classics by the time Riggs is done with it, so if you're not on the bandwagon you best get there now. Get your kids through college easy... hell, if you're nice to him I bet he'll even sign it for you: To Johnny. Scriiiiiiiittttttttzzzzzzzzccccccchhhh. Best Wishes, Chris. Now there's an artifact...

Gii / Cruudeuces - S/T (Ghetto Naturalist Series CS)

2010-05-02T12:32:00.000-07:00

Whoa whoa whoa. A lot of stuff to cover from the front here (Bug Incision, Holy Cheever, Stunned, Anarchymoon, etc. etc.) but I had to start with this little guy from local yokel Nathaniel Brennan's spanking new (well, officially anyway...) label Ghetto Naturalist Series. Brennan's been at it a long time under the Cruudeuces moniker, always releasing killer little oddities from the backside of his brain but now he's taken on new screwballs too in the name of dispersal of his twisted aesthetic. This one finds the label kingpin matching minds with Gii, who is Joe Hydoski who is, well, who knows actually?! Perfect introduction to the label of course.

First side kicks off with the Hydoski mystery man himself, , whose "Meth Rage Wore Off, Maybe Not" is a totally glommed and bombed bit of funky distorto crunch that lurches around in true crud fashion. Couldn't be a more perfect name for a label that houses something like this. Dirty stuff that grinds and splices its way through itself, barely holding on by a thread as it wraps around and in on itself. Hangover cure galore before "Lost Extremities" cuts the hands off the first track and torches them back onto some broken tree legs. Skin meets bark, heart meets trunk, synth meets scuzz, buzz meets hush. Real nowhere goings here, weird buzz beamed episodes of bugged out melodrama. Melodic though, real pretty and twangy. Almost like Duane Eddy's gone and jammed over some Small Cruel Party or Yeast Culture track but with a real direction forward. Undulate restless vibes, undulate. Blown to bits too, for the too-drowned-to-function crowd. Holler.

Brennan's side offers up two tracks as well, untitled both and straight from some illogical foreign terrain. Lung fish meet Saturn squish stuff that's rudderless enough to warrant some real zoned vibes, but with a thoughtful (as always) treatment of mood and feel. Explorations of the strange atmospheres created by strange atmospheres, where mind meets ribcage. Brennan's sense of shape and internal logic has expanded so much over a pretty short period here, and the rate that he's moving at is outrageously exciting. Tea kettle whistles and a thick drone line delayed to nowhere are all the man needs for his tactile traipsing about. Then the clarinet comes in and it's like a whole Heath Moerland thing, only still and dark and without the elastic gyrations of Sick Llama's stuff. Just straight weirdo haven't-a-clue pops and fizzes here. Beautiful stuff in the vein of other beautiful stuff (you fill in the blank). Grab it at label headquarters: limited to 30, and you gotta catch em all!

Torture Corpse - Stop the Mind (Stunned Records CS)

2010-04-16T13:08:00.000-07:00

Latest Stunned batch came in recently, which is always good news in my book. And it's a fat batch at that, filled to the brim with slow burners and stunners alike including a disc by Sparkling Wide Pressure that represents the last CD-R to be released by the label. Don't know whether that means they're growing up into real deal CDs and vinyl or sticking with the tape rundown, but changes are afoot it seems. Changes are afoot.

This one comes by way of Torture Corpse aka Robert Kroos, whose grim moniker pretty much sums up his approach. The album's title track gets the ball rolling with a suitably foreboding speech wose pulsing death march beat takes over and leads the thing down a pathway to the vents themselves. Twists and turns of steam and earth merge together, crushing one another and forming new elements in the process. Gnarly go that peters off and in and blows off steam. A real reverberated voyage that feels like a guided tour given on the sickest IMAX ride of your life. "Voyage to the Core of Earth's Crust: Demonic Fires Aligned," narrated by Sigourney Fuckin' Weaver. Love the part where the theater seats rumble and sway as you move through rubble and magma alike. Super heated vibes to be had here for sure, strips itself back, writhes itself forward, zones itself out.

Flip side offers a few more takes on this sound, with "Rock 'N' Rally" opening with a quick quote about the Nuremberg Rallies as rock concert before diffusing into a haze of salt and silt. Washes of texture amount to few phrases but plenty of phases, left to right and back to night. As gloomy as this stuff is--and it is gloomy--it maintains such a high level of sonic richness that it never feels overbearing or destructive. And it ain't really just drone either. More in the dark maximal ambient vein, but hardly so pretentious as such a title might infer either. "Full Responsibility" re-soups the thing with nice ebbs of shattered tone and moans from beneath. Bubbles of bromide that move somewhere between the space echo hollows of Robert Beatty and the field recorded worlds of Douglas Quinn. Lovely. Any safety zones found though are quickly ripped apart on the closing "Manjushri," whose warbling guffaws of blather move as gently as a hammer in a house of glass. The continued entry of vocal speeches is alarming and while I usually find this sort of thing pretentious and a bit of an over working, the careful placement and generally grizzly atmosphere lets it come and go with little detriment to the overall feel. A fine one from the Stunned camp, packaged fantastically as always.

The Uphill Gardeners - S/T (olFactory Records / Kill Shaman 12")

2010-04-12T11:13:00.000-07:00

Managed to leave a bunch of reviewables in my girlfriend's car this weekend, including some Stunned / Holy Cheever / ECR / Bug Incision etc. so I've finally got a moment to dig back intot he final I've been sent along the way. This one comes courtesy of mid-90s No-Wave outfit Uphill Gardeners, a trio consisting of Jarrett Silberman, Nigel Lundemo and Bobb Bruno. All these dudes have gone on to big things, but this EP shows how on top of it they've been all along. Killer stuff fully deserving of issue (finally) here.

What we've got is a series of tracks that weren't used for their sole full length CD, but if these are the outtakes they sure don't read as such. Guitar, bass and drums as mobile as you get, full instrumental togetherness. Artsy to be sure, but with enough cajones to get the ball rolling wonderfully. Starting off with the excellently titled "Boner Music," the group displays right off the bat it's penchant for switching modes mid-go, crashing along before turning on a dime into some strange country twine balls that read far more like a Butthole Surfers track than a Mars one. Great mix of those two worlds though. "Goldenrod Sunrise" pulls off the same action, creaming its Gun Club style guitar lines with super nowhere glad-to-be-gone pummeling before "I've Got to Stop Getting Pregnant" slows it down a tad, rollicking in darker and dirtier waters as a two-note bass line and steady drum thud guides the guitar shreds and bellows atop. Electronics and synth are apparently involved here too, but it's tough to define them against the guitar (hell, maybe it's not guitar, who knows?). Slow and steady wins the mace till "Sounds" culls their inner AMM meets Ash Ra Tempel. A weirdo one to initiate flippage to be sure.

Flip side features only two monster tracks, "He is Master" being the first and representing a real rubber band band brawl. Brush it off quick, this one buzzes like bees before changing chords on a pin top and moving into discordant stunners and bummers. Real inner workings stuff that relies solely on its self made logic to guide the way. Slow burn ravaging with hums and strums and crumbs abounding. Gonzo for sure before drums come in and move it into nearly Zappa-esque absurdities that skitter outward with a humor and resilience you can't quite land your thumb down on. Perfect pulse offered from Lundemo on this one. "Diet Experiment" closes it all out with some rib cage bending bass twirps while Silberman's Arto impression pieces itself together atop some skitters and shimmies. Real lovely sounding to my ear, anti-rock with a firm grip on how to navigate such territory with cohesion, balance, and an ear for subtle frames of referential outlooks. Glad to grab, killer killer material. Seek it from the labels and see if they've got em.

Ättestupa - 1867 (DNT Records 12")

2010-04-12T10:42:00.000-07:00

Another one from the vaults, this time hearkening from the DNT camp a ways back via Sweden. A little out of left field for the DNT label, this EP is by a mystery unit that in some way features (recently reviewed here) Sewer Election's Dan Johansson. Apparently titled after a year of brutal starvation in Sweden, this offering is a soundtrack of sorts, produced to ultra dismal effect in homage to staggering suffering and desperation.

Thing kicks off in brutal fashion on "Missväxt," whose clashing drum lines and guitar meld with deeply drowned vocals for a graveside call to arms. Total thrashing punk/goth/motorik material here that grinds on before dwindling out to wheezes and windz that blubber on long enough to drown it out. The following "Halshuggarnatten" goes heavy on the crud lurch with a nice funereal organ line mingling over top. Sounds like a morgue service next to a construction site, and the dichotomy is too good to ignore. Like kids playing hopscotch at the cemetery using headstones for humdingers while ghastly vocals dig dirges in the draperies. Real killer sound that's super dismal and down and out, the organ line just right above it all while the vocals are backstage screaming through an aquarium full of cyanide.

Flip side features the lone "Storsvagåret," which starts out nice and meddling as chairs are dragged over linoleum tiling and the hum of stench looms outward slow and steady. Really reads like a playground full of poltergeists taking over in the name of decay. Super steady slow mo degradation here. Industrial meets circuit twisting meets grind meets slime. Rusty as hell and going nowhere fast before it opens up with a hunkered down, face to the floor organ and drum line that wiggles itself free from the mulch. Sick, head banging and dilapidated stuff, ultra mechanic in its stuttered organics. Heavy ride all around, mastered by Yellow Swans own Pete Swanson and well worth the price of admission. Dig the stripped back presentation here too, with the typed up Swedish liners (I'm assuming) detailing the event in all its ugliness. Grab it before it turns to ash.

Various Artists - Serge Modular Users 2009 (Resipiscent CD)

2010-04-08T09:29:00.000-07:00

This one's been waiting in the wings I good while, but it's turn has come. Was psyched when I got this disc, and not only cause the Serge is one of my favorite knob-twiddlers around (Richard Teitelbaum had one over at the Bard labs for us to tamper with) but because this is a hell of way to organize a disc. For all the synth-mayhem going around these days, it makes perfect sense to pick one and track it right proper under the hand of slew of fists. Haven't heard of half these guys either, which only adds to the allure.

Spanning fifteen tracks and a FULL disc's worth of sound, this thing is as packed with Serge sounds as you could hope, demonstrating over and over the endless array of possibilities from this thing as well as it's diverse potential depending on who's manning the controls. Thing starts off with Jan-Hinnerk Helms cordially welcoming you via a Serge created voice, friendly as all hell with its sing-song greeting before things dip into circuit mania on M/N/M/L's "Breath," which takes some oscillations and splays them into party cracklers and simmering timber. Super into CRAY (Ross Healy's project) and its "STRK," which bounces around like rubber bands shot through laser beams. Super kinetic and spasmodic for the frenzied fans. John Duval uses it to dip into some early 8-s basement synth material on "Distress Call," which reverberates like a sinking mine sending info to spy subs before self-detonating. Benge's "1972 Serge Modular" (apparently an excerpt from "Twenty Systems") is super minimal and glitchy, little cracks and runs writhing over one another with insect rhythm pulses. Quite grooving really, like some 70s cicada orgy scene soundtrack.

Could keep running straight through really, there're so many zones it's impossible to summarize; kkonkkrete's "Untitled I" lays out under the sun for a tad, charring over in dronesville while cebec culls a veritable techtonic Mutranium disaster on "Transformer Substation." Love the Hans Grusel sound too on "Quarantimes," which is as zoned and burned out as they come. Just rhythms and crashes and march band kitchen sink stuff. Killer. Electronic Waste Product's "Picket Fences" reads like a mid-60s Mimaroglu experiment while Carlos Giffoni's "All the Mistakes I made During the Caribbean Winter" blasts a whole straight through the walls with drenches of sewage before the roaches come crawling out 8-bit style. Maniacal as hell. And of course the rest of them are great too, but I'll let you dig it up for yourself. Hell of an instrument and far removed from any hypnagogic nostalgia sound--far cooler and more electronically motivated. The new sounds played on the old instruments, which were the new sounds then too. Go figure. Killer and likely still available.

Towering Heroic Dudes - Bad Old Daze (Obsolete Units CD-R)

2010-04-07T16:51:00.000-07:00

Good news in from Foxy Digitalis:

Call it what you will, but Towering Heroic Dudes has managed to create quite a stirring little piece with this, the follow up to their invincibly titled “My Morning Jackoff” off on Abandon Ship. And with a title like that, who could argue? This release, on stellar label Obsolete Units, features three separate live sets, each about 20 minutes long, featuring the combined degradation of members Neil Vendrick, Nate Rulli, Paul Haney, Andrew Posey and Mick Merszaros. And while the group members might make this appear to be some mid 80s English mod-revival group, the sonic results speak to something quite oppositional to that sort of assumption.

The first set, performed at the legendary Cake Shop on 11/4/08, finds some discombobulated zones and shifts them around to make even less sense. Thick clatter and drone and feedback ring around one another with garbled glee and not a magic bus in sight. The clan sure knows how to raise a ruckus, allowing everything to build and create its own patterns in the grain. To this end, the members are merely physically allowing the billows to happen, erupting outward in torrential shards. Must have been a hell of a show... The following number occurred at Tommy’s Tavern about four months later, and this two grows viciously, albeit in a far steadier, more deadened fashion. No sudden blasts here, just dirt infused simmering till the frog turns to putty. The unit seems to have properly internalized a lot of the L.A.F.M.S. catalogue (namely Airway and Le Forte Four) and reconstructed it to suit their own expansive needs. The last track, recorded at Lil Lounge on 9/17/08, is a buried battering of fuzz and crumble, hushed and mushed and steadily crushed into some phased bandwidths of lowly radio samples and synth statements and hiss scuzz hiss aesthetics. It’s all washed out real nice, so the last 30 second track can blast you straight to Deliriumton. Nice stuff, lots of energy and movement and destroyed right proper as a document.

Luminance Ratio - Like Little Garrisons Besieged (Boring Machines / Fratto9 Under The Sky CD)

2010-04-06T07:19:00.000-07:00

First one of April, and it's already shaping up to be a hot month. We've already had a couple good scorchers now, which I'd say bodes well after the winter dumping we got this year. Bring it on. Thought I'd ring in the new month/seasonal feel with a release I got a ways back from Italian-based labels Boring Machines and Fratto9 Under the Sky. Nice little operations here, both focusing on electroacoustic/improv stuff but going a ways broader than that--dig the recent Digitalis feature on Boring Machines for a more thorough run through of their agenda if you care to. If not, proceed per usual.

Hadn't heard from this group before, but from the look/sound of it the trio has a different take on electroacoustics. The trio, made up of (WARNING--great porn name approacheth) Andrea ics Ferraris (guitars, cymbals, electronics, field recordings, brushes, contact mics, pedals), Eugenio Maggi (drones, electronics, turntables, field recordings) and Gianmaria Aprile (objects, editing, mix and mastering) may have a lineup that reads like your standard drone/psych unit, but these guys follow much more in the vein of classic electroacousticians, with real live play on their selected sources that has a slow and tender, compositional vibe. In addition, Paul Bradley steps in to have his way with it after the fact, so the whole live/improv thing gets thrown off a bit. Just see the opening title track, whose clattering digital glitch slips right into the moist burrows created by various drops and bends and crackles. Ultra lowly environs captured in the finest hi-fidelity. Lovely stuff that lets a lazy guitar line slip right over before expanding patiently into some spaced control of spare parts ruminations. Glick gluck glack.

The album moves nicely as a whole, drifting from precious gnome home obtrusions to ominous belly of the lake glides (see "Sullespalledellepietre"). "Sunday is Grey" is even more shifting and conniving. Lay low while the fog creeps past style stuff. "Armada" approaches the wind vent hollows of Graveyards from a more droney slant, laying down canvases of texture over which delicate motions are offered. Enter the monastery and step proper, you hear? The last track, epically 20 minutes long and epically titled "Paul Bradley Remix" (well, there's his part I suppose) seems to take a lot of the stuff from parts of the album and stretch it all out on itself. Sounds very much like the group sans remix, but he's clearly lacing some stuff together quite carefully here. Beautiful duel release here on both label's parts, so keep your eyes peeled there.

Street Drinkers / Källarbarnen / White / Attestupa - Utmarken (Release the Bats 10")

2010-03-31T19:19:00.000-07:00

Hot off the presses at Foxy Digitalis:

Here's a nice offering. Release the Bats have been going at it for a ways now, and this 10” compilation represents their 50th release, a milestone for anyone but one that is especially noteworthy considering the consistantly high level of material the label's associated itself with. This one's no different, presenting four acts residing in Gothenburg, Sweden and claiming the Utmarken storefront / performance space as home. With sounds like this, let's cheer for the venue's continued success (as well as the label's, who I believe just released their last CD... end of an era?).

The first track belongs to Street Drinkers' (the solo moniker of Viktor Ottasson) “Daily Bread,” a splashing synth tune with reverberated vocals splayed out over the pointing skyward tones. Finds it's voice somewhere between Peaking Lights and the Gel Tapes material, I suppose, but without sounding like a mimicry of either. Highly charged stuff here. Källarbarnen, a duo consisting of Sofie Herner and Matthias Andersson, offer “Trängd,” following up Ottasson's drift with a more industrial take on the mood. Guitar slaps and minimal beats lay out the kind of waste zone that the Swedes have always done so well, and while it's winter material to be sure, the number's never without a certain heady internalization of No Wave motion sickness.

The flip side opens with the insect buzzing of White's “Defiance of Good.” The solo work of Dan Johansson, the track reads like crossbreed of Suicide sneer and stripped back kosmiche stretches, defying all but its own slow pace and buzzing logic. It reads like the soundtrack to accompany the most desheveled, leather-clad gangs in the area. Amazing. Attestupa, a quartet consisting of the aforementioned Johansson and Ottasson as well as David Eng and Jesper Canell, offer up the monstrous “Änglamakerskan,” whose heavy keyboard vibes and focused slop deliver a crushing search party line that must destroy live. Grooving like an assassin with a limp, the track is well worthy of closing out this impressive document. Another winner from Release the Bats to be sure, and one that opens some much needed doors to an oft neglected outpost across the pond.

Afternoon Penis / Eskimo King - Split (Abandon Ship Records LP)

2010-03-30T12:38:00.000-07:00

Wowsers bowsers, this one's been resting easy for WAY too long. Came in a while back from Abandon Ship and so much of my vinyl has been tucked away in my apartment while I've been on the move that it just ain't as easily get-at-able as I'd hope for reviewing purposes. Necessarily takes a long enough sit down at the home nest, which means a moment's needed, so sorry for the delay on it. Not a moment too soon though, thar she blows.

So what is this whale of a platter? Why, it's the two members of Mouthus, legendary band who I need not discuss, splitting their efforts across two sides. Love this approach, opens things way up when it's done right, and here it's done so super right, as Nate Nelson opens things up with his "...Jack of Hearts" number. I remember seeing Nelson do his Afternoon Penis thing way back at No Fun Fest '08, which was totally bomb and way different than the presentation here, much more textural percussion exploration style stuff. Here, the dog opts for about the most feel-good little number you're likely to hear this side of Mercury. And it's still fully percussive to be sure, but the accordion takes center stage on this three chord ditty with a great vocal melody snippet about, you guessed it, the jack of hearts, thrown in to keep things moving. Side long excursion here that bristles about, adding and removing and grooving and bruising all the way home. Tough to discuss really, but suffice it to say it's so littered with Skittles it's likely to make the rainbow nauseating for a while, AKA it's a totally killer dance party glom prom go of it. Really a special zone here.

And there's a flip to boot. Brian Sullivan (the Eskimo King himself) hammers one home on his opening "Gjoa," a glitched out morsel that sways nice and easy, its smudged smearings of colorful lines gliding out and about behind pointillist poindexterous moves nestled somewhere in between Tomutonttu, Skaters, etc., but with a real comic book, dancey vibe going. Whole thing takes a turn for the jungle eventually though, heading into the ferns for a jostle in the thistle to explore the crud in the mud on "Born Again" (I think, it's tough to decipher the plot points in these chapters). No dud, for sure though. Gets bare enough even that the thing all but stops, delivering this little psych melody with nary a blitter about it, real spaced out, recuperation stuff that sounds like it's right out of the asylum, even more so when the vocals lay out their sorrowed and sullied outlooks. Tough to believe it started out so rosy, this is straight zoner loner material. Never one to stay still though, the thing yanks itself up by the collar and moves into Progsville (blackout era) without a hitch before settling into guitar splicing jammer epicness for a tad. Next stop = Amazonia again, or rather Saharan globules of oasis huddled gliders on "Dry Strike." Seriously, there are so many zones here it's tough to find that Jack of Hearts' mug in the mix, so let's call a spade a spade and just say it rules.

med.Hammer - Stepping Back from Two Halves (Existential Cloth Recordings CD-R)

2010-03-30T07:31:00.000-07:00

New batch from Existential Cloth Recordings in and ECR on ECN is always SIK (sick/so incredibly killer) in my book that I had to get right down to it. Given that my tape deck's on the fritz--I might make it back over to the apartment today, where the fully functioning one always waits--and given that my Mac computer doesn't have a tray that supports 3" CDs (blasted set-up there) I had no choice but to go for the straight up, full sized discs, of which neither artist I'd heard from before and on who I can find barely a scrap of info. Not that this here blog's known for divulging much info of any kind, so I guess it'll keep me right where I usually find myself. Uselessly helpful? Helplessly useful? Neither? Right then.

So one of the discs that Matt unloaded on me was from Siddhi, whose lineup and myspace I can at least resort to. But this one was a bit more interesting to me at first, and the lack of info out there on this group is astounding, especially in this internet age of availability. Far as I know these guys have two releases, both on ECR, and that's it. That's all I know. Recorded in New Britain, Connecticut. Welcome to New B, I guess.

So what the hell is it you ask? Well it's one fucking mammoth slab of drenched and damaged drone goodness, I answer. One track, over 50 minutes, and as billowing as you could ask for. It's a soupy set here, but there's some real focus, and whether or not there's one or six members of this group, they work in close conjunction throughout, no one ever shooting past the others in strong armed flexing moves. Rather little moments come and go, with tinkling bells entering to change the landscape, or vocals, or guitar lines, or monk rituals laced with rutabaga and and sent off toward Neptune. Lots of looping to be sure, but it never reads like an architecture class, foundation on. Things come, things go, things speed up and slow. Dr. Seuss style, you know? They bubble and flubber and mutter and glow. Always switching directions but maintaining the generally controlled feel, as lines intermingle and bend across each other in lapses of memory/judgement that feed right into the experience. Forces you to get in their head space, which is always a nice form of fascism--"just sit back, cause I'm taking you there" stuff. Deep sounds, still can't tell who's in it--might be just one now that I think about it. But how many are in one anyway? Oh boy. TOO DEEP. Ends on a Monopoly Child babble out too. Grab it quick, only 25 copies and I've got 4% of em.

Padna - There are so many fish in heaven, Pt. IV (Tape Drift CD-R)

2010-03-28T14:41:00.000-07:00

Nat Hawks' releases on Stunned this past year have been super swell, so I was psyched to see that Eric had managed to corral a Padna release for the Tape Drift imprint. This little disc contains only one track, but at 45 minutes it's a real opus of sorts, moving through zones in a totally insular, cryogenic defreezing logic.

The setup is basically this: a few years back, Hawks recorded the first "There are so many fish in heaven" track which, apparently, was little more than a guitar/e-bow number. Found a scratched copy later that he dug so he reworked it and released it is numero dos. Next thing you know the guy's so scratch happy (who does he think he is, Flava Flav?!) that he went ahead and cratched that one, reworked it, released it, and then dood it again for this one. So basically this is a reworking of a reworking of a reworking of an original, which means by now he pretty much has this tactic down pat. Whew.

So what's it sound like? Well, there certainly are scratches, but the thing moves so many spheres that it's tough to pin down any real angle here. It opens with a vocal thing that splatters about as it's diced into pieces, but that soon diverges for lusher, more atmospheric areas. I'm not sure exactly how he's getting these scratches but they work wonderfully, taking each sound and splitting it from its source and destination moment by moment, a tactic which has the effect of placing things quickly in the foreground, background, and foreground again, like some prismatic mind warp of sonic inversion. In this way, each sound is coerced to reveal previously deciphered lines that Hawks manages with a deft and tender touch. Never sounds nearly as glitched out as it could really, but rather sways to and fro in psychedelic glimmerings. Real beautiful stuff that goes and goes, guided by little other than the snap, crackle, pop of the scratches. Amazing how these scratches manage to reveal new things about the piece, sometimes cutting it into fantastically spare blurts and bristles while sometimes playing vibrato and just humming about atop. When it ends, escaping with a blathered drum beat and vocal, its absence is all to clear. A real neat one for sure, and likely still available.

Zanzibar Snails - Vitiligo (Tape Drift CD-R)

2010-03-27T18:16:00.000-07:00

Got a batch a bit back from these dudes and haven't gotten around to it yet, but Eric sent me one from his own label and I figured I'd at least cover this one before I get around to the others. Gotta mention as well that Eric's got another new batch out (what a pace...) that looks totally KILLER, so that's surely one to scope. Anyhoo.

Zanzibar Snails are a unit from Texas who serve up a strange brew of improv/drone/experimentalism that finds some nice pockets of madness in their realm. Pretty destroyed stuff from the get-go, with spaced out drones writhing beneath kitchen cleanings and shower songs hummed by people living domestically around the corner. Halfway between a field recording and an Emeralds track at first, but soon veering more toward the drone side of the tracks. Odd though, celeste popping in and out, unexpected little details... like a zoned out Caroliner record maybe? Knaw. Not defunct enough. Like a dream played backwards over a nightmare played sideways? Sure. Track two sounds like a bunch of howler monkeys in a whale kingdom thirty-two leagues deep. Strange string strangles and hums abound before the winds pick up and the waters part. Weirdo stuff.

More or less it's this vibe throughout. The strange mixture of drone and off-the-cuff cram-it-down-your-throat mayhem is a nice one that's surprisingly a rarely employed tactic. Keeps things from getting stale/sounding the same all the time, and apparently even keeps it lively enough for the crowd over at J&J's Pizza, where about two thirds of this disc was laid down. Seems like they like their pizza fried in Denton. Good stuff, and beautiful artwork to boot--layer on layer on layer of screen print so it's thick as ox tail. More to come from the act and of course the label as well.

Healthy Animal - S/T (Lazy Roar CS)

2010-03-26T06:21:00.000-07:00

Here's one that's been clogging the feeder for a while now, and undeservedly so. Actually, since I've received this I actually got another tape from the label, a little comp by the title of Discovery that's got a nice mix of sun-shiny song stuff on it, but said tape's back home and this one made the trek so here we go.

A relatively recent operation, Lazy Roar's got a number of morsels out already, including an Al Qaeda/Spreaders split that looks delish. They keep em cheap to, only charging about $3 a tape, so where can you go wrong? Skip out on that five duller foot long and you've almost got half the catalog. This number represents the inaugural release on the label, and finds an anonymous laddie making some scrape psych out of Hey You, Pikachu! mics (groundbreaking!) and a trusty pedal or two. Lyricless, the sound veers somewhere between the guitar drift of a Black Eagle Child and the crunch of Andrew Coltrane, if that makes sense--see "Heavy Sleep" if it doesn't. Really though, when the dude gets going there's a pretty serious level of battering goig on, washes coming in and spritzing all over the place before slinking into little pseudo-jams that move with the consistency of late night traffic, drifting along with a real sound of their own. Everything sounds a bit like the tail end of some 60s psychosis-induced coming of age movie. Last scene at the end always has the dude stumbling over himself before regrouping just enough to make it off set.

Switch sides and the Animal rolls in on a cloud of Doors-style drums and vortex level winds that soon demolishes itself into tin-based alchemy. "Dirt Road" almost moves into epic Manga-level territory here, rumble and reins galore as it builds energy for its Mondo-Glam-Power-Punch. It's all heavy and groovy and good here, and to bring the point home Mr. Healthy has even included a zoo animal as part of the package. Nothing wrong with a free zoo critter to add to the collection of "things potentially useful to accompany music dabbling." Word. A label to keep your eyes on and your ears in.

Michael Northam & Jatin Vidyarthi - Golden Shadows (Semperflorens CD)

2010-03-25T07:45:00.000-07:00

Got a batch in recently from (I believe) the relatively newly christened Russian-based label Semperflorens. Thought they'd sent me this Jeph Jerman disc, but when I opened it up I realized there were two others thrown in there to. And when battery power wanes, the more discs the better! So rather than do a go over of the Jerman, whose work I know well enough, I figured I'd give this one a go. Seems like the label's definitely pointing itself in the minimal acousmatic improv direction with the first three releases here though, so one to watch if you're on that train.

Apparently these recordings happened during a Khoj residency session in New Delhi. Not really sure what that is, but it's manifested here as a combination of improv sessions and field recordings, along with some other strange sound stuff that has a heavy grey area vibe between sounds of life and life of sounds outlooks. "Shade Walking" opens with various concrete patters and electro scrape, like some guy running his nails over a circuit and letting it resonate deep into the walls. "When They Came In" reads a bit more like Waves (the Olson project, not the band) covering some raga in ultra hi-fidelity. Street sounds enter and leave and the whole thing swings right on over itself with loping kinetics. Heady stuff to be sure, and perhaps a tad academic, but not without the grit necessary to keep it relevant.

"Gold Walking" sets itself up as one of the main acts here at over ten minutes, but it strays more toward the aimless drone walk of life. Rather, it's tracks like "Digressing" that feel less like digressions for me, despite it's being half the length of the former. Here you get shell-style percussion jangled in an elevator shaft to eternity, way more odd and unexpected and atmospheric. "That Was" poises itself as a centerpiece as well at almost fifteen minutes, but here you get a lone ascending drone line over go nowhere horn action that's muted and restrained but playful and weird enough for a good zone sesh. "Chandni Chowk," a killer field recording of radio spewed in the streets, nearly beats it all for me though. Total immersion for two minutes and you're out. Killer before the closing "Lotus Contacting," which uses the same strength of field recordings to garner its power. This is where it's best and though the disc moves around like a bear in a bomb brigade (what is with that analogy?! seriously...), they hit the hot spots often enough to warrant this a major win in my book. Nice label to keep an eye on.

Part Wild Horses Mane on Both Sides - All Cows are Sacred (House of Alchemy CD-R)

2010-03-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

Pretty much managed to drain the girlfriend's remote batteries of juice powering up my tape player for reviews so it's back to CDs till I get a moment to run out. Not that that's all bad when you've got offerings such as the following. I've already covered Part Wild Horses Mane on Both Sides here before with the Bug Incision disc they did recently, and this new one from House of Alchemy is its equal on all fronts. Same sound, same vibe, killer package, the works.

Kelly Jones and Pascal Nichols receive plenty of props from the press for their free gagaku-style explorations, but it's a worthy press for sure; these guys aren't lightweights, they're featherweights, as nimble on their collective toes as their influences were. And further, the group goes a long way in refusing to respond to their counterparts with brash futurisms, instead opting for the inside/out approach of tackling the material from the material's standpoint. None of that "well it's like Feldman but NOISIER" or "it's Rashied Ali only we removed the drums and replaced them with the sound of shrapnel being shot into a tub of churning butter." It's just flute, electronics and drums playing the shit out of flute, electronics and drums. Their own vibe, their own language, and their own sensibilities shaping the music rather than the means doing so. Props.

The first cut is "Baby Armour," which moves from some Rahsaan Roland Kirk-style flute and percussion blather into more streaky and pointed remarks on drone discourse. Shards of electro/flute tone rattle up against the able on/off drum groove, never reaching a point where the two sound like they're staring across the room and asking themselves where to go from here. Just cruising it up, back down, around the corner, total jammer style. Could almost be some lost Theater of Eternal Music track by ship's landing. Follow up track, "Milky Days," starts right up in the chasm left off in the other, with smeared weird traipsing about behind lone flute divergences. Like Popol Vuh really. And usually this kind of psych + flute equation = nothing for me but the playing here is patient and airy and controlled, with little of the lift off swirling that caused the downfall of so many hip free flutists of generations past. Focused stuff, totally honed-in spontaneity that's constantly busting at the seams like a hats off bear brigade. And when they let rip they let rip, snakes orgies abounding. Sold out at source but soon to be available elsewhere I would assume. Nice heavy wood paste on job too, felt and all. The works.

Thresholders - Protective Instincts (Tape Drift CD-R)

2010-03-23T09:03:00.000-07:00

New Tape Drift batch in--they always seem to slide in between the cracks, don't they?--with some killer new offerings from old steadies Zanzibar Snails and Padna. Have to be most excited about this one though, as Eric's been flapping air and getting me all riled about this collab-o for a while in relation to a possible Wet Merchants tape, so it was good to get to finally hear what the dealio was.

And basically, the dealio is this: Eric, in a momentary split from Century Plants mate Ray, has teamed up with Derek Rogers. If those two names don't sound nice next to each other then this town ain't big enough for the both of us, hombre, so saddle up and get your jowls back over yonder. Unless of course you just need a handle on grabbing the material, in which case stay and have a seat. Three tracks, each about fifteen minutes long and presenting one zoned take after another. Deep stuff that has a similar westward-ho feel to Rambutan's Rusted Prayers Converge tape from a ways back. First self-titled song starts with some soaring searing smearing before Rogers drum pulse takes things a bit left, like some psychedelic, cosmo-drenched Dead C go. A righteous beauty and a fine breed.

Follow-up track, "Rubber Hammer," (is it Thor's?!) starts with some bird chirp that nestled nicely in with the morning sounds outside anyway but quickly a big gaping hole of sorrow bares its cavernous soul in yawns of brain-melting delight. A way more stripped down take on the duo's sound, this one hems and haws about like some electric fence dwelling banshee, traipsing about before sitting down for a zap every once in a while. Only time the creature's fractal energy is revealed, and frankly it feels rather naughty I would guess. Like Janet's nip-slip at the Super Bowl, only lonely ghoul style. Oh wait, no clarification necessary... Last track, "Fracture Removal," takes the energy of the first and the melancholy of the second and turns into one searing scorcher of a throwdown. Barn removal for sure. Whole thing just grows and grows and belches and burns, letting out all its fakakta turmoil in moves that'll find you recouping in the corner once its said and done. Killer debut, and available still from label HQ. Gots to.

Emuul - The Ghostwood Estates (Blackest Rainbow CS)

2010-03-22T10:20:00.000-07:00

It's a bit grey out today, scattered t-storms etc., so I figured I'd give this more melancholy glow a go. Kyle sent me a little batch of Emuul releases lately, and this one represents the beginning of the project, which has been delivering some lovelies of late. A reissue of the project's first release, the tape presents a nice little synth-y go of it that's way more fully formed than most demos go. Slow and low for sure, but with enough shimmer that it calls to mind a built-up version of that Imaginary Softwoods triple cassette from way back (recently reissued as well, on vinyl I believe = quick plug).

Lots of folks work in those mold to be sure, taking the ambient Eno approach and filling it in with enough psychedelic features to keep it squirming in the forefront, but Emuul is willing to let things sit. These little miniatures, starting off with the bobbing "Major Briggs (Enter the Light)" and feeding right into "The White Lodge," glide on right nice, taking one or two ideas and allowing them to sieve out the sunlight in the name of pure photosynthesis-based dialysis. Floating stuff, but with enough in-the-instrument incoherences to keep it relevant to the by and by.

Flip side's got a similar feel, with the back-to-nature pornographically titled "Sparkwood and 21" edging in from the blue for a good glide across the tundra. Blue stuff for sure, hardly quivering enough to reach your lobes. Not nearly as pretty as it would have you thinking at first glance, the stuff has a way of digging deep into its innards to find its own definition of decay. Turn it down and slide around or turn it up and cram on into the envelope for instant mailing to Planet Squeegie. "The Black Lodge" follows in the short line of lodge-related titles that have emerged of late (see previous song on this album, Pine Smoke Lodge, etc.) with a spatial claustrophibia that takes you into the forests of Evil Dead when there's still light to be had. Lovely stuff, limited to 80 and still available.

Megan Schubert / Christopher Riggs - Rueful Irony About the Limits of Human Agency (Holy Cheever Church Records CS)

2010-03-22T08:09:00.000-07:00

Jammed that Lifetones tape the other night as slow as I could make it go while Asher and I burned the midnight oil, which got me in the mood for spring right quick. Time to sit back and just wait, enjoy every excruciating moment as if it were the most important one yet come upon. The blossoms are coming, by god. Take them in. Any-hoo, said listening sesh got me back in the Riggs State of Mind (...we've only just begun!...) so I figured I'd wrap my noggin around the latest received articles from the Holy Cheever catalogue.

This one's got Riggs matching tactics with a classical singer of all people. Apparently Schubert's back from yonder centuries and wanting to collab with the most forward thinking guitarist of our generation. Got around to the Detroit scene and it was all too clear Riggs was the man for the job, so ol' Schubs sent Riggs a demo tape of some extended vocal techniques she'd (things change after 150 years six feet down) recorded. Riggs took these and applied the Cage ritual on em, splicing em up and playing live to their chance happenings. Pretty tough to discern the vocals in there, though you do get hte occasional clattered hollow of ringing delirium, which speaks to both the quality of Megan's seekings and to Riggs' ability to let em come and go as they seeketh to. A weird one for sure, even by Riggs' standard, but a nice use of the process in the name of some burnt sounds.

Flip actually manages to lighten things up a bit, sputtering forward like a bubble making machine at the National Typewriters' Festival of Acquiescence Festival that happened earlier this year down in Bolivia. Gamelan style clatter tha goes nowhere nice and quickly but that actually could fall into the chasms between Dilloway and Lou Harrison or something. A little like those Raymond Scott baby-soothing soundtracks, great for turning your child's brain to mush before they ever have to know the desire themselves. Apparently this is left over from some supposed mail collabo, but it never happened so it's happening now. Killer tape again, and with one of the best titles Riggs has come up with yet. Spring is here.

Wasteland Jazz Unit - Shivering Reflections (House of Alchemy CD-R)

2010-03-19T06:23:00.000-07:00

Just rolled back from schlepping all 85 students and 15 faculty down to Nicaragua and back, so it was a pleasure to find a couple packages in the mailbox that could accompany my frazzled reentry into the land of fully stocked supermarkets and mass media mind-numbery. Perhaps most surprising was a new batch from the long out-of-action House of Alchemy, a label whose done a swell job in the past but whose consistency has waned recently. Of course this new batch is stellar, including recent offerings from personal favorites Part Wild Horses Mane on Both Sides as well as this one, by the hyper-awesome Wasteland Jazz Unit.

A duo consisting of Jon Lorenz and John Rich, Wasteland's begun to earn some much deserved respect of late. With saxophones and clarinets in hand, the pair tie themselves together right quick here, blasting a hole through the underbrush on "Origin of Silence." Suppose they're suggesting it's sound with this statement, as there's not a gap in sight--just screams of reed radness shattering over one another like an egg in a lava pit. Starts to drip down before the whole thing hardens up and turns into chalk. Super stunning.

"Snow Burnt Air" follows in the same vein, upping the clatter if anything. Probably the best thing about these guys is their ability to still sound like they're playing the shit out of their material through the haze, and here you catch these glimmers of repeated phases, as if Ayler put that thing down, flipped it, and reversed it till it turned in on itself and imploded. Shattered sax everywhere son, watch your toesies. And while everyone's been getting on the horn/electronics wagon of late (and really, how could you resist?), these guys are picking up their horns so they can throw em right back down. Waves on waves of sound that sound less smashed than slathered together into gooey fuzz substance that's totally debilitatingly cruddily ecstatically lovely. Same goes for "Humming Creek," whose pastoral pen name is merely a front for lurched beserker motives. A jazz unit in the truest sense, total insider improv language developed from the organs to the skin for your listening pleasure. Beautiful stuff, and a welcome howdie-do from ol' House of Alchemy. Good to be home.

Caethua / Ancestral Diet - Split (Goaty Tapes CS)

2010-02-25T08:35:00.000-08:00

Goaty Tapes is such a classy operation it's tough to figure out where to go with these releases. I got this one from Zully a bit back with the Banana Head tape and have been giving it a go recently, but everytime I throw it on I end up going back through the artwork for another looksie. Beautiful cut-out springtime feel to the cover, with this great die cut information thing and a paper bag "C" house print as well. Outrageous. Of course the tunes are tight too, with this one representing a split between Caethua (who is Clare Adrienne and sometimes Andy Neubauer) and Ancestral Diet, which is just Neubauer. I like a good split of course, and when they're as intimately linked as this it can make for a real nice flow, revealing things about both if only due to their proximity to one another.

Caethua gets side one, with "Surface Waters and Underground Seas" sounding more or less as it's title suggests. Loping little key lines pulsate onward here, while Klaus Schulze swirls enter and retreat like guppies to the yolk. A small feel here to be sure, and one that's undeniably cutesy as well, especially once the super quaint vocals come in. I usually don't care for this style, and it is by no means my favorite element here, but that's just me. She does a fine job of keeping it interesting and loose despite the words, with a hazy sort of feel that would fit well on your latest new folk songstress mix. The instrumental stuff is what I'm going back to though, especially when it redissolves into grit toward the end of the side.

Ancestral Diet's side, "Coming Back in Trace Amounts," is even grittier, though still with that hazy summer feel. Opening like distant cicadas over the mountain tops, string motions nauseate each other here with a tastefully sea-sick feel. Very slow, the side sits right still for a good stretch before slowly building into, you guessed it, an honest to god song! Weird. The thing is pretty compelling actually, with airy organ lines and bells buried in tape hiss and slight of hand fuzzies. The girl/boy duet is halfway to "I Got You Babe," but again, it never shows all of its cards at anyone point, remaining unexpected within its framework. Nice stuff, eerie and dark and cut off, like some hippie Gregorian miniature played in icy foothills. Sold out at the label, but check the usual places.

Connector - STEEL/RUST (Stunned Records CS)

2010-02-25T08:19:00.000-08:00

Another one from way back when on Stunned (jeez, a whole 11 releases away now) but better late than never and better pulley than lever right? Plus, the cover's riddled with skulls so it's not as if the "time's up" ideal isn't inherent to the release itself you know? I'm saying more by doing it late. Yeah, that's it...

Truth be told though, this one should have come way earlier as it's gone now and that's a shame. Connector is Bryce Loy and Peter Lamons and the concept here is ultra righteous in my book. Basically, the two sides represent two acoustic pieces played inside of Richard Serra's (of "Spiral Jetty" fame) "Connector," a sixty-four foot tall monument of steel whose five plates create a hollow space through which one can walk, talk, and jam their way to heart's content. Kinda shocked that the powers that be were game for this recording to happen here actually, as these guys really go nuts on the thing. Starting off subtle, with carvings and scratches and traffic and crickets, the thing quickly develops into all out smashes and pummeling procedures. Real riotous really, but I guess it would be tough not to get caught up in the insular environs of the locale.

Importantly though is that the thing never turns into a wonk fest. These guys are really getting a lot of sounds out of this space, and the hexagon whole at the top lets enough starlight in that there's hope of light and escape, an important element to the sound here. Thus it always gets insular once more, content in itself before erupting toward the heavens. This tension/release/tension effect is very nicely paced and the whole thing has the feel of a genuine locational piece despite it's clearly improvised nature. Love the pictures on the inside too, which show in fine color the sculpture and a super bloody arm. Rugged. Best of all is that you've got to assume Serra would approve. His stuff's always meant to be used, degraded, changed, and this work inside a work feeds off of all of that. Groovy stuff here. Maybe Tomentosa's got one?

Xiphiidae - Sewn Within a Circle (Housecraft 2XCS)

2010-02-25T08:04:00.000-08:00

Housecraft man. Way back when, like a year ago, Housecraft was cranking out more shit than an Elephant at Thanksgiving, but things have slowed a bit for the label. Lucky for us though, the stuff keeps sneaking out, with the last two releases being highly constructed, multi-tiered beauties. This one celebrates Housecraft's 100th release, and it goes right back to the beginning for the label, serving as an exhibition of head honcho Jeffry Astin's Xiphiidae project and including tracks from older releases plus new material. Apparently some of this stuff dates back to 2002, which is quite a ways in the world of tape output really, so you get a full range on this number for sure.

Consisting of two hour-long tapes, it's pretty tough to know where to start with this one. There's a ton of music here, all of seeping in and out of itself in the earthy electronic manner that Astin's so good at. The guy really sounds like no one else, walking a fine line between New Age throwback, tape loop crud and shimmering ambient stuff without really wading a toe into the nostalgia fair grounds. His stuff is always packed high to low, with delicacy and rugged laid over one another like bed mates after a brawl. Sometimes opposites do attract, and pork string stutters feel right at home in guitar and synth slight of hand vibrations. Even vocal tape finds of the preacher/discourse realm manage to be used musically enough so that they feel comfortably aligned and new. Making something alert from the tired pieces of promise.

Great stuff for cozying up really, if you feel like soundtracking. It's rainy here, so I can't help but feel right at home with the fireside feel of this stuff, but it's fireside feel with balls enough to crackle erratically. Don't curl up next to the flames, put your head right on them and feel their warmth softly whisp by your ear. Sure, it'll hurt at first, but soon you'll be melting right in and home is where the heat is ain't it? Ride on Housecraft, and take me there every time. Or at least let me visit.

Jay Crocker - Joachim on Eggshells (Bug Incision Records CD-R)

2010-02-25T07:47:00.000-08:00

Whoa, what have we here? Bug Incision's been a bit under represented here considering the amount I've been jamming on Chris Dadge's label, but justice is served by the weak so I'll try and represent a bit harder here. Let's be clear: the label's putting out some of the best experimental improv around, period. Canada man, what a holy land. This one comes from usual guitarist Jay Crocker (who plays on a sometime soon-to-be-released Dadge tape we're doing over at Wet Merchants, by the way) who has here decided to forego the axe in favor of single take cassette mash ups that read more like some brain damaged Zoviet France output or something. Total melt your mind material here.

The album starts off in some pretty crude modes but the intricacy of the stuff soon makes itself visible as high end electro waves are laid over by demo beats and empty space. I know the word "beats" has certain connotations but these cause little to no groove, fear not. More just clacking pulses that intermingle with the head space for maximum insanity-inducing effect. Zonked stuff for sure, blips and low end electronic glitches combining into something like Analog Concept meets A.M. Shiner meets solo percussion for satellite stuff. Dead as a doornail but with enough bite in it, and an almost ADD willingness to switch gears that your brain'll swell to the size of bowling bowl and roll right down the lane.

There's gotta be more like this out there. This Calgary scene has got something special going on with a real move to develop there own language, which to me is always the most exciting stuff to emerge. Modern folk music stuff. Plus they have free health care?! What else do you need? Endless realms on this one, and well worthy of repeated listens to watch the eccentricities present themselves anew. Try it out, support Bug Incision, etc. These guys are on fire, and the lite bright cover puts it up over the top.

Christopher Riggs - Long Self-Trained in Taking Despair Sitting Down (Holy Cheever Church CS)

2010-02-25T07:28:00.000-08:00

Another day, another Riggs. This guy's got his hand in everything it seems, and the more he partakes the more we benefit far as I'm concerned. Just started a new label in cooperation with Ben Hall called You Are Your Only Machine, first release of which consists of Hall and Riggs going at it with guitar beat down legend Joe Morris. More to come on that upon arrival...

Group aside, Riggs' solo work shines plenty. I swear the more this guy cranks out, the more honed his systems of delirium become. This one in particular finds Riggs playing two homemade stereo guitars (a guitar 4-track, really) as if they were mechanical orchestras, whirling about under some wah-wah'd coils that sproing like Carl Stalling on a sugar binge. Practically a timpanic poof beat at the beginning while the squiggles squiggle and the slithers slither. Wormy and winding, but also sensitive as can be, with real shapes being drawn across the factory belt as it slinks by.

As far as I'm concerned it's about as perfect as they come really; playful, genuinely experimental and a joy to sink into. So many people marvel at the fact that these are guitars but I'm not sure that's the point. Either way, they're sounds being masterfully treated, no matter the instrument, and the fact that he's not shredding some Santana groove isn't so much a shock as it is a relief. Come up with a body motion and place it on an object over and over and it turns into something, you know? Riggs moves from gesture to gesture so fluidly and consciously, intertwined in some convivial dance on six strings, that it's tough to disconnect the sounds from his body from his instrument etc. Some gasamptkunstwerk stuff you know? No conceptual holes, and still a total blast. Not dry, just fly. God bless Holy Cheever.

Julian Lynch - Orange You Glad (Olde English Spelling Bee LP)

2010-02-24T13:11:00.001-08:00

Hot off the presses at Foxy Digitalis:

Julian Lynch is a name that's been flying around a lot recently in the hypnagogically obsessed blog-o-sphere with this record in many ways representing his introduction to the world beyond. And it's easy to understand why—Lynch has a knack for a hook and is just this side of scuzzy enough that even your freckled nephew could throw it on alongside his recently uncovered Pavement collection. The whole thing drifts along just right, with it's cautiously constructed naivety serving as the time machine on a revisit of your now-foggy fondnesses. It makes for lovely basking.

Yet with a lot of this stuff, it seems people are missing the point. Yes, Lynch's tunes are as billowing as they come, their melodies emerging as naturally as “Here Comes the Sun.” But beneath that, there is a sincerity that exudes distaste of the scene it has emerged out of. “Rancher” is halfway between “Before and After Science”-era Eno and the soundtrack to Twin Peaks and, while both of those things do happen to fall into the time period roughly alluded to by the beach crazed Maui/mall rat hubbub of late, it is far more than gazing from abroad. This stuff deals too closely with the sounds as they present themselves to do that. Each strum is treated fully, each bass line given its space and voice in the mix. This is as much about production as it is about songwriting, and Lynch is a master at the knobs. It's definitely lo-fi, but it's lo-fi in a 4-track kind of way; he's doing about as much as he can with the materials at hand. Dig the horn line on “Mercury” for further proof, it's lazy gestures floundering about on languid lines of drifting hydrangeas.

If anything the second side is even more lackadaisical and loping than the first. This is really Lynch at his best, especially on tracks like “Winterer Two,” where his mini orchestra sounds like everything it's pulling from but with enough of a sense of its own voice to thwart them all of connotation. Lynch avoids these connotations in his music by superseding them with an undeniable presence of his own voice as he pushes off from the mangled groupings of bloggers everywhere. And this is a most refreshing thing. Not to mention a damn good record.

Pine Smoke Lodge - Haligdaeg (Stunned Records CD-R)

2010-02-23T18:05:00.001-08:00

Back to back days of reviews? Unheard of... of course when you've got this much catching up to do, it's more than a bit unforgivable not to do that so two slaps on the wrist here and let's move on. This one is long overdue, harkening way back to the batch before the latest one on personal Eden, Stunned Records. They never miss a beat of course, and this one is just as solid as you would expect/hope.

Pine Smoke Lodge consists of Hillary and Matt, who runs Existential Cloth (swell label) over in Portland, Maine. Seems they've been spending plenty of time in Strange Maine of late, cause this tape takes the grim of that space, spruces it up a tad and gives it a nudge into daylight. Wipes it's charcoal eyes clean quick too, as these little acoustic iterations delay ad infinitum into the endless hollow landscape stretching beneath. "Overgrown White Hut" (wait, huts don't grow?!) shoots it nice and easy into the cosmos without getting too "drone/space/splooge"-y that it's rendered useless and laid to rest among the other cd-rs in the collection. Rather, this stuff has a crisp freshness to it--recorded well, it captures textural delicacies that too often render this type of music into sounding like itself over and over.

Keep mentioning over and over/ad infinitum, but really, whether it's positive or negative, that's the point here. Sheets slip into more sheets, shaping the work over long expanses of desert like some ambient work composed at high altitude. There's less oxygen up there, you see, so the focus is a bit hazy, but the sound carries as well as anywhere. Gotta give props too for the vocals which, though immediately identifiable upon entry, never shift this thing back down to lock down. Rather, they're matched with machine innards and shell bells that take you outward toward some less familiar dimensional territory. Fresh stuff, Stunned rules (still).

High Wolf - Supermodern Temple (Krayon Recordings CS)

2010-02-22T17:44:00.001-08:00

I'm a big fan of yellow and, though due only to a very limited number of exposure opportunities, of High Wolf. This tape is yellow AND High Wolf, so it was all good in my book from the get go. Which is to say that I've been jamming this one for going on months now without ever plopping down and penning the item. Plopping's happening in a big way today though, so High Wolf's time is nigh.

First off, a word of warning on the text here. The tape's fonts are practically indecipherable, rendered more as negative image hieroglyphics more than the good ol' fashioned Roman layout I've grown so accustomed to in my time here. So the two sides are either titled "Aztec Fountain" and "Parallel Vision" or something exceptionally different. Pay no mind though, the feel is right. We all know there's a lot of Skaters copyists spanning the globe these days, and who's to blame them? Skaters rule. But High Wolf, despite working in a similar mode on a lot of this stuff, takes the high road (get it?) by keeping his jams in ultra hi (get it again?) fidelity, making for glistening New Age psychedelicisms that squish to the touch and bloom if you put enough pressure on them. Ultra glistening stuff here that takes what feels like a million cliched lines and lays them on one another, mirrors on mirrors on mirrors, until there are too many reflections to find yourself, let alone your karmic state. Gorgeous and aimless stuff here on both sides, with a similar oeuvre being elucidated the whole stretch of tape.

You know, there's a lot of talk about beach culture, 80s nostalgia, blah blah blah on the blog-o-sphere these days but High Wolf is a fine demonstration for me of why those niches are so regrettable. Sure, there's a chillers vibe here to be certain, but not at the expense of a unique voice and honest vision. To be fair, there's a lot of stuff that's much more so that thing than this, but the general feel is there: slow beats, gliding melodies, fragments of vocal-sounding Beach Boys buildup. But it's all nill if it cares more about being that than being itself. High Wolf could easily be thrown in the mix of hypnagogic hoopla and released with a Ninja Turtle thrown on the cover but it isn't. In fact, the cover's practically illegible, letting the sounds make the statement, just as they should.

And for the record, it's not so much the concepts that I take issue with. It's the deliberate pigeon holding of groups who deserve far more credit than to just be likened to one another. Anyway, tight album from the hitherto unknown to me Krayon Recordings. Seek it out and see what's cracking.

Terrors - Ceaseless Fall (Bathetic CS)

2010-02-22T17:09:00.000-08:00

Double trouble in honor of the 22nd. This one's from Bathetic Records, which got sent to me a ways back and is run by he who is known as Pink Priest. This tape's cover, with staunch witnesses lining the skies, grabbed me hard by the jugular, so it was a whole other revelation to tap into the sounds here. I'd heard of Terrors before, but the sounds had never made it in my hands, so to tell the truth I know very little about the project. Suppose I could do a quick research run but faghettaboutit. It's the smatters that matters, right?

Truth be told, I was quite taken on first spin here. Expected some sort of crudded out noise stuff but instead I got some real gentle guitar picking and echoed out coos on "Locks Fall Pattern." Like some tiny Simon and Garfunkel moment stretched out from sea to shining sea till it's so big you can't tell Simon or Art from lemon tart. "Hit & Miss Iowa City" has some honest-to-god lyrical content (a real rarity for the material that swings through here most days) but it's well balanced with flicking glimmers of guitar strum and lope with some extra careful delay treatment that never sets the tone or guides the work so much as fleshes it out into its own microcosmic wunderworld. Super careful stuff, and refreshingly unapologetic in its gentility.

The flip's "Withdrawing" walks the line between reverb overdose and moist folk nocturnes, sneaking in the cracks between Astral Weeks and Dave Bixby. Glowing stuff that's bare bones enough to pack an emotional wallop without reverting to sleeze. Toy piano (or whatever it is...) is so blown out on entry it just glides right into the tremolo mix, disappearing like a drop of milk into water and exuding that most careful balance of sorrowful joy found only in the old Las Vegas crooner back on the drag singing staples for silver. Real lovely like. "Soft Proliferating Light" closes things out by murkifying and proselytizing towards the reflections out west. I hear that the San Andreas fault splits off faster every year. Does it take the sunset with it though? This should give you some sense. A real gem that fills all sorts of niches. Call it the winter blues, but this stuff's soft to the touch and boiling for the brain, which amounts to none other than the best recipe of the season.

Archers by the Sea / Kawrelia Soul Collective - Split (Cabin Floor Esoterica CS)

2010-02-22T14:31:00.001-08:00

Yowzers, February's almost over already and we're fast approaching the end of winter. Got to actually walk around in just a long sleeved shirt today, a beautiful thing. Maybe it's the extra vitamin D, but I felt extra motivated today to get some long (long, long) overdue reviews done. Had to start here too, not only cause of general levels of overdue I.O.U. status, but also cause Vincent (of Archers by the Sea) is doing a tape for yours truly's Wet Merchants, so a little extra word serves both right proper.

This split comes from the aptly titled Cabin Floor Esoterica label, who always makes a special effort to gather as much extraneous junk and pack it into the package as possible. Always nice to have a bit to explore while the tapes are rolling, and this one's got real life rocks from some swimming hole out in Atlantis. Good looks for sure.

Of course the main course is the sounds, and this one, in the spirit of any well conceived split, flows right on through some zones that, while not necessarily obvious bunk buddies, definitely serve each other in their placement across from one another at the coloring table. The first side, Vincent's, is a lo-fi folk rambler that hits some pretty molten realms. Caylet's got so many guises, and each project takes on a voice of it's own. Monks of the Balhill, Pistil Cosmos, "V", it's all the same guy but never the same guise. This project moves toward some Xian folk style meanderings that are blown to bits by the in-the-red recording levels, which makes it sound rather a lot like Caylet had climbed to the top of Baldhead Mountain to play a nice one for some eagle chicks before the walls fell and buried his guitar under about three feet of pebbles. Turns out that's not such a bad place for him to be. Really lets each tune slink into the group while keeping it sonically devoid of anything un-downer. Stark and grave, kinda reminds me of that Miles Devens tape or something. More singular a vibe though, and even a tad more buried, plus he's willing to stretch on FOREVER.

The flip offer sup mystery Russian/Finnish unit Kawrelia Soul Collective, who more or less go the route of all things zonkered by gathering all the kitchen utensils they can, flipping on some delay and having a go of it college daze style. Little guitar and vocal nowhere lines definitely keep this one on the verge of total destruction/conversion, but it's all ceremoniously goofy and welcome after the drenched badlands trampled on yonder tape side. There is a touch of truly nowhere melancholy here (the first "Ruin Song," but it has a bit too tough a time avoiding sounding like exactly what it is. I hear Love Cult and Win in Willows are both band members, as is Noise Under My Pillow and Cycle Hiccups, but even "Meow, Kitties," as adorable they may be, just doesn't have the same delicate dilapidation of the Godz own feline flounderings (I hear kitties love flounder, actually). Not that this side doesn't get into some delirious realms--especially when they go electric they're able to conjure up some mean mantra mumbles. Grip the tape for Archers by the Sea, flip it for potential jam-fried accompaniment. Limited to 50 and still available if you can believe it.

Wet Merchants 4

2010-02-11T11:37:00.001-08:00

Cruudeuces - "Bird Calling in the Ghetto" and "2 Live Crew Deuces" here.

$5 for "Bird Calling"
$7 for "2 Live Crew" -- comes in an over sized box with "Bird Calling" and bonus 3"

E-mail me with orders.

More New Wet Merchants Round 2: Polyester Raincoat - Faces

2010-01-19T04:42:00.000-08:00

Polyester Raincoat - Faces here. $5

More New Wet Merchants: Sparkling Wide Pressure - A Window Opens

2010-01-19T04:38:00.001-08:00

Sparkling Wide Pressure - A Window Opens here. $5

Wet Merchants Ribbon Cutting

2010-01-18T14:35:00.001-08:00

Big news folks: the first Wet Merchants release is done and ready for the shippings. Killer split from co-label master Nick and Emily's Speculator project with former Dana member Ryan Howe's Luke Perry operation on the flip. Get in touch with Nick (or me once I get them in... will keep notified) if you're interested. $5

Kane Pour - Cat on a Paisley Shawl (Housecraft CS)

2010-01-18T13:58:00.000-08:00

Housecraft's a mainstay in this heart to be sure, but perhaps it's strongest attribute is its seeming inability to go the way of all things. When the original site went down I thought, well, there goes another one, but the resuscitation of the label on their blog site has left many hoping for more. Jeff was nice enough to shoot me a batch a while ago (you'll notice these latest ones are mostly from a ways back in the release schedules...) but I've gotta say, they're just as good as anything he's done. Guy's got a way of finding sounds that slip between spaces rather than fill them, and a hole's always better than a mound I say.

One of the best of these recent acts is Kane Pour who, along with Jeff, is the other half of Tricorn and Queue. His debut, Wand in the Beak of a Yellow Bird, was phenomenal, so getting this one in the mail was a joy. More or less expanding on the previous record's stuff, and certainly blessing us with an extra 12 minutes of material here, this stuff floats right in off some sunset shrouded cloud to settle right on the tip of an oak tree and nestle into its veins. Guitar based, the material's drenched with delay and off celestial backings that flit about haphazardly, everything soft enough so as to round out the edges until they are barely perceptible against the white wash of drift. Not drone, not tropy-jams, not nothin. Just fragile, lo-fi foraging. Balancing experimentation with listenability is no small task, but Kane Pour makes it look easy. It's the kind of thing your grandma might like to knit too. Throw it on and everything among it will immediately become softer, less agitated. Yet it ain't no new age numbery. Rather, it induces a kind of heightened sensitivity to vulnerabilities and beautiful details. Really lovely stuff that's always got a secret or two up it's sleeve to take it into another realm of disbelief. Immersion without conversion. Peace without fleece. Excitement without excrement. How'za bout that?

M. Geddes Gengras / A.M. Shiner - The Blue Push / The Red Kush (Stunned Records CS)

2010-01-18T13:39:00.000-08:00

Last year, M. Geddes Gengras, mainstay of the L.A. scene, released one of my favorite albums of the year with Smoke Blower, while A.M. Shiner's Bananarchy fell squarely among my favorite zone out numbers of the ever. Well go figure that the two would now converge, and doubly go figure that it happens on Stunned, which sniffed out the two dudes and is now laying them across each other in a hazy communion. Nice concept for sure, but who knew it would work out with magnificence of a wunderkind huh?

Opening the big bag of goodies is Gengras, who here opts for a less gritty take on his approach than Smoke Blower ventured into. This number's far more psyched out, a broken conglomerate of post-Mesozoic delirium whose thick chordal background has cartoon hallucinations veering in and out of it fast as your mind's eye can grab on. Like the tortoise and the hare combined into one. Slow and steady wins the race, but high MPH's are so exhilarating while they last. And why shouldn't we have both at the same time huh? What especially boggles my mind about this stuff is how many sources there are--it sounds like Gengras is hiding in Klaus Schulze's bag of tricks, only he's brought his own toys along for the ride too. Expansive stuff that goes nowhere and everywhere at exactly the same time. Stretch your mind out and let it sproing back in with simultaneous motions. Bet you can't do it, can you? Well Gengras can.

No fear either, the flip is equally ganja-fied, if by a few different means. I mean it's called The Red Kush for chrissake's, and it's got that same crunched out oblivio vibe that said product may well induce. Crunch and whir abounds, but with little worry as to the outcome. Just let it roll off and land on you, find out what that does to your hearing. Switches channels, and you got the taste of cherry in your mouth. Whoa there... off the deep end right quick there. Much harsher stuff here, but with a compassion for its sounds that keeps it all rolling along quite heartily. My noggin hurt yesterday but today it tastes like stale bread and Nutella. Keep it there for a moment, Wonka, let it chide me for another moment. A banana split for the psychically (un)aware. Get with it.

Part Wild Horses Mane on Both Sides - Memoirs of a Secret Metal Cave (Bug Incision Records CD-R)

2010-01-18T13:00:00.000-08:00

How bout that Mr. Doubty-Mustafa? More than two reviews in a week and rolling strong. This one's from a batch I got a ways back off Chris Dadge's Bug Incision imprint, as swell an operation as there is and north of the border at that. Chilliness aside, Dadge has a way of keeping things steaming on all fronts with his stuff. Guess booking the biggest thing in small music makes sense then, as he called upon Pascal Nichols and Kelly Jones for this one. Likely no need for an introduction of these two but for those who haven't heard the stuff, this British duo work a unique flute, drums and electronics setup that presents a real mastery of the kind of insular, homemade logic that I fall for like a fool for a fad.

On to the sounds. When you think PWHMBS, you gotta think flute, and the first track's full of it. This nowhere melody finds space between the lonesome hills, Renaissance fair crowd, Herbie Mann style wankery and pure tonal exploration in a way that somehow squeezes between the cracks and musters some evocative pastoral breaths. Usually can't stand the flute aside from when a scant few are rocking it--say R. Kirk, Dead Machines style Olson, and, uh, I'm sure there are others...--but this is some deep playing that uses the instrument's strongest qualities, namely it's ability to funnel bursts of air into parcels of barely there tone, to get to some real stuff. Second track drops the woodwind in favor of subtle electronic dialysis and highlighted percussive romps. Completely killer percussion here, that's on the beat and off it again as fast as a fare train to the skies.

By the time the second cut feeds into the third, you're knee deep in the duo's language, so the flute feels rightly placed into the smattering percussion world. Hums, bells, glimmers, it's all light stuff here, as soft as paisley, but with an urgency of form and vision that speaks far beyond the strict color palette present. This is, for lack of a better term, serious music; it takes itself seriously, and it expects to be taken seriously. Yet the =strength of the work lies in its very ability to not translate "seriously" as stale or even intellectual. It is only serious in its ability to be as it is, and to persist with refining the creation looming between the ample lines of the disc. Beautiful stuff that would make a whole lot of improv geeks drool if only they didn't have their heads so far up their own arses. Grad it if it's not gone already, it's beautiful stuff.

Banana Head - In the Tubs (Goaty Tapes CS)

2010-01-15T14:37:00.000-08:00

Goaty Heads is a label I've heard much from, but never had a chance to grab on account of low pocket change. Luckily though, Zully was nice enough to get in touch with me and lay a few sounds on me for the review treatment. the cat on the cover got me in this case due to its odd proximity to an equally blank real cat I once had. Plus, what's not to like about a project called Banana Head?

Was a tad surprised to throw this on and find out it was more or less a lo-fi pop record, stripped back and played with a melancholy that's super well suited to this kind of reverberant and insular sound. Cruising through nine tracks across the tape, we're equally met with broken down rock moves, like everything was slowed down till the idiosyncrasies in timing became apparent and then stretched a bit for best effect. If that's the case though, the originals here are about 30 seconds each... the material really moves here. "You're Mine" is as desperate and hostile as the title could be taken, while the opening "Desk Man" situates itself in a dark psychedelia that winces at itself in the mirror, too shy of its blemishes but still hopeful enough that they'll be seen through. "Eat to Death" almost ends the first side on a vacation getaway, but the lyrics are so muffled that it sounds like the party's already left and the house is quiet and dark again. Nice sound.

Flip side has some solo guitar fuzz out for "Gang Toughs," a fucked take on some 90s indie tune. The ever-present vocal wash out leaves the lyrics barely discernible enough that they remain heartfelt, meaning that ole Banana Head's got a grip on texture and sound as mood setting over content. Always stronger that way, no? There's an element of nostalgia too to this stuff, a naivety that's so distant and desired that it's morphed into a sickly sweet parenthetical. It's all lovely, and well worth a trip for those who are into songs teetering on the precipice. Nice first go of the Goaty style too with this package. Super nicely conceived look/sound/the works. Simultaneously cold and warm, dark and light, hop on pop and pop on cop. Play yo-yo to it, or read comics or something. Unless you just want to sit and drift. That works too.

Two in January? More on the near horizon.

Bill Corrigan - Noodlin' (Holy Cheever Church Records CS)

2010-01-15T14:21:00.000-08:00

Alright, back on the band wagon so to speak. Or at least still got a hand on, even if my feet are dragging across the prairie like a roadrunner in heat. Spurred back to it by a few new packages though, one from Holy Cheever and the other from the new-to-here Goaty Tapes. Plus I've got a hankering for more Stunned stuff, so here goes. Got this package today from Riggs and I couldn't not throw on the dude I hadn't heard of, especially with that cover of the dapper looking crusty on the ivories. Had to be good, and so it is.

Turns out Bill Corrigan is another Michigan lad doing what Michiganers do best, aka redefining weirdo outsider music and playing stuff entirely removed from any scene to speak of. Seems the defining characteristic of Michigan's outsider output these days is simply that they don't sound like any of the other outsider output, which is really saying something in these days of Skaters rip-offs and drone after drone after done done done. Not that I'm not a sucker for all that, but the Big Mitten has a knack for fitting my lobes like a glove.

As far as I can tell, Corrigan's thing is to do more or less improvised pieces on acoustic piano; no effects, no preparations, no nothing. Just tinkly (and Corrigan hit the nail on the head here) noodlin'. Though that term doesn't quite get to the heart of this stuff, because rather than engaging in practiced groovology or over exerted wankery, Corrigan writhes about in a fairly limited space, allowing lines to build and mesh in a haphazard but rather restrained manner. It's a refined sort of internal logic that sounds completely controlled despite only snippets appearing to come from any compositional world we here on earth are accustomed to. Yet still, each brief diddy here has a bluesy, piano bar feel to it. Riggs gets right to the point in dropping Conlon Nancarrow here, but it seems to be equal parts stride pianist gone afield. Killer stuff, listenable and together as hell but baffling in its fresh, smattered approach to a well worn instrument. Let's see more, Bill. Killer stuff.

Excavacations - S/T (Stunned Records CS)

2009-12-29T08:22:00.001-08:00

Back in the saddle for a pre-New Years push--been quite a stretch since the last review but there's been no shortage of goodness sent in. My desk is currently overloaded in fact. Been meaning to whittle away at it for ever now but the end of the first term took the wind out of me and then it was season's tidings/writhings time, which of course means any moment found is a moment cherished. Nevertheless, storms have been weathered and reviews may now commence.

Figured I'd kick it back into gear with this one from the now not-so-new Stunned batch. It's been a while since I've gotten to Stunned stuff but, given that it was pretty much my favorite label this year (alongside Holy Cheever and Bug Incision I suppose--a lot more to come from both those camps soon as well...), it only seemed right proper to do it the honor of reinvigorating this here bloggie. What's a further blast is this tape's makeup. Excavations is made up of formidable label heads C.A. Parsons and Nicholas Longworth, who's work with the Offices of Moore and Moore has been most impressive. Killer stuff coming out over there... but killer stuff here as well. As far as I know this is their first delving into public release territory and it's a real nice go.

The whole thing is structured as a bunch of songs believe it or not. And on top of that, those songs are loosely strung together into an honest-to-god album. Moves through some nice stripped back zones too that pull from early/mid-90s lo-fi moves, drone, guitar rock, you name it--it's all wailing and consistently sun embossed. Like some torrid ride that fast forwards you right through this gnarly 9 degree weather and woosh, out into the land of pregnant greenery and tingling blossoms. Utterly listenable stuff for sure, and with enough bite to keep the interesting interested. The best numbers have a rich pop goodness that takes into account the naive melodic sense of so much of the tropical/"hypnagogic" stuff and re-situates it into a real band context with an atmosphere all it's own. Not to mention some serious breadth presented here. Smatterings in between keep it all whoozy enough to get lost in. Only your head can guide the way. Guide on, I suppose, guide on... Surely to remain cruisable deep into 2010.

Christopher Riggs - Home of the Glassman (Holy Cheever Church Records CS)

2009-11-16T13:28:00.000-08:00

And if one's not enough, than two ain't either. But here we go anyway--two Riggs in one day?! Some day indeed. Actually this is all part of a much anticipated catch up session that involves a number of long buried releases intended for review... sometimes work gets in the way of play y'know? Hell, sometimes it gets in the way of work...

Anyway, if Gold Danny didn't whet your appetite for the six-string soothsayer, this one's got to. At 71 minutes, it's long enough to accompany most any silent film or almost two full episodes of Lost, your pick. Me though, I prefer to have it sit beside me while I'm grading papers. Keeps things on edge enough that it all flows a bit easier. Opening stuff is some muffled action while doors are creased over and over. Airplane's flying overhead as we speak and it's like a third guitar on this duel guitar attack. Hot billing too, its selling points being no overdubs or mixes. "Really!" Pretty mind bending though once you pick it apart and find all the glistening strains in between. Wiley. Like Riggs hooked contact mics up to his teeth and is having a floss with barbed wire or something. Only it's all in this slow burn style that's totally desperate and woody and frozen. Like some desperate frozen bear fumbling around in the woods while the birds taunt his mammoth weight. Never lets the critters see him fall though, just gets to where he's gotta be and then lays rest. Then the fleas start feasting for sure.

Next level stuff as usual, bruised and alive. Seems Riggs is busy all the time, and the payoff is mighty for those willing to dive in. Lonely stuff. Listen to it while driving and it's like crickets accompanying you. Listen to it while sleeping and it's like bedbugs infringing on your dreams. Listen to it while showering and it'll turn the water blue--wait, water is blue right?! Then it'll damn near stay that way!

Christopher Riggs - Gold Danny (Holy Cheever Church Records CD-R)

2009-11-16T10:53:00.000-08:00

Q: You like Chris Riggs? A: Yea, totally. Q: Why you like Chris Riggs? A: Cause he floats my boat, that's why. Gold Danny's another yacht to rest your cap on from the dude. And believe it or not, it's a CD-R. On Holy Cheever? What a sell-out... What's next, a Sub Pop contract and a radio sleeper?

Well no actually. The disc might be cruisable in a larger percentage of rides, but that doesn't mean anything concerning its perceived ride-ability. Wheels are a-turnin' mighty slow here, with Riggs' usual breed of drape and scrape stripped way back to single string benders and hollowed out fenders. Loosey-goosey stuff that sticks its neck out far enough that when the spine's snapped the whole thing just flops over, head first and tail in the air. White lump in the shade.

I can tout Riggs all I like but really you're either on board or your not. I can tell you he's the best thing since Django Reinhardt and that still won't get the gypsy fans on board. Or that Wes Montgomery or Grant Green suck eggs compared to this (duh). A recent description on the Holy Cheever site from John Olson pretty much hits the nail on the head in terms of a Derek Bailey to Joe Morris to Keith Rowe to Riggs lineage. One's gotta wonder what's next though? I'm not sure guitar can sound less like a guitar than this really. Sounds more like some deranged tape loop held under water till it can take no more. Add to that lineage someone like, oh I don't know, Fozzy Bear, and you might be getting there. Cagean chance is the tip of the iceberg, but what about purposeful purposelessness huh? Where the point is pointless and the goal is right behind you? Just flesh on metal, with the buzz of signal passage intervening. The short little passages here, skipping along like some drunken elementary school girl, really gives you enough space that you should be able to figure out what the hell Riggs is up to. Clueless still though. Weirdness abounds sleeper style. That's right. Night night. Tight.

Moonflare - All the World is Bright With Joy and Musical Delight (Cubic Pyramid CD-R)

2009-11-11T13:54:00.000-08:00

Courtesy of new Lisbon-based label Cubic Pyramid, this disc is a nice little foray into some twisted avenues of psychedelic scree, presenting a fuzzed out offering that has some balls behind its burned out walls. Only two tracks here, but the first is longer than an episode of Doug, so what's the worry?

Seems like both tracks are untitled too, so you get to just throw it on without much thought--though some might argue the extended title cancels that out a tad... fear not though, this stuff isn't nearly as quaint as it's name suggests, instead presenting a minor beat in its opening before shifting gears toward some droned out mish-mash of blown blacks. Not so much a dark foray, but it gets noisy enough, moving from Vibracathedral-oriented twitter to attempts at Hototogisu rumble. And despite it's not really making it to either the disc does have a little something going on if I do say so myself. Real sincere stuff that has an organic flow and a pretty together atmosphere, which is nice to hear from first timers and pros alike. Guitar and vocalizings combine Skaters-shades into a real solid sound that at times even reminds me of some rundown cover of a Double Leopards track or something. Only not. A little nastier sounding really, and less mobile capabilities. The focus is solid here though, and these guys manage to control the general shape of the whole thing well without letting it get out of hand too quickly. Well played folks, well played.

The kicker is the palette cleanser, a nearly six-minute guitar diddle that's got some clues bending about it like some serpentine truth module. Weird and lilting and really nothing like the previous track. In my book it's actually the more effective and weirder route, but what's my book got to do with it. True be told it's a perfect bookend to the fiesta beforehand. Groovy stuff. Limited to 50 though, and nice.

Mark Bradley - Absolution (Basses Frequences CD-R)

2009-11-11T13:26:00.000-08:00

Here's another platter for your brain matter, but only if you feel like squishing it to ooze and letting it have a looksy around the premises from the floor. Mark sent me this one a little bit ago, and it's been a delayed delight, especially what with the incoming chill and overextended thrill associated with teaching in the winter. Perfect stuff for elimination of all things detrimental.

Mark's hardly a newcomer though, as he's been popping stuff out for a while on labels like Reverb Worship, Blackest Rainbow and the way-back reviewed Existential Cloth stuff. Which means this is a tried and true tactic, and little could be thought of as trieder or truer than Bradley's laser beam ambiance. With crystal clear precision, Bradley let's it all slip in and out of focus with little regard for the fuzzy affect so often opted for in the scene. Instead you just get shifting planes of lunar lines, lunges of transparent diamonds that reflect so much light that they vanish as quickly as their image gets back to your eye. Split between four tracks, each as iridescent as the next, the whole album virtually melts upon touch. From the shards of "Evolving" to the gentle treatment of vibrato on "Harmonium," the whole work feels far more about the space you're sitting in than the sounds effect. Just let it spill on over and have a go at some manna. It's all for the taking.

The longest work here is the third offering, "Unison," which shimmies around some vacuous nexus like magnetic quarks lured in to inter-dimensional portals. Long and slow, the thing hardly lies still--it just stills the mind while it switches modes with glorious acuity. In the 5th dimension, these pieces are downright quick. Just slows down in translation. "Absolute" closes in satellite managerial moves, blipping and shredding its way out of the steel and into the black. More in line with the Old New Age than the New one, this stuff rests squarely on its blankets of sound--I dare say it's downright cozy in there too. Killer tin package on this one as well.

Dylan Ettinger - Fruit Bats (Curious Lacunae CS)

2009-11-11T04:51:00.000-08:00

Just in from Foxy Digitalis:

Proving to be one of the more consistent offerers in the tropically-minded vein of experimental sounds, Dylan Ettinger has broadened his output from his own El Tule label to recent releases from the likes of Not Not Fun and this one, on Curious Lacunae. Meshing his palm-tree aesthetic with a crude, tape mashing sensibility, Ettinger's sound is considerably woozier than many of his contemporaries, reading more like the post-margarita memory of some chopped up circus night in old Cancun.

A lot of the stuff on this tape is actually quite subtle considering its clear overall angle. Small sounds and miniature transmissions are frequently hushed and stoic, writhing like jellies on the sand. Daytime comes, bringing with it the parasols and pina coladas, but at night the moon's glow still gets the crabs out for their crustacean cuisines. It's these moments that are best too, floating in the same waters as Dolphins into the Future and Ferraro without sounding too deeply rooted in it. If Ferraro's in Long Beach, Ettinger might be in some secret Canadian bay where tiny whales sing effortless lullabies. It's nice stuff, and careful at that.

The carnival always returns though, steel drums clanging away in riotous revelry. But the underlying interest is in the little things, the blurts of sound coming from beyond the waves. Ettinger's willing to let it all speak for itself in that way, presenting a scene and examining it one piece at a time. Yet the squids are always of greatest interest, and Ettinger seems more than eager to let them fill the vast majority of the tape. Without the contrast of sounds these synthesizer drifts wouldn't hold the same weight, true, but it's nice to see him work where he knows his strengths are. A carefully done release that exhibits further growth from this up-and-comer. Nice.

Waterside Gala - Composure & Recreation (Roll Over Rover CS)

2009-11-10T11:27:00.000-08:00

Here's another go that I'm sure people are psyched for. And if not, well, your problem I guess. Cause ROR's back with new offerings and that's cause for celebration in my book for sure. Figured I'd open the batch up with this one though, as it represents a new project from some familiar faces, and isn't it always nice to see your buds in a different light? Whole new deal. Waterside Gala is actually the duo of living room lunar king Sean McCann and Kellen Shipley, whose previous release was reviewed quite favorably over here for a bunch of legitimate reasons.

Civilized cover, no? Well, partially. The people look pleased enough, but where are their faces? And why's the water so splotchy? What's in there anyway? Finding McCann and Shipley meeting each other somewhere between Bennie Maupin (or Chick Corea, if the reference is better), Leroy Jenkins and La Monte Young, the sounds speak to that more or less on the opening "Scotch & Soda." One too many cocktails deep at the Society Ball, I suppose. Beautiful bowed moves on the opening alongside lone sax lines and synth sprawl. Very strange and restive stuff that moves toward an earned passivity by side's end. Action without reaction can only go so long before nap time, you know? The important thing is it speaks for itself while it can.

Flip side features "Guest of Honor," a considerably more crotchety go that sees the crowd getting sloppy and sounds getting floppy. Overlapping horn lines and thick bows attempt arranging themselves over junkyard searches. What are they looking for? Haven't the foggiest. But the sound's coming from somewhere. Real nice loopings that never get caught up in their own mess, instead presenting and slipping out, each giving their compatriots time to have a say. Real nice stuff that sits pretty where it is instead of flipping over itself time and again. Summer's over, November's here. Don't let the soporific chill get you down. Sleep on, Gala, the season is upon us. And don't get your head stuck in the water wheel while you're down. Short tape, small run. But (of course) nice stuff from a considerably excellent batch.

51717 - Sch (Gel CS)

2009-11-10T11:01:00.000-08:00

Sequestered in my abode due to borderline dire health circumstances, but luckily healthy enough to take a minute to catch up on some long neglected merch that's been coming through. Wanted to start with this one, which I actually lay down the dollars for, but I haven't really heard much hype surrounding this label and I think it deserves some. Gel's run by former Racoo-oo-oon member Daren Ho, whose solo output as Driphouse has gotten some fond criticism, but everything else on the label seems like it's been largely ignored which has got to--GOT TO, I say--stop. From the production of these things--transparencies with print--to the sounds, the label's put out some monster stuff already.

This one is a real mystery from a band with a numeric name. Don't know anything about the unit other than the presentation here, but it's a real solid go of it. Stripped back high end oscillator stuff it sounds like, but real drifting and lilting--far removed from American Tapes high end pummel. Just little drippings and smatterings of elevated pinpoints on F.Y.P.P., which sounds like some beautiful and lush pop track if everything but the most frozen tones were stripped away and left for dead. "Trust Track" has a similar effect, ultra minimal cymbal smatterings over some dual chord synth and wordless mermaid wallowings. Anybody seen that newish Werner Herzog flick "Encounters at the End of the World." Good flick, but a lot of this stuff reminds me of the ultra haunting undersea seal screes that the scientists listen to, seemingly for hours, heads pressed into the ice in some proto-primitive ritual of Zen archaeology. Hey, how bout that?--thar she blows! "Like Pink Floyd or something..." Hmmm, I think not. But the frozen tundra idea is alive and well here, as is the isolated foreignness. Good god.

Flip side's got more offerings, including part two of the aforementioned "Trust Track," which is less bare but equally there. They seem pretty relentless in their refusal to build beyond skeleton structures here, and it's a fine resistance. Not much else is needed. And again, gotta go back to the fact these guys are largely working in a preconceived form--there's an element of new age fetishism here to be sure, but it's so controlled and weird that it changes things up to keep it mere ice crystals in the wind. Chilly in the way that heats my hearth slow and steady style. Even gets into some sawed off singer stuff, like some little girl's voice drifting into the netherworld as a saw's taken to her torso. Grim? Sure, but it's all air at the end of the day I suppose. Almost reminds me of Peaking Lights without the glow, or Pocahaunted with snow. Slow go bro. Whoa. And dig the drum machine weirdness on "Sma," bra. Special mention too of the art--the transparent element and black and clear color mode really fit the bill here in a way that goes beyond the tape "looking like" the music. All builds on itself for a super package. As with all of it really, so have a have.

Expo 70 - Corridors to Infinity (Sonic Meditations CS)

2009-10-28T07:47:00.000-07:00

From Foxy Digitalis:

Expo 70 is, by now, a fairly well regarded name in the world of kosmiche/drone world, and truth be told the hype is well earned. Few have explored the outer space ways in recent years with such consistency and direction as Justin Wright. This hour long tape, presents two side long tracks, remarkably recorded in the same day. With this much time to work with, Wright and his compatriots are able to stretch out, in and over each other in the name of some truly zoned excursions.

The first side belongs to “Meetings of the Lunar Bridge,” a duet between Wright, on guitar and drum machine, and McKinley Jones' Moog. The results are fantastically rich, and far fuller than most would assume was possible between such a limited instrumental lineup. Opening with a punch, the side soon slips into a meditative drift aided by Wright's loping pulse, which enters and dissolves at will while the two veer around, peaking first at this sun, then at that moon, and that quasar, and that nebulae. Hubble happenings to be sure.

The flip side, “Black Pyramids Under the Martian Sun,” adds Matt Hill's organ to the mix, which fills the sound out even more. The trio's smart though, knowing full well the freedom this allows. Rather than lifting off together they fade in gently, playing little and merging textures as they trod towards their soupy abyss. A beautiful side and release overall, with stellar artwork to boot.

Padna - Siberia/Hinterland (Stunned Records CS)

2009-10-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

Here's another treasure trove uncovered on the remote beaches of Stunned. Padna, who as far as I know hasn't ever released a thing on this or any planet, emerges out of the grove fully formed and truly unique here. The solo moniker of Nat Hawks, who also works in the swell group Christian Science Minotaur (whose release on Peasant Magik earlier this year was a big winner in my book), this situation is one of stripped down and subtle play that nestles inside the funny bone and tickles till it hurts.

The almost hour long excursion is split into two side long works, which are in part broken down further. Siberia, the opening offering, takes the chilly countenance of its title and turns it on its head, presenting the blustery winds of its locales tundras, but also revealing its hidden gnome dwellings and elven passings. Electronic bloops emerge like pointed red hats, tiny and faint among the blizzard, a lone passerby riding a snow fox and whistling as he does so. There's a definite combination of feels going on here, with a heavy Tomutonttu vibe but less crazed and acid-drenched. Think Tomutonttu played by some loner electro-buzzer whose trying to play a "joyful" tune, but can only muster moves of slight lucidity. Eventually the dude gives up and heads face first into the glaciers, finding dense and ancient smoke under the ice. Some golem's thrill nest no doubt. Light to dark, sure, but the feel is remarkably consistent.

The flip side takes us to Hinterland, whose opening strums find an oasis of beach beauties bathing on some far off peninsula. Quickly come to find the peninsula isn't so much a land mass as the tail of some gigantic sandy ocean roamer, and you the mere passenger, so as said beast decides nap time's over your in for the ride. Much briefer cuts here, as if you're getting a repertoire of the world's offerings one stop at a time. Only you only get the pit stops--travel time is frighteningly forgotten. So instead, here's a chorus of jellies, wrapping around each other while the light glistens, merging them into one. And over there's a whale leaping towards the some festering sea gull, who taunts the leviathan with its jeweled amulet. "Metronorth," (yes, the bits are individually titled) doesn't so much recall the commuter line as it does the tracks, rust covered stretches of steel that rumble in communication at night. Between the opening number, "CCCP," "Tapewars," "Metronorth," "Norbit," "Funnystoned," "Newpaltz (For Mother 33)" and the closing "They Shut Off Our Gas," you actually have, more or less, an eerily similar trajectory of my mid-Hudson valley college career. Played tapes, took Metronorth, saw "Norbit," "Funnystoned," girlfriend lives in New Paltz, and boy did they ever shut off our gas. Weird, though I suppose that's a similar scenario for many a Hudson wanderer. Great stuff, lively and always in motion. A real voice, and one who I'm sure will get a bevy of offers post this. Maybe Tomentosa? Find it whether you're a fan of Sick Llama or Es alike.

DNT Sale

2009-10-23T06:28:00.001-07:00

Yo folks. Likely going to get a review or two in later today but first wanted to clue people in to a pretty great sale going on over at DNT. Tynan just had his place ripped off, so he could use the dollars, and the prices are pretty unbeatable on some totally worthwhile stuff. Check it here:

Sun Araw (feat. Matthew Lessner) - In Orbit (Stunned Records CS)

2009-10-19T16:54:00.000-07:00

Okie doke, back on task here after a rough weekend of student break-ins and cranial breakdowns, but here I be and off we go. New batch of Stunned material arrived on my doorstep a few days back and it's another head spinner to be sure. Figured I'd start with the most well known of the offerings, a point indicated by the increased print run (222 copies) and near immediate selling out. Sun Araw's been making a bit of a splash in the last year it seems, and good for him. This is more than another lad resting easy on the tropical bandwagon. It's a cog in the wheel itself, whose veins run far deeper than mere easy-living vibes--look no further than the yesteryear offering of The Phynx for proof.

While that disc had a kind of acid kraut feel to it, Cameron Stallones has veered into balmier waters since, but not without losing his sense of controlled cajoling into mental pockets hitherto left cool. And maybe for good reason. The first cut, "Luther," has all the slowed down, 60s psych sneer of a band like the Seeds, just stripped back and numbed into submission. As if they've acknowledged that the only freedom is of the mind, so kick back and enjoy the journey. No attitude, no sexuality, no condemnation. Only solo flights to lunar landscapes. Float on maestro, float on. And while you're doing it, blast some of that hot air in my direction, will ya?

Major achievement of this stuff is how little it takes to make it all happen, and how patient and slight the general arch is. Smooth as a balloon, the thing practically reflects light off it, a big sphere of sound that moves forward like a boat drifting in a tidal pool. It might get somewhere, but that's not necessarily any different, or more significant than its original locale. Till it all turns klippity-kloppy for a hot minute after having pulled up on dry land for some cosmically inclined fire pit ritualism.

Flip side rights it into a jolly good romp on "That Geosynchronous Feeling," which bounces about in a droning, yodeling, joyful glide that avoids some of the proto-primitive tendencies of a lot of stuff that works with the same materials without taking it there completely. Instead these dudes just ride the wave from beginning to end, that vibrato guitar surfing along atop a constant pulse and cascaded vocals while some organ drone just hums around behind. Great sound, and probably my favorite thing of his since Beach Head. But maybe I'm biased--the beachier the better in my book. Especially as the cold stretches it's icy fingers my way. Burr?? Stallones says nay.

Black Eagle Child - Two Days (Black Eagle Child CS)

2009-10-15T17:42:00.000-07:00

Was looking around for a couple of Stunned tapes that I haven't gotten to yet from a ways back when I remembered that my sister stole my car for the week, and they've been holed up in there for cruising for a time now so they'll have to wait till the weekend I suppose. Thought I'd put in a word on the new batch though, which is of course already almost gone but hey, better late than never. It looks killer as always.

Of course good things come to those who leave tapes in their car, and I had to hit up the review pile for new options which reminded me of this beauty from Michael Jantz and his rightfully respected doings as Black Eagle Child. I had gotten in touch with Michael about doing a Wet Merchants release and he was nice enough to throw a couple releases my way, so here be one. According to Michael these two sides were each recorded in one take over Two Days close to his daughter's birth. Just a delay and acoustic guitar, the sides are simple and elegant excursions into repetitive and lush beauty, at once minimal and rich. Totally of the earth stuff that glides out from the speakers like honey over wax. Terry Riley's guitar counterpart, only with a softer melodicism. If this were released in '68 people would have been dropping and rolling around to this for sure but avast, we be in the new millennium now, so it'll have to happen alone between me and the headphones.

It seems arbitrary, but the fact that Michael was a new father when he recorded this makes a lot of sense. It's soothing stuff, almost lullaby-esque in its apparent ease of movement, but also contemplative and thoughtful. Especially the second side breathes in an open air, fresh as dew manner that's neither pointed skyward nor internal. Very content in itself. Beautiful little package too, with dainty flower cloth and felt cradling the red tape close. It's so cheerful it's almost cute. Though cute is far too belittling for sounds this complete. Lovely, and available a number of places if I recall.

Lifetones - Quivering Mass (Holy Cheever Church Records CS)

2009-10-15T17:25:00.001-07:00

A lot of folks've probably been wondering what happened to ye old Ear-Conditioned Nightmare of late, and rightly so. Been straight bogged down for weeks now, and anytime I get a moment I have to take it for the noggin rather than the bloggin. Not to mention a new acquisition, namely this old 82 soviet synth which is oh-so-scrumptious and pleasing to knobify. But fear not, the blog ain't dead and it won't be so long as I have something to say about it. Which gets me to the point I suppose. The review.

Truth be told I've been playing this tape so much lately it hardly feels new anymore. And in the grand scheme of Holy Cheever it actually isn't, as it's way back at catalog number 028 (up to 033 now, which by the way is a free download that'll only be up till the 20th of this month, so go get it quick at the new address--). Still though, it wasn't so long ago that I got this number in the mail, and it's a nuthouse. First off, it's over an hour long, which is lengthy by most any standard. But it's also a new group consisting of Matt Endahl and Riggs, with Endahl on Fender Rhodes and Riggs on the trust axe. Sounds like it has potential to be a real jam out right? Of course not. The thing is called Quivering Mass for chist's sake. Starts out in this low murmur rumble with high tones coming in and going in a totally mesmerized and totally zonked manner. And yes, I use the term zonked to describe a lot of stuff. But this is ZONKED. Like Sunn 0))) without the Sunn or the 0))), just hollow volumes beckoning the heat of noon. Really amazing stuff that slides out and into more weirdo territory right quick. Can't believe that's an electric piano going there... totally whacked sounds that are subtle and dry and fresh as fungus. Each little pocket they hit is a total vision, pittering life forms (man, tough to avoid the title of the work in the description ain't it?) just futzing about in the slime. Amazing.

Best part is there's an hour of it, so you can really commit to the vision. They hit some high points here and there, staying still and bouncing between one another, but the transitions are where it really gets kooky and fried. Come hither sounds of the future. The world is ready to unite. Like the soundtrack to the pre-post-2012 mindstate, and it's right as acid rain. Grab it, for my money it's one of the best things Cheever's done yet. Which of course is saying A LOT.

Soloing Over Alanis Morissette (Speed Tapes CS)

2009-09-30T08:46:00.000-07:00

So much stuff on the back burner right now but I had to slip a plug in for this one. What a tape! First off, amazing cover, so weird and washed out and, well, Alanis. Then the title, which is about is descriptive as it could be. And then the sounds, which are exactly what the title says they are. Literally, this tape consists of a number of Alanis Morissette tunes playing while whoever the brilliant mind behind this release is rips angular, vaguely congruent lines along with her. Is this Zac Davis' genius and super secret guise? If only.

Best of all is that all the hits are included--"You Oughta Know," that one about how "You've Already Won Me Over," "Isn't it Ironic," the works. So if you're an Alanis fan, you're already set. If you weren't previously, these solos might bring new light to just how forward thinking Alanis really was.

Shit. Who am I kidding? This stuff sucks. But boy is it made better by knucklehead riffage on top...

Best of all is that by doing this obscene recasting of Alanis, this dude has managed to actually make me sit through four songs of late 90s alternative rock wankery. Wasn't this album one of the top selling albums ever or something? How can that actually be? And why isn't this one trumping it in sales? The questions just keep coming... the last track claims to be Alanis with Health, which basically means laying a technoish beat and weird vocal line from Health over "Thank You," a heart warming close to the tape. Irreverent? You bet. Not lined up in any way? Absolutely. Strangely compelling in its complete dismissal of forms from all parties? Ay ay Captain, ay ay! Tape concept of the year. Hope he doesn't get sued.

Dreamcolour - Inner Worship (Stunned Records CS)

2009-09-30T08:13:00.000-07:00

Wow, what a month... have been sliding into this new teaching position like velcro on concrete. Trying my best just to keep my head screwed on straight and make a point of actually going back up to my apartment and grabbing some time with yours truly... been tough to rally in those situations though. Now that things are settling down a bit though, and some semblance of a groove is taking shape I figured it's a good time to get back into making some time for some of the amazing stuff I've been receiving lately. Had to start with this one, as it represents two of my recent aural habits--though Stunned surely is more than a habit at this point... a lifestyle perhaps? Still, the merging of Stunned and Dreamcolour makes all too much sense, and Dreamcolour's Alex Gray fortuitously got in touch with me around the time of this release to drop me a copy of an Earjerk tape they did too (surely to come soon). Got to talking, and now Alex is gonna be doing a solo effort for Wet Merchants, so all's well that starts well eh?

As for this particular victim, it fits right in both with the Stunned and Dreamcolour modes of operation. For those who don't know from Dreamcolour, this is a pretty mega group of like-minded musical thinkers. Seems like a rotating cast too, pulling anyone in who's willing to partake in the free gloop of the group, which pulls psychedelic sheets over the eyes of post-Fire jazz squall. Almost like some Alan Silva orchestra or something, only with less virtuosity and thus a more frayed and unexpected sound. Sort of an Arkestra meets LAFMS situation, never ungrooving but rarely just soothing. And at an hour in length there's plenty of room to slip down into their world.

This is especially the case on the half hour opening, "Praying." Starting with a clattering and moist opening, the piece glides back and forth from stretched landscapes to bubbling masses of fertile waters. Actually, these distinct parts are quite apparent throughout, the group changing angles with quick flicks of the wrist, a capability aided by Sean McCann's (that's right) production, which treats each mode in panoramic color. Actually, the whole Roll Over Rover crew is in here, with Dave "Old Softy" McPeters offering some upright bass and Stewart "Ugly Husbands" Adams on guitar and recorder. Them being alongside fellow explorers Rob Magill, whose saxophone is an important and substantial presence, Natalie Alyse's vocals, Danny Larussa's electric bass, Maura on drums and Teddy Skupien on guitar. It's quite a lineup, and they play together with a surprising delicacy and group interplay. This is no all out cruise fest, but a real group, playing together and off one another in a sort of a careful abandon.

Flip side splits the difference between "Worshiping" and "Repenting," though with all this prayer and worship I'm not quite sure what there is to repent for other than a swell time had. The former of the two sweeps in blustery style, with Magill's sax drifting in the wind with Aylerian attack. A real full blown one here, hollowed out like some clay sphere made for dripping richly colored paints into drop by drop. Rainbow spelunking material that starts to gray up as it descends deeper. And then there's "Repenting," which burns hot like the magma found underneath. Total grooving, churtlting go of it here, with Magill's melodic fragments keeping it taught as can be whilet he backing throbs and retracts in superheated tandem, like some head-nodding fusion group. Amazing, and sure to clear out any of the bad karma you've built up over the course of the record. Do I sense a Love Supreme arch here? Me thinks me does. And when has that ever been a bad thing?

Fabric / Sparkling Wide Pressure - Late Clothes / Blue Doorways (Stunned Records CS)

2009-09-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

Whoa, just posted that last review and saw that it's September already. Heh, a day late I guess. Still, life approacheth... Given the encroaching cold though (nights definitely are past that mid-summer cooking temp) this one seemed like a good fit despite it's coming from Portland, where I doubt leaves fall at any point during the year--maybe I'm wrong. Either way, this is another one in the new Stunned batch--scratch that, the last batch, a new one already dropped like two weeks after the last one. Regardless it's newish, and this split is one of the best from that recent one, teaming up unknown-to-me Matthew Mullane and his Fabric project with well-known-to-me Frank Baugh and his Sparkling Wide Pressure. Super tag team I might add.

First side belongs to Fabric, which seems like an electronic project pointed towards thick ambient techno structures. First piece, "Long Coat, A Robe," is total open cavern drift, spaced out lasers shooting eternal beams into the dark and lighting galaxies far beyond our own color viewing sensibilities. "And a Borrowed Shirt" takes it down past the night for a second, laying you by some seaside cliff at night, with only blacks and thick blues intermingling with the dark greens of shrubs around you. Beautiful stuff, melodic without even approaching cheesy electro melody ambient stuff. "Wrapped in Silver Rags"--I'm sensing a story in these titles here--goes into some open tuning strum that maintains all the color around the notes that the electronic stuff does, building a bristling drip-world of color that glides as much as it punctures. Everything across these six tracks is as deeply magical and carefully treated as the rest, a delicate balance between sheer sonic energy and guided precision.

The Sparkling Wide Pressure side offers, by contrast, three pieces, each demonstrating the same sense of precision and color but exploring entirely different sound worlds in the process. Equally carefully conceived as the Fabric side, the bit opens with gentle guitar chords loping down some forgotten river, tiny little electronic lights lining the shore, guides through the night. Frank's latest stuff has been stellar, and this seems to be in line with the consistently impressive doings the guy's partaking in of late. Spaced out but comfortable as hell, just settle in and let the wash go over you. Calls to mind a similar secret world as the moon does on its reddest nights, bright and lonely hovering over the hills. Slowly, as the sun goes down and the river widens, the space between shore and waterway merge under feint moonlit indicators, briefly lifting the folding planes a couple inches up, turning it around, and redirecting it toward the stars. Total beauty, great match-up, all around killer times of course. Maybe fall ain't so gloomy after all...

Xiphiidae - Waning in Archaic Color Sequence (Vanishing Hour Revival LP)

2009-09-02T17:55:00.000-07:00

About to head down to New York for the birthday weekend, but first things first. Reviewing must be done. And first on the list is one that I've let slip by for far too long. The last remaining culprit in that first batch of Vanishing Hour stuff, this is actually numero uno in the catalog and it sure is treated as such. DELUXE treatment here, with gnome-conjuring psychedelia as its cover story and super lucid day dream hand-job on the inner sleeve. One of the fairer looking productions I've seen in a while, and it doesn't even look like it broke the bank.

Of course the sounds ain't half bad either, and I've been tooting Jeff Astin of Housecraft's horn for a good stretch now. By the way, anyone know what happened to Housecraft? Site's down and no word... hope it hasn't gone the way of all things... Regardless, this is one of Xiphiidae's nicest outings yet, which is saying something. Moves away a tad from the earth crunch of yore in favor of a more high pitched, white drift vibe. Opening with the nicely titled "Pan Cyan Essence," the album sort of floats through its course, moving from backyard worm digs to pink sunsets over miniature puddle lakes. Deeply psyched stuff that moves into a sort of muddled church takeover as conducted by rainbows and bees. Maybe it's just the cover leaving it impact, but the holy vocal backings and the squiggly, almost Tomutonttu style warbles call to mind a special locale being made more so by a steady infusion of glee. Nice stuff.

The flip presents one extended go of it in the form of "Aeckt Wetting Shower," which lays down some cicada buzz and layered flitting that totally lurks beneath the tumbleweeds like some tiny mystical critter. Reads like some Miyazaki creation or something, totally harmless but mysterious as hell, leaping in and out of eye sight, between this world and the next. Call it a ghost or what have you, but its fuzzy allure is undeniable. Really deep stuff here, highly layered and full of commitment to its cause. More Astin does, more it seems he's moving away from any recognizable influence and into his own pseudo new-age genre. Though to say it calls on what so many of the other new-ageists are pulling from is dead wrong. It's too filtered of any direct connotations, instead just grabbing hold of the general vibe and letting it take hold in his own sound world. Beautiful stuff, absurdly limited to 100. Really, one of the best goes I've had all year. Grab one, I think there are some left at the label operations base. The art alone, but all together it's something special.

This is Communication - S/T (Kimberly Dawn 3" CD-R)

2009-08-29T12:06:00.000-07:00

Another tiny disc that packs a wallop from Kim Dawn and their miniature vaults, this one is by one Jeremy Walker, who apparently works mostly in homemade electronics, though you wouldn't guess it from the numbers presented here. Which isn't to say there's not plenty of electro-business to be found, it just serves the purpose of bolstering the pop backbone of Walker's material. These are songs to be sure (and thrilling ones at that) that are surprisingly dense considering their listenability.

Made up of 11 tunes the disc ranging from the lengthy (over seven minutes) opener, a buoyant, almost shoe-gazey go of it that moves from full on forward revelry to slow builds over Townshend style circle strums to the nothing dabbles of the 16 second eighth track. In fact, the whole thing seems to move from impressively conceived tracks that are fully realized to little demonstrations of specific sounds, an intriguing and off kilter organizing principle.

The pop material here is especially vibrant, with track two's electric shards backing a melody that would be right at home on any of a number of Animal Collective/Pavement pawning folks, though Walker's go of it is no rip-off. This is a highly founded voice with a delivery that is as mournful as it is earnest. The electronics go nuts too, somehow managing to never turn the record into an electro-based album. There's never nay question these are pop tunes no matter how overzealous it may get. Even when it all breaks up into straight noise freak out it never loses course, jumping immediately into another pop rock gem on the third number, a mix of Built to Spill guitar thrill and epic lo-fi construction. Pretty amazing really. As the disc begins to break down it gets increasingly abstract, sliding into spare electronic demos that move from one to another with deceptive ease--and somehow the feel remains. The fifth number, for it's 15 or so seconds, sounds like some night life neon soundtrack, as does the sixth, each skipping out right in the middle of itself and losing sight before sliding into the melancholic carnival of the seventh track, the near 80s ballad hints on track eight, the "Toxicity"-style guitar on the ninth, with warbling echoes to boot, and the hollow, new age loomings of track ten. Closes it out with a mini melody that's as feint as air and as hard to find as sugar in tea. And then it cuts out. And that's it. Surely one of the wildest sequences I've heard in a while, but totally successful on all fronts. Crazy one, once you pop you don't stop.

Pyroclastic Pontoon Quintet - S/T (Unverified Records CS)

2009-08-28T13:00:00.000-07:00

Now here's a sleeper. Another one from that last Unverified run, this number is apparently the brainchild of the head of Scumbag tapes, though I suspect the quartet claimed to be in tow here has actually been left behind in the riptide quite a ways back. And I only say that because this is some seriously lonely, claustrophobic stuff, an empty little keyboard excursion with blown feedback whispered beneath.

Opening side is as dank and deep as the mysterious cover fetus suggests, like some tiny little worm feeding off some vent 20,000 leagues deep. Never seen a ray of light other than the glow given off by itself when it's after some equally solitary female--that or going in to confuse its microscopic prey, blinding its dinner before absorbing it. Not much happening here at all, but a world of sounds folded in anyway, with slow and steady little warbles of the keys squiggling between the masks of blackness and the feint outlines of hot water currents sliding above the colder, saltier residings of this lowly sea slug. And then it's gone before it even leaves a mark.

Flip side finds total reentry into the same prehistoric spot, the next generation if you will. Like this stuff just keeps going and going through the millenia, unchanging as its so perfectly suited to its function beneath the waves. And we thought we were the best adapted? These dudes just live their little lives over and over, mirrors of one another, from past to present to future to some post-Earth asteroid induced emigration which they'll obviously survive and flourish through anyway. Little fuckers are the definition of time. And eventually, when some big tuna carcass slides past the un-attentive eye of carnivore large and small alike, down into the dark and, one chance in a million, right into their living quarters, the worms join up to indulge, each little key patter furthering their appetite and each little crunch the sound of a million teeth tasting the energy of the distant sun. Ritual moistness, nice and lonesome stuff, totally killer.

Sparkling Wide Pressure - Meaning Plane (Colour Ride CD-R)

2009-08-28T12:04:00.000-07:00

Here's one that was sent to me by Frank Baugh (Kim Dawn head, much touted in these parts) on British imprint Colour Ride, more of which was supposed to arrive my way but has yet to. Couldn't wait any longer though to get around to this one, as it's one of the better items I've heard from Frank, which is of course saying something serious.

At five tracks, this might well be Frank's widest reaching excursion yet, at once spaced out and intensely personal. Right from the get-go with this one the sound is different, more intimate or something. Frank's always got a heavy emotion associated with his stuff, but "String" fades in off a wind surfboard, arms out and fingers stretched to deliver a message concerning some encroaching darkness. You're at once heartened this guy showed up and had enough care to do so, but also aware you get active quick before these dudes show up. A dead synth line appears right away, signaling the entry to "Parts," whose various parts garble together like watching some factory chuggings from high above--all business below, but it looks so tiny from this far away. Some guitar wiggles come in while the metronome punctures light holes in the mesh and hollow vocal ohms recede back into the skull. "Bed" gets even deeper in to the nowhere world, opening with this loop that sounds like the opening to that Moby hit or something before calling on some fuzzed synth and organ to urge it off the shallows and into the deep. Slips right along this way, rich and warm as a bath with gentle light modules shimmying across until it lifts itself up, blue droplets shedding off its feathered weight. And what does it get upon arrival you ask? Why, little guitar fragments of diddies long forgotten wedged against the gentle curdling of shredded mouth maneuvers.

"Plane" is, if you can believe it, a real live "song," featuring Baugh's dreary vocal delivery over some coma-inducing geetar before slipping into an ephemeral, glittering space where resonances are heightened and everything shimmers. And among it all lies the caveman, hanging tight and living right. This one grinds itself out for a good stretch too, really stretching its rubbers in the name of ultra drift attitudes. Closing the disc is "Vapor," which reads like a stripped back Cluster number, with crescendoing synth warmth escalating and retreating over small piano melodies, barely there and quite content and warm. This has got to be one of Frank's best yet--it moves through so many zones but still retains a strong sense of unity, perhaps his most assured outlook yet. A must grab if you're into anything that Frank's done yet, or anything at all for that matter.

Historians - Proof (Stunned Records CD-R)

2009-08-28T10:28:00.000-07:00

On the one hand, this is a bonus from that last batch of Stunned releases, only available if you got the whole load of em. And continuing on that hand, it's sold out and was limited to 50 in the first place, so it's probably tough to track down. On the other hand, this stuff is so downright grooving that it's got to be given the review treatment pronto, so here goes.

Given, it's actually pretty tough to pin these guys down, let alone tell how many dudes are it at here. Could be one guy making beats, could be a whole band taking it on. Regardless, tracks like the opening "Slice n' Dice" have a singular idea, meshing beat culture with a spaced out, go nowhere attitude that fits as well alongside your Madlib discs as it does next to some Tuluum Shimmering cassette. Definitely danceable, but with a pan flute piddler going at it over the super slushy beat, which crunches under foot as it turns to liquid. "Bomba" is the same deal, pulling Arabesque guitar and rhythms out of some parallel netherworld while some submerged nut spews out faded vocal babblings--nothing quite fits together, an approach done with such assurance that it's tough to deny. "2010 Riot" lays a beat over ripping guitar shred that slowly disconnects itself and drifts into fumbling string moves while a flute loop drops a melodic remnant around over and over. Extremely disorienting but with this beat that keeps it feeling familiar.

Elsewhere, "Chapter Three" explores the noisier side of the group, laying down huge blurts of circuit bent fuzz over the slipping, barely tangible rhythm. I guess it's still for grooving, but you'd have to have dancing shoes made of lead to get down to this sound. "Four (reprise)" has this little early 90s alternative bass line (think the Breeders' "Cannonball") but sends it into some spacey foam that hovers, frowning, in some brightly lit motel room. Weird stuff. And closing it all out of course is "Some Heads Will Rock Others Will Roll." Personally, I think it's more of a head roll-style track, if not a straight up head rolling one... all beats evaporate here in favor of deep strums and clacks that feed off the springs and just keep growing out and up. Thick stuff and a hell of a freebie for those who acquired it. Sure you can snipe it down somewhere though, and well you should.

Christopher Riggs - Smoked Poetry (Middle James Co. CS)

2009-08-27T12:40:00.000-07:00

Riggs is all over the place here, I know, but this one got handed off to me at that Graveyards show I mentioned a bit ago and, it being my sonic introduction to (though certainly not cerebral intro...) the Middle James Co. experience, I figured I'd slap it on here for posterity's sake. In the usual Riggs vein this one is, although perhaps even more restless and uneasy, but all under the MJC banner of ultra crude aesthetics and dead to the world production runs. Totally indecipherable cover, as it seems to be with most of these releases, but you do have to appreciate the dude, who happens to be the man behind Fossils, and his apparently devout dedication to his (un)aesthetic.

As for the tunes, these are even more buried and swampy then the usual Riggs fare, with all sorts of shards spewing out from blown out amp rumblings, amounting in a kind of homegrown freak fry that jilts along. Parts of it even remind me, oddly enough, of some Muslimgauze number, sounding more like the hacked up, static induced transmissions from some Arab underground radio outfit spitting its signal out across the Dead Sea. Burned to the ground material that goes on and on, moving between approaches in a second or none, all high-pitch hum here, total bass burnout bumble there. Truly smoked poetry. Slips into a real minimal mode to at one point, bowed notes whispering sweet hostilities through the electric fence, volting its recipient good on the other side but in a pleasant, tingly kind of way. The soothing sounds of stutter worship--they should play this stuff to promote proper head spaces in the work place for sure, especially when the strums start coming in and gliding around each other, like some massively detuned harp plugged into a can opener and played through the metal refractions of the sound waves. Run a saw over it and you get the idea. Second side is much, much shorter, and equally unhurried and wonderous if you let yourself slip in. So let yourself. Killer again, seek it out if you can land a copy--maybe Riggs has a few left over?

Horsehair Everywhere - Nothing Happened (Kimberly Dawn 3" CD-R)

2009-08-27T12:06:00.000-07:00

A collabo of sorts between Lee Noble, Patrick Singleton, Samuel Steelman, Geoffrey Sexton and Frank Baugh, this little disc represents yet another go of it from the impressively singular Kimberly Dawn ranks. Theoretically intended as a live soundtrack improvisation, the sounds are wisely left to stand alone, the only hint of visual inspiration coming from the still on the front, which, conveniently, manages to say about as little as a film still could while still providing an idea of the feel that these guys were going for. Like the still, the sounds here are pretty bleak and grinding, though in the consistent and hushed way that the highway traffic is rather than outward grating material.

Considering the number of players present, this little project is about as spare as it gets, incorporating some electronic hum, percussive clatter and distant vocal weirdness into some kind of moist ritual that occurs inside of factory piping deep in the night. Super basement oriented, you can almost hear the wash of light on the participants' faces as the screen projects some seemingly desolate stance. Hollow material that just kind of fumbles along, drifting with rudderless with ease down some precipitous river. Nice to hear dudes laying down any cathartic inkling they may have in favor of dark and done, fried and fearful. Towards the end it heats up a tad, going into some blurred black vortex that splashes about a ways, but this is just the end of the road--you've made it. The whole preliminary feels like it would be just as happy to let you wade through its grime on repeat till the bitter end. And yet, despite its invisible tunnel of crud, it all comes out with more of a stoned out, no-zone than a dank dirge. Nice and softened at the edges, just a big nest of black twine for you to curl up in. Another righteous one.

Mossy Throats - VHS Hallucination (Kimberly Dawn 3" CD-R)

2009-08-25T06:20:00.000-07:00

Got a new batch of Kim Dawn recordings in earlier this week, again all of them in the illustrious 3" format. Love that Frank's just going for it with that--such a great layout in my book. Dan Dlugosielski, who's all over the place lately in projects like Uneven Universe, Handicapper Hornz, Body Morph, the EXBX label and that recent collaboration with Xiphiidae, this is Dan at his solo best, combining deeply zoned electronics with an odd, field recording feel. Fried as hell.

The whole thing actually stays fairly tame in the beginning, emerging from some white haze and slipping into hushed forest burnings and chainsaw massacres. It's all eerily subdued though, kept at a steady hum and murmur that makes it all the more unconscious. Not sure what the title is in reference to, but I know he's been working on some VHS pieces lately so it would seem this is an extension of that, taking the whole tape as tape feel and mashing em together till they're buttery smooth and all you get is the product, with a little skin in for variation. Deeply patient and strangely uplifting in a downer kinda way, the thing adds loops of incomprehensibilities over eachother, building a muted color gradient and watching it wash out as oil's poured on top and allowed to drip over.

To some extent this seems like the direction Dan may be headed. A little rounded at the edges, one step removed from the outer bounds of free electronics but still with the same goals in mind. Just a little duller at the corners, numb and dumb. It's a hell of a sound, and one that Dan treats masterfully, at one point sliding out of the loop that's been building and going into some electro-ether for a bit before returning. Tapers off a tad once more though to start something entirely new, with blobs of sticky static flitting around the room while larger waves redirect them to their liking. Totally absorbing and claustrophobic, but with a spatial element that's tops. Another beauty from Kim Dawn for sure.

Niao - Clenched Fist (Sailing CD-R)

2009-08-24T13:13:00.000-07:00

There's a funny story to this one. A ways back, as part of a Digitalis package I got this tape that wasn't marked for review, but I dug it enough and tucked it aside. Then, recently, I got an e-mail from this guy George Gukerdas who went to Bard--yours truly's ol' alma mater--and was in some classes with me, and he had some handmades he wanted me to give a go--turns out one of them was that tape though. So he was right ther eunder my nose the whole time. Weirder still, this number was recorded by Anthony Kingsley, who lived my dorm a stretch, and features Gordan Spencer-Blaetz who I go way back with. So yeah, some representation from Annandale here, which is always swell to come by.

As for the sounds here, most of it steers between tribal style hippie jamming and deep space synth work in a pentatonic vein. Opener has some sung syllables from spaced out contributors over a barely there thudding before moving into some loose clatter and chatter. Pretty heady dabblings here, fulfilled further by the following synth zonk out, which reaches deep for some celestial pins but manages to stay nicely aloft in the dark. Vocals return along with drum pulses, I'm assuming from the likes of the aforementioned members and Ben Lorber and Austin Julian, eventually slipping back into the void. Third track starts with some real zonked synth stuff, right up my alley, just oscillators on automatic, before the chanting returns--a major theme it appears. The neo-primitive thing works fairly well here though, if only because of the sincerity of its execution. If you think of the album as a cohesive work rather than a series of songs it gives it a real shape in fact, and some nice personal character. Track five gets pretty spacey with some Animal Collective synth vibes before the closer calls on some "Watermelon Man" rhythms and melds them to cheapo pulses and, again, a fair share of earnest syllabic expounding before drifting into the most head-twisting drift on the disc, with synth runs and slipping percussion blowing all about. Nice little disc, especially for those folks into the free-folk/early Pocahaunted realm of the spectrum. Comes in a lovingly crafted handsewn case too. Can't argue with that.

Christopher Riggs - Amazed Nova (Unverified Records CS)

2009-08-24T08:41:00.000-07:00

Here's one I've been sitting on way too long. Chris gave this one to me months ago, but it wasn't officially available so I figured I'd wait till it was. Well it finally got the mass publication treatment and boy is it deserving. Been jamming this one for months and it's still got some seriously demented vibes.

Actually I got a chance to chat with the man himself about this number back at the Graveyards show and he dropped some bombs on me about the title, which is actually an anagram for someone--namely one Ava Mendoza--who never got back to Chris about something in some random and ultimately unimportant e-mail. Revenge is sweet, and Chris' wrath is heartily felt, though he made sure to expound on this being between the two of us and the internets. So here, internets. And thanks Ava, for the killer title.

The tape itself is one of Riggs' most sickly offerings, presenting on the front half a sort of warbbling sea shanty that sounds like sickly little cretaceans, their scrawny bones weak from malnourishment, dragging their way across the sea floor in search of cud. Turns grizzly too as they enter the oil fields, slick as hell, and they have to go zig zagging terrified through it--needless to say many are left behind. No one can make their axe sound less like a guitar than Riggs, but when a sax/some reeded instrument comes in over the thud of amps on the floor and metallic clink it almost turns into a straight up free jazz blowout for a second. Old tactics meshed for new, ultra weirdo approaches. Rusty seesaws mounted by albatrosses in heat.

Flip side starts off with some string boinging that oddly enough sounds kinda like a kitchen sink version of that Skaters tape start sound that lies all over those Monopoly Child discs. Plenty of space here, with the white sound of the room giving a hushed sense to it, like this is actually some field recording mic picking up on the sounds of some manic flea orgy. Hell, it's almost cute. Everything flits about while little sounds get added atop, creating a rubber band orchestra. Strangely accesible in its own way despite the utter incomprehensibility of it. Almost seems like it might be the alternative soundtrack to some alien planet's world peace day dance party. Or maybe it's just what happens when you put metal coils in the microwave and try and turn them into popcorn. Careful though, those thigns are not edible. No matter how fucking tasty they look. Killer, one of Riggs best and actually a really good starting point as it's some of his most relentlessly active stuff. Wild all the way.

Analog Concept - Listen Already Today to the Music of the Past! (Stunned Records CD-R)

2009-08-24T06:50:00.001-07:00

Just in from Brainwashed:

It may not be an earth-shattering concept to go analog, but this is not your average take on the idea either. Presenting one nearly hour-long track, there is plenty of room here for this Russian artist to sprawl out and develop ideas, but Alexey, the project's sole protagonist, seems to feel little need for sticking to anything, instead bobbing around from idea to idea with fluid and exciting ease. Pulling from as many realms as he can and synthesizing them into one bombastic go of it this is, as the title enthusiastically suggests, timeless stuff that could just as well be some odd Soviet new-wave experimental excursion as it could be the basis of future beat culture worldwide. If only...

If an hour-long track of analog beats and drifting electronics sounds a bit heavy-handed, fear not. This is as light and warm as it gets, with Alexey's instrumentation guiding the way between miniatures, each of which explores a new incantation of the musician's sound. Some of them are pure rave drift, with little ticking beats tickling the underbellies of vast stretches of electronic tone; others take a more spaced out stance, pointing their eye out toward the nebulae and watching it drift apart while marbles crash underfoot. Each one drifts in and out as effortlessly as the next, some lasting longer but none exceeding their desired timetable.

As with so many of the smaller run labels today, Stunned's limited pressings have allowed the album maximum conceptual freedom. These could easily be broken into tracks (of which their would be many) and sequenced as sketches, but the coagulation of the ideas into a single long take means gives the whole a much more weighty feeling removed from the brevity of the numbers individually. Rapid fire drum machine numbers with laser beam stutters rest alongside brooding drone nod-offs, but the necessity of experiencing one before the other provides real shape to the output.

With so many ideas packed into it though, it's a wonder the album maintains the cohesion it does. This never sounds divided, no matter how many areas are drawn from, and even the stoned out white hum of one part, whose only accompaniment is aimless squiggling above, feels as if it is arriving from the same voice as the strictly beat oriented tracks. Much of the material sounds more like early synthesizer experiments, with single staccato runs going ad infinitum, but these give a retro sterility that efectively clears the air for lush drone pieces that sound as if they could go be drawn out for, well, the entire album.

To some extent, the disc's most valuable asset is its ability to sound entirely removed from any context; it appears as a truly outsider work despite the clear reference points of its practitioner, which include everyone from Gordon Mumma to Asmus Tietchens to Aphex Twin. Still, it seems Alexey's most important influences lie far below the public radar, lying under the Russian streets in continual drift.

This is what keeps the music as exciting as it does. It is wisely constructed but also one step removed from that which it initially appears as: an infinitely rich take on synthesizer music that reveals more with every listen. Each detail is as unexpected and inconspicuous as the next, giving it a life far beyond many more consciously connected to these areas of musical output.

Pummeler / Derek Rogers - Juggernaut / Simmer (Stunned Records CS)

2009-08-21T12:14:00.000-07:00

Well it feels like forever but here it is, fully formed and ready for anyone willing to receive it. With a full two-plus months between batches (not so long by most label standards) Stunned has reemerged, just in time for back-to-school detox sessions. And of course it's another winner, packing a full eight bands into five releases and making it all feel just so right. Not a rushed number on any of em.

Thought I'd start with this damage from Denmark based Mikkel V. Dunkerley and his Pummeler project and, on the flip, the synth excursions of Derek Rogers, whose slow ascent seems to finally be heating up a tad. First side's a monster, with both artist moniker and piece title pretty much hitting the nail on the head. The whole thing moves from thick black swathes of crush to ominous cave entry beckonings that really capitalize on creepy come-hither brews. Pouring buckets over here right now and thunder's rolling in something ominous, which is pretty much the perfect backdrop to such blustery stuff. The four tracks each glide right along into each other, little pauses representing breaths between gusts. "Juggernaut" might be the most brutal, but the creepy quotient goes up a notch or two with "The Sialagogue I and II" and the closing "Imago," whose little vocal groans and stuttering bellow give it a real trapped, restless hostility feel. Sinister but also well enough gone from the present world that it doesn't feel too tyrannical. Too zonked to kill, maybe a nap's in order. Still enough streams of static to remind you what's underneath though.

The Rogers side is similarly zonked, but not quite so brooding. More glitched out and giddy than heavy and hindered. Little synth blips doodle about in squiggly go nowhere moves that sound like a tyke sticking forks into various appliances and seeing what the circuits feel like. The derangement begins young. Whole thing kinda reminds me of those kiddie work benches where you gotta slam the shaped blocks in the right holes, which might teach them shapes and colors but also gives them a solid lesson in how to let loose wrong way style. As the thing moves along it gives off a kind of glow that moves away from the playful feel and into more volumetric sound bubbles that hover around and fill the space quite nicely, taking on fuzzed out melodies that boil over into blown out pink passages before softly settling down like feathered rain drops into some unseen glen. In many ways these parts feel a little like the antecedent to Pummeler's unrelenting strength. But there's a different strength on hand here too, and sometimes the feel moves toward pure electronic hiss, taking on a kind of white hum that feels less like a beckoning from beyond than it does mere happening in the here and now with little to no regard whether anything goes anywhere ever again. It's trying to tell you something. Cool split from a nice new batch, with more of the killer diagram collages so prevalent in recent runs. More to come shortly for sure.

Hammer of Hathor S/T (PBDL CS)

2009-08-17T13:43:00.000-07:00

Here's another offering sent to me by the Hammer of Hathor folks, Mark and Heather. Dug that last LP and it's no surprise that this one provides a similar strain, though the presentation here is a bit more constrained than on the other one. Apparently the duo used to be a sax and drum duet but when Heather got pregnant she couldn't manage the sax quite so well so she picked up a geetar, and what results here are some duets featuring Mark's fairly nimble rhythm work and Heather's wonderfully detuned guitar repetitions.

This is some tight stuff. Given how loose the general sound is the couple react on a dime to each other, settling into these little coves of repeated mantra stuff, Heather sounding like a stoned out Arto Lindsay and Mark giving it a real poly-rhythmic go-round, nice and grooving but without anything too firm to latch on to. Rather they both sort of get something going and then sit there, barely changing it at all but still maintaining freshness through tiny little differences within the very enacting of the looping. It's a surprisingly minimal and interesting approach, and the stuff has real life in its folds. While a lot of stuff like this tends toward the irritating end, either not sticking with the idea long enough or, conversely, sticking with it in too limited a scope, HoH finds a really funky in between spot that really has a lot of space for movement in its constrained universe. Each little piece is as chugging and confusing as the last, and Heather's damn good at proving that if you repeat it enough, it gets head-bobby. These lines are totally fried little things, but they keep going and eventually you'll be tapping your foot right along to its a-melodic anti-groove. And Mark fits right in as close as can be. A little release, but one that further demarcates the group's unique sound. Adding to the mystery, it's a c-30 on a c-90, so I guess there's plenty of room to try it out yourself if you want. Good luck though. Another cool one from these guys.

Sean McCann - Coppicing (Roll Over Rover DVD-R)

2009-08-17T13:02:00.000-07:00

Whoa there doggie, what have we here. A new format getting the review treatment over at ECN? And how! Of course it's hardly too divergent... for one, it's courtesy of the much praised and enjoyed Sean McCann, and for another it's on the always stupid good Roll Over Rover, so it's not exactly outside of box. Does provide another angle though, does it not?

To some degree though, a DVD seems to be more in line with where McCann's heart lies, and the visual component is almost too obvious when placed alongside his drone shimmer. There always was something soundtracky to his material, and it really coagulates here into something lovely and not at all surprising in the fullness of its realization. So where to start? Needless to say, the visuals here are hardly storytellers, but work more in the same way as his music, slowly shifting and catching different angles of the same reflection. Big time arboreal theme here with a psyched out jaunt through the woods feel, colors and layers overlapping as the soft bows and glides melt across one another beneath. Reminds me a little of the Prelude to Dog Star Man, if a bit more grounded and, importantly of course, not silent. This is not so much a study in visual language but an immersive little twenty minute venture, transportive without being wonky. Almost seems like its meant to be projected on some wooded wall and lived in for a night.

Interestingly, the music here seems even more subdued and subtle than usual. With the visuals gong in and out of focus in an abstracted haze it leaves a bit more room to just let the music drift, heading nowhere and, unavoidably, merging together with the image at once and together forging ahead into the crimson moon. Some of the stillest music from McCann yet that isn't in the Midnight Orchard style, like a slowed down version of that DNT tape sort of. Psyched, but also upright and in control. Rumor has it there's a VHS on the way, which work wonders fidelity wise for this stuff but the DVD is swell too, clean and submersible, a pleasure craft through the ferns. Real, great late night simmer down/burn down stuff. End of party night nights for sure.

Precious Trombley - Simple Fighting (Unverified Records CS)

2009-08-17T08:50:00.000-07:00

Back from the beach, with some new sounds in tow courtesy of Strange Maine, including some killer 16 Bitch Pile Up disc packed in some blue jeans complete with poop stain as well as some of those uberweird Ophibre self releases with the baggies of detritus glued on. Also came across a little tape from Dead Labour Process on Unverified, a label I only knew through Riggs and his Amazed Nova (review pending), but I picked it up and, upon return, found a package from the label with a bunch of zany little numbers. See, it all ties in. A lot of blogs out there seem interested in sharing their musical spending habits with the world but not I because honestly I don't find much more boring than people talking about the cool shit they have--at least until it connects up as nicely as this does. Nice.

Anyway, figured I'd just throw one on and have a go, but it was a real joy to come back to the tape deck with something like this. A duo (though according to the youtube video sometimes a trio...) out of Michigan, Precious Trombley definitely pull from some usual suspects. Knox Mitchell, who also did the EXBX/American tapes style cover art, plays drums, trombone and electronics while Rick Boy is on sax, making it somewhat of an attempt at the whole Uneven Universe/Graveyards/Wasteland Jazz Unit approach. Still though, the unit manages to do something pretty different in that vein, focusing way more on loose horn interplay than skitzo-inducing electronic grind. Not that there's any shortage of circuit skree on it, but it's a little subdued, skittering beneath the horns and numbskull drum patter. And actually, some of the horn work is pretty swell--these guys clearly don't give a damn, and from the sounds of it they're getting a little light headed and just giving the Ayler thing a go. And who cares if they can play or not, they're into trying and to boot, they're really listening to each other, trying to mesh their lines together whether it be in harmony or rhythm or, most of the time, in nothing but movement and energy, true free fashion.

It all makes for a slightly less restive sound, kind of like some deranged take on New Orleans street jazz. Not so much boom boom chick as boom boom sick--there's really something to be said for the nausea inducing slides of the always regal trombone. And on top of all of that it sounds like they're having a total blast. They probably do this for hours, taking rips in between solos before forging onward and outward. Cool little tape from a nice label based in Edinburgh. Good deal. Nice to be back.

Our Love Will Destroy the World - Broken Spine Fantasia (Tape Drift CS)

2009-08-06T13:43:00.000-07:00

Went to see Burnt Hills, Cruudeuces and Graveyards this past Sunday which was a ball--got to catch up with Riggs and Hall a tad, met Olson and saw all the Burnt Hills crew and Nathaniel from Cruudeuces, so overall a swell night. Tough to argue with it. Anyway, bought a bunch of Grave merch including that tour box, a tape and the new Brokenresearch Graveyards LP, but also was given a bunch of stuff from Chris, Nathaniel, and Eric of Century Plants/Burnt Hills/Tape Drift fame. Had been a stretch since I'd gotten to give Tape Drift a go, so it was swell to receive the morsels I did, including this one from Campbell Kneale's post-Birchville Cat Motel project Our Love Will Destroy the World.

To be honest, I'd never really heard Birchville Cat Motel despite the project's sterling reputation, so I was psyched to give this new one a go. Apparently this project presents a new approach for the man, but from what I've heard the sounds are more or less just the same. And by just the same they must mean some full on tectonic blasts, cause the first side here, "Charmed Haruspax," is a storm of electro-glitch out mayhem, just sheets of buzz and scuzz with these little bleeps meandering about like a moth to flame. Real crushing material that leaves little room for misconceptions, just throws it all out there and lets it invest type stuff. It's not entirely brutal though--there's way harsher stuff out there--it's just full on electronic weight with so many little sounds packed in it's a veritable sardine can of sound. I know, delicious right? Sounds like it could all crumble apart and melt into a million colors but somehow he keeps it going throughout, moving along some psychedelic train of contortion whose destination is neither here nor there, but OUT THERE. Somewhere.

Flip side presents the title track, another live document that finds the due in a similar vein only with a whole new bag of sounds to pull from. Clashing plates are droned out while rumble underneath gives it a festering quality that suggests of organs and deep body grumbles. Kneale's willingness to let it happen of its own volition is a nice thing to bear witness to, as he sort of allows it all to creep in over time. Almost like an ambient framework only the beginning is so full on that it wakes you right up, leaving no room for soporific proclivities. Shard after shard here, and once they're in they're in, so it's a real good time for all. A beautiful one, gone from Eric but likely findable else where due to the "extended" run of 150. More to come from Eric soon in the form of that Simon Wickham-Smith disc. Also, the rumor mill has it that the label's considering moving into wax territory, so that's something we can all get excited about for sure...

Kellen Shipley - Deep Breaths (Roll Over Rover CD-R)

2009-08-06T12:48:00.000-07:00

Here's another number from that latest Roll Over Rover batch to get sent my way, this one coming from another previously unknown dude to me. Apparently the man himself has mostly been making songs for a spin but this is a real drifter, totally unraveled and expansive in scope. Which falls right in there for me given the hot weather and sedentary nature of working in the record store. Nice little soundtrack for perusing clientele as well.

Starts off with this buzzer of a drone track that features some pen drawn horizontal lines that fade from green to yellow to orange and back. Dave McPeters' organ contribution gives it that organic sound too, so as to really lift it off and into the clouds, albeit with a tinge of sadness for soils left beneath. Spare enough to really float though, the thing isn't bogged down by anything at all, as ephemeral as they come. Nice thing here too is that the album closes in on an hour in length, so over the course of seven tracks there's a ton of diversity, but the vision's all the same. Twinkling bells and life force swells on track two, which sees McCann and Ashlinn Smith contributing drums and vocals respectively. Flies right into some neo-nexus space age discovery too, at which point the unbearable blackness of nothing goes white and time stands still till you arrive on Xenu, where all plants are purple and no one is alone. Third done creeps right up from the ponds of the first one too, presenting a kind of chilly haze where McCann's synth co-mingles with Shipley's whatever-the-hell to conjure some zones that bob about, reveling in the oil slicks for their buoyant properties. Slides right on out too, real slippery-like, all shiny black but with rainbows when the light hits it right. Of course in comparison to track four it seems more like a pool of sludge than a graceful little oil pool, as four is so momentously hypnotic as to tear aside any of its less welcoming properties with measly little key melodies that trickle about under McCann's swell drum work. Perhaps the most focused thing on here, but not without settling beautifully in among the rest of it with sun dappled outlooks and fuzzy beaming insides. Really grabs hold of some Lion King vibes without sounding like a whack African hijacking scenario.

Fifth track mellows it out a bit, McCann again contributing with some lovely viola work, getting nearly bluesy but still maintaining the lofty, not even close to down-and-out feel. Just restful and content while harmonica and guitar twang gratifyingly across each others chicken coops, sipping on bourbon and getting increasingly light in the ol' loafers. More guitar fry on six, with Smith again offering up talents on organ, giving it a kind of arcade dream state feel--fuzzed and fine by me, I say. Seven sees McPeters and Smith on organ and pennywhistle, but no matter how you cut it it's clear this is one concept and I reckon it must all be that of Shipley's, as sliding nimbus sounds sift through one another across pale birds wings and grazes of sun. It's a lovely closer that's as peaceful as anything here, settling it all back down to within earshot of the houses, but far enough away that not a voice can be heard. Just nice folks scuttling around. Lovely.

Zebulon - Webolo (Vanishing Hour Revival CS)

2009-08-06T08:11:00.000-07:00

Here's another one received as part of that first Vanishing Hour batch, and like the Antigua Ibis it falls into a weird little category all its own, combining field recordings with odd instrumental interludes and electric current for a pastiche of subterranean sounds.

First side opens with some pastor, whose proclamations are quickly derailed in the name of contact mic futzing and choral drift while some barber gets the old electric razor out beneath and has at. Muddles about a while while guitar comes in and presents a few chords over some bird clatter, but none of it goes anywhere at all, instead opting to sort of ruminate it over a bit. Keeping an eye on it while it hardens and becomes brittle. A nice go of it, totally allows itself to just wander the grounds and take in the scenery until it comes to some nice looking lap pool speckled with potted plants around its exterior, so you dive right in and lo and behold there's some tiny humpback whale living down there, no longer than your fore arm I'd say, and it's sort of scoping you out for awhile, taking in your impressive size and gorging itself on plankton, till you've had enough and leap out, wet as hell, and head right for the fair on the other side of the field. Tough to get there though, so attention starts to wander and you settle in on some workers banging away at some concrete and chattering their chatter while they're at it. A real strange land no doubt, but one that's a pleasure to dabble in.

Flip explores much the same ideals, if in a slightly more focused--or at least diverse--landscape. Little metallic clatters rebound it into being before it mellows down a notch and starts to hover just over the crisply cut grass. Still that same suburban surreality though, with voices of red-haired wives tending garden or men in "Kiss the Cook" aprons flipping burgers while the chilluns huff paint behind the swingset. Only still spot seems to be where the cat's lying, on a carpet letting the sun fall over him and dreaming of mice. It's these moments that really keep it lively too, and somehow the movement from convoluted sensory overload to simple statements of quiet beauty flow nicely, giving it a chance to get you somewhere beyond mere residence. Really cool little tape, interesting straight through, though apparently there are only two left at the label HQ so you might want to move in for the kill quick. Otherwise Tomentosa and, apparently, Discriminate Music have copies.

Sparkling Wide Pressure - Golden Thread (Kimberly Dawn 3" CD-R)

2009-08-05T12:43:00.000-07:00

Here's an interesting one. Basically a remix album, this finds Frank gripping some recordings made by a friend of his, Blake Barton, and using them as the source for this little 3"er. Strange sounds abound, but it all has the distinct feel of a Sparkling Wide Pressure release, a testament to the strength of vision practiced by Baugh.

The little thing starts off with some looped smokers-cough vocals that growl over and over while clanging guitar sort of rebounds around beneath. Takes its time spreading out, but when it does it sprawls all the way, lending itself toward drawn out percussion and semi-tonal murmur. Starts to really lift-off about minute eight, when the tin pan, rain on steel rhythm accompanies some increasingly sci-fi laser drones that shoot right out, emitting toward some sun without a glance back. Real spaced stuff here that serves the noggin well if it's incorporating the proper ingredients. Baugh's control of the material is clear too, as he really lets each little part evolve all on its own, some heading toward the trees, others dipping deeper into the oceanic bowel systems, and some skipping the life step and turning right into pure energy with its eye on the quasars. As the whole thing pitters out, it sorta lets slip each part at a time, leaving the skeleton but getting rid of the muscle so all you have left is this odd space of hollowed out activity that you can still bend; it just can't do it willingly anymore. Has to lay there limp instead until someone else comes and gives it a bend. By the finale the thing's disintegrating between your thumbs, dust-to-dust, but man what a journey.

Second track is a little more neon, even nearly dancey, with little statements of melody below ping pong ball rolls and reversed plate clatters. Sort of gentle-ish before it slips into pure sound zones for a stretch, weighing still while the blade gets closer. Might as well be the sounds of some Rube Goldberg machine in motion, spewing out Seussian sludge till the nimblequacks emerge to sing their songs of peace. Short and sweet, but again, it sure is sweet.

Anvil Salute - Cosmic Yes (House of Alchemy CD-R)

2009-08-05T11:50:00.000-07:00

Here's another new contribution to the pool from House of Alchemy, this time in the form of a nice little disc from a group I hadn't heard of before this, Anvil Salute. Apparently they hail from the Midwest, but they sound like they might as well be from the Far East, or at least New York circa '68, imploring a nice combination of free jazz, raga and free-folk into a kind of ESP meets Impulse meets Folkways sound that's super together.

Track titles here are super extended too, which gives the whole thing the feel of a journey of sorts, going from the opener, "The answer is YES; the question doesn't matter" to the fourth and final track, whose title is long enough that I won't recreate it here but suffice it to say it has as much to do with Trout Fishing in America as it does not. Along the way they really go some places, opening with the Indian strings and bells of the opener, whose clacking rhythms find the album steaming in off some pale shores a la Alice Coltrane's Journey in Satchidananda. A smoky sax even rolls about among the mini celeste melody as the thing unfolds into some desert sands lope whose pace is just steady enough so as to give it that Lawrence of Arabia, sun rising behind you feel as the sax loosens it up and gets some silt in its shorts. Feeds right into the next track too, which skitters over some sea shell bells and a snare tap or too for a real brief go of it before falling right over itself and into some languid guitar lines on the aptly titled "The Virtues of the Fuck-Up," whose little celeste melody sort of twinkles along above the increasingly swampy guitar work. A real clean sound though, focused way more in pacing and steady coagulation then seeking out some muddied psychedelic mess. Kind of precious in its own way, though not unenjoyable for it as is so often the case.

The closing track sees reentry for the saxophone, which opens the tune with a billow and a blare while a trumpet sort of mutters to itself underneath. Steady little thing that sounds like the percussion from Art Ensemble mixed in with some post-fire number. Some surprising horn playing too here, real good sound and nice movement around each other, kinda fumbling over one another while the atmospheric backing adds flourishes to the falls. A lot of restraint on hand too, with no one really willing to push through all the way and go for it--the result being that it's never cluttered at all, each sound clear and each line fluid. Nice piano interspersions too that give it an even more percussive feel that's as light as air. Good stuff, the band clearly has a conception and is willing to step out of the proverbial box in subtle and surprising ways that keep the whole thing super fresh. Another glorious one from House of Alchemy, and somehow the spare construction paper cover gets the right idea entirely.

Sutra - Sutra (Small Doses CD-R)

2009-08-05T10:22:00.001-07:00

Also in from Foxy Digitalis:

Another project of Haare mastermind Ilkka Vekka, Sutra draws out a more psychedelically minded blueprint, sketching out a drone dialect that is far more concerned with free floating forms than fastened fidgets. The opening track, named after both artist and album, combines raga style sitar loops on clacking snare drum patter and heavily handed strummings that chunk along like Robert Johnson on cigar box. Behind all that is ample electronic perversion, shimmying up and down in muted derangement over the course of the track. Parts of it almost read like one spaced Hawkwind moment looped on top of itself, frozen in immobile stasis. The cut does move though, layering on a heavy hit of fuzz for its latter half before lightening up a bit and increasing the weird quotient, switching between free-folk fuckery and fumed out sun-splotching.

The second track—“The Howling Sun,” as it would turn out—sticks with the more crucified sound for the most part, drilling holes in drills drilling holes in Teflon. Eternal damnation guitar/vocal bellows glide over the grinding, gorged out backdrop, providing it with just enough of the human element that it’s alarming to one’s personal sense of safety; clearly, whoever’s in there does not belong down there, so near the molten coal, but they keep singing something sweet anyhow. Does come up to breathe for moments though, picking up intangible meter as it works its way through spider webs down in Indonesia, but the end result is a one way trip back down to the brine. Savage and quite beautiful.

Anonymeye - The Disambiguation of Anonymeye (Sound & Fury CD-R)

2009-08-05T10:13:00.000-07:00

In from Foxy Digitalis:

The moniker of experimental artist Andrew Tuttle, this disc, named in honor of John Fahey, Mariah Carey and Wikipedia according to the liner notes, find the experimental artist supplementing his finger-picked guitar works with a number of synthesizers, giving the album a strange habitation between the mechanistic and acoustic that gives it a highly unique feel.

The first two tracks, “Memorandums 1 & 2,” are pure synth stasis, giving little hint of the sound to be explored on “Hill Loop,” a gently lilting guitar progression finger-picked within sheets of gliding synth lines that morph between alien signals and pure warm hum as the guitar fades out and is replaced by a banjo that closes the track with a kind of bristling, thistle enwrapped joy. “If at First You Don’t Secede…” finds the same sense of warmth in the synth work meeting a sliding string line that keeps things firmly in the yellow grasses of the South, its humming overtones displaying the stars’ clarity from the expansive fields. There’s an almost Henry Flynt feel here in terms of bluegrass being reinterpreted to more experimental ends, though the addition of synths calls for very stripped lines and a humble feel often lost in Flynt’s hyper-conscious work.

Other highlights here include “Janitor of Luna Park,” a real tune that has a nervous sense of nostalgic excitement, single note synths chattering amongst Appalachian valleys of guitar pluck and strum. “Sabbatical from Procedure” starts faintly before crackling inward, its thudding underbelly pushing it along the dune lines until it slips out on the water, riding crests of waves toward coasts unknown. The closing title track is perhaps the most Fahey-like one here, and almost could be off of “The Yellow Princess” in the way it moves between folk interpretation and sheer experimental what-the-fuckery. A nice little disc, understated and well conceived, with appearances by Seaworthy’s Cameron Webb and Mirrored Silver Seas’ Tim Condon.

Jah Lion - Dub Bible (Roll Over Rover CS)

2009-08-04T15:02:00.000-07:00

Well well, it's been a might long break between reviews it's true, but once confronted this little number what can I say, it just settled me into some kind of summer slumber that had me off in nether-lands for a hot minute. Hard to believe this one really, a straight up dub tape courtesy of the fine folks over at Roll Over Rover that's concerned with little beyond Augustus Pablo, Lee Perry and Adrian Sherwood--just the way we like it.

First side of this tape, which was way too limited and sold out in about twenty minutes, is one straight extended dub session called "Rasta Takeover." Not sure whether they're the rastas taking over or they're being taken over by the rastas but who cares. Cut it either way and it's still dub crazy. They go all out too, calling on the talents of Jr. Dr. Tristan for drums, Dave "Bucketface" Shakespeare on geetar and Sir Miles David Shakespeare II rock steady on bass. Great effects laden stuff throughout here too, with the drums delaying outward into oblivion so as to really drag out the tropical sunset vibe. Nice too that the material is good enough so as to avoid being straight tongue-in-cheek style stuff. White people rarely make reggae sound this good, weird though that might be. Drifting vocals abound too, giving it a real dub-me-crazy version feel.

Flip side divides it three ways, with "Jaded Mutha Dub (Babylawnmover Version)" getting into some more spaced, Creation Rebel-style material, way out and skittering stuff that features that signature McCann side that everyone's crazy for. Bowed banjo slips surprisingly well into this stuff too, and like melodica seems strangely suited to this type of stuff. "Two Sevens Clash," named after, well, "Two Sevens Clash," Culture's classic, may or not be a dub of the title track but who cares really? The spirit's the same, totally smoke-filled with the electronic manipulations falling in just the right crevices for most ample effect. "3 Guys and a Babylon )XXL Fluffy x 2 Version)" brings in RAS Iretha-Franklin III, who contributes some wonderfully suitable chant that ain't Big Youth, but sure as hell has the right idea. Also, props to the crew for the paint job on said cassette--really gets you to where you need to be. Mighty and surprising, ital vital style.

Black to Comm - Charlemagne & Pippin (Digitalis CD)

2009-08-03T07:41:00.000-07:00

Also in from Brainwashed:

Marc Richeter's Black to Comm project has always been more or less singular in its scope, seeking no less than than the outer reaches of deep drone meditation. Calling on Renate Nikolaus and Ulf Schutte to contribute electronics, bells, percussion, violins, water and more on top of his own monolithic organ play, Richter has crafted a monster with this lone 35-minute piece. Just make sure submersion is an attractive state before descending.

With the sudden emergence of a new drone dialect in underground music, Richter brings a classical sense to his concoctions, drawing on the likes of Steve Reich's organ works, La Monte Young's extended sense of time, Hermann Nitsch's sound world and Charlemagne Palestine's power far more than psychedelic babble steeped in rounded edges. His is a focused maelstrom, less concerned with dips into the nether regions of his mind than in sharp trajectories directly towards the sun. Starting with a microcosm of a drone, the piece largely develops itself as an extended crescendo, continuously moving steadily forward into ever deeper waters.

This sort of constant upheaval in a piece has a way of falling short, but Richter is wiser than a lot of his cohorts, instead focusing on an internal build rather than one extending out from itself. The bulk of the work is enshrouded in the subtle organ play, which reads as singular in any given moment but whose constant flux is clear over the course of the work. Within that cloud Nikolaus and Schutte are constantly building, laying down increasinly kinetic details that clatter, murmur and spew there way out of the organ flow like larvae out of a heated pool. Nothing ever takes hold though, the chatter instead serving to divert attention away from the bold organ drone which, somehow, ingrains a kind of festering bother in the listener whose creepiness is far more internal and personal than overt drawings upon darkness.

Half way through the work breaks up entirely, the tickling metallics fumbling forward until, at last, the work explodes under its own weight. A thick smoke, sharp atop the smooth drone, ricochets across while warbling electronics distort themselves into dreams haunted by wolves and ghosts and ivy. By the time it all comes to a fore it has buried itself so deep that any semblance of self is surrounded, blown apart by the sheer quantity of sound. This, it seems, is why they recommend it be played loudly.

This sort of slow development does more than its share of demolition, but it also reveals a fully realized vision and a musician whose focus and sonic sense are at once contributing to and one step removed from so much of the drone music coming out now. This is not music to take drugs to so much as it is music as drug, an intoxicating and immersive experience akin to the very MC5 song it is named after. Not in sound perhaps, but certainly in attitude and scope.

Social Junk - Born Into It (Digitalis CD)

2009-08-03T07:40:00.000-07:00

From Brainwashed:

Primarily the duo of Heather Young and Noah Anthony—though others have been dragged in along the way—Social Junk uses pounding beats and minimal synth to concoct some of the most pummeling pop this side of the sun. With drenched vocals and spare but wisely utilized parts the duo draw on tactics as far reaching as industrial, post-punk and Krautrock in their rugged and broken songcraft. This, their most recent sonic tastament, reaches even further into their warped world.

Interestingly, the group is known for producing vastly different results, swerving between proto-industrial clunk to spacey synth pop over the course of albums and even songs. "Champos '08," for example, features electronic crud mixed in with rotator blades and squeal that reads more like some basement Michigan noise project, while the percussive organicism of "Dirty Cloud" largely explores a much more overtly pretty side of psychedelia. Concussion Summer, their most recent full length on the Not Not Fun label, grinds out mostly instrumental clatter that is in constant flux. This one seems to meld the brazenly fried feel of the latter while persuasively melding it with a kind of numb song form whose fuel is in its monotanous, dead-to-the-world attitude.

This is more or less clear right from the opener, "It Just Isn't the Same," whose constant thud is at once primitive and futuristic, the battle cry for an interstellar war fought with spears and rocks. While the parts are all simple—the three note synth melody unendingly stuttering forward, the bleating scrapes—they are mixed so masterfully, brought forth, drawn back, reworked, that the sound is in constant motion, providing a spaced drift for the half-dead vocals to drift across.

"Those Final Seconds," which begins with a fax machine running across the rattles of snakes and delayed vocal punctuations, creates a sort of endless loop that feels overwhelmingly trapped, stuck in place until, somehow, it manages to wriggle itself into slightly new positions, slowly freeing itself of its confines while free rock drum clatter mashes it to a pulp from beneath. This is some blown out stuff and truly fried material, a sax bellowing outward signaling the approaching peak of a seven-minute buildup. Having wrestled itself free, "Grief" seems to a signal a kind of anti-climax, a new and placid world where synths drape over one another as they reach toward a mangled synth pop dreamworld as abstract as it is tangible. Jon Rickman and Bobby Caution join the duo on this (Rickman also plays on the title track), giving it a more full sound while still retaining the distorted peace within the work. It serves as a fine example of the different sounds the group can draw upon while still managing to sound like itself.

The following title track, the longest work on the album, moves between so many modes that it's tough to pin down. It glitches about, building and dying under its own weight like a Robert Ashley piece gone awry, or better yet as covered by Dead C. It is a true monster that feeds right into the brief "Behind a Wall" before the smoldering simmer of "Someone Upstairs" drifts through the coals. When all is said and done it is difficult to not be a convert, and even tougher not to believe in the group's increasing potential. Every release seems to push the bar further, and this one is another impressive statement along their path, as twisted as it is sincere.

Antigua Ibis - Bisected by Ravines (Vanishing Hour Revival CS)

2009-07-27T15:30:00.000-07:00

A new label out of Gainesville, formed in the wake of Housecraft frontman Jeff Astin's departure as a means of continuing the seemingly fertile action down there I suppose, Vanishing Hour Revival is headed by Evan, whose first batch features this, a tape of him and David Toro's unit Antigua Ibis. Gotta say when Evan got in touch with me I knew from the get-go I'd be into it, what with the gorgeous cover art on all three releases in the first batch and the general atmosphere of goodness surrounding all things Xiphiidae. Bold move to have catalog numero uno a vinyl too, but they did such a beautiful job on that one, seriously, go pick it up. That'll get the review soon too for shiz.

For now though I though I'd stick with this little one, a stripped down affair far more concerned with sway and bend then plug and grind modes of mystery. First side kind of slips in and out of focus, crystal bowl loops and keyboard twinkles blowing out in hums of iridescent light hung from white fixtures dangling effortlessly from fishing line. Periodically drifts from subtle winds too, letting the warm glow find all corners of the empty space it inhabits, fueling the growth of the weeds coming in through the cracks. Not so much concerned with totally losing it, the tape lets its understatement lead the noggin into far off realms of dreamy conga lines and ecstatic gestures of relief made lackadaisical by their distance in time. Voices come and go, lines like spikes through the canvas of time before switching off and entering another space entirely, replete with bird chirps and hog grunts while streams fuel forests of insect activity. Interesting stuff for sure, and strange/alien enough that the new agey elements serve a purpose and don't become plodding.

Flip side is a bit more blustery in nature, with meandering keys dabbling among wind strewn dunes and elderberries. Nice sand piper vibe here that's totally content traipsing about in search of microscopic crustaceans, all the while the clouds darkening and the waves frothing whiter and whiter. Starts to bring in a real eerie stance over its course, giving a full tidal go of it that exudes abandonment and small natural moments looked at with utter fascination. Very little necessary here, and they stick with it wisely. Like some lonely young brunette nestled in the sand and watching the very waters that Dolphins into the Future inhabits. A nice flip too, gives the tape an edge of melancholy that adds a lot of depth to the material as a whole, contributing to these being a real winner of a first batch. Basking stuff.

Gown / Chapels - Split (House of Alchemy CS)

2009-07-27T14:59:00.000-07:00

Another nice split from the House of Alchemy label, presented like Rambutan/Chapels number in a super stripped down and ultra classy cover. This time around it's the label leader himself in cohoots with Gown, whose exploits are well known and always glowing. A brief number--only 10 minutes a side--means that both efforts have to be even more focused. Neither falters of course, and these two sides burn with a real glory.

First side belongs to Gown, aka Andrew MacGregor, member of Bark Haze, whose "Early Morning Missing" finds intertwining, molten lines meshing into a string twanging call to arms. Steady and smoldering stuff, it's pure guitar catharsis here, gliding rumbles buried under ringing smatters that coalesce into polygons of gray crisscrossing over flattened landscapes. Parts sound like they were unleashed from some underground vault, prehistoric and new. Some unwary scientist having hit the wrong (or right, depending on how you look at it I suppose) chasm with his shovel blade and suddenly the skies were filled with primordial squall. Really lovely, and so brief as to just get your feet off the ground before dropping you back down for maximum effect. Rejoice!

Whereas the Gown side lifts its head toward the rising sun, the Chapels offering, "Ran Past 10 Dark Houses," shields its eyes from the celestial rays, instead seeking its own inner heat source by burying downward into the dark. Not that this is all nasty business, it's just a tad less open to the world at large, forming jabs in the dirt just below the decaying leaf matter and three floors above the mole men. Simmers too though, warmed by the channels of heated air blowing through these subterranean caverns. Digs its head up and smells the logs and the mulch when the moment's right too, humming its crackling melodies through the hollowed cavities until they've intercepted one another and turned themselves inside out, skewed but not entirely indecipherable. Another awesome split from the label, and one with plenty to be found in the folds. Time constraints are certainly no obstruction here, as all those ideas in such a small area makes it burn twice as hot.

Island's Eyelid's - Eyelands I (Roll Over Rover CS)

2009-07-27T13:32:00.000-07:00

Soooo many beautiful items in of late, so I'll just hit the ground running with this representative from the new Roll Over Rover batch, all of which is beautiful. This one presents the solo work of one of the ROR lads' high school friends, proudly presented as the first east coast title in the label's catalog. Being an east coast boy myself it's comforting to know that we're not excluded from the magic happening over there in Sun Land--I was beginning to feel left out.

Anyway--and wouldn't ya know it?--this lad is super capable as well, finding a nice crevice of mush to slink into that's just as blissed and blown as anything else on the label, substituting the folk/Appalachian hints of the Westies for bubbly pounding and momentous bathing. Whole thing gives off the vibe of one gigantic group bathhouse, with everyone feeling wild and soapy and totally cleansed. "Geometric Hangover (((one more likwid knight)))" sorta gargles its way forward into some leviathan stomachs, nice and warm and intestinal but also loose enough to warrant the general excitement associated with said devouring. "Constant Comet///////and the view from Istanbeach" is, somehow, a real a song, even claiming lyrical content with lines such as "One by One, Who Won?," though the whole thing slips away soon as it arrives and you could just as well decipher a word of it as you could try and screw your skull back on once its over and done with. Real pulsing noggin brainwashing undergone here. HeaV/Dy stuff.

Blackout rain coming in over here, which according to the maestro's words means that I've somehow positioned myself in the ideal listening conditions--whole thing was made during June when it rained nigh every day in New York and, being an East coaster and having some pride at stake in the matter here, I suppose that gives me a bit of a leg up here on the narrative. Or not though. The second side is just as warped, opening with "Pelican Praises it's Prey," whose looped cackle actually does resemble the lightning it's supposed to, though it sure feels a bit more super heated than anything I've seen in these summer months. Nice trickling lines drift under though, splotching the beats into submission and making it damn pretty in the process; a real cruiser if you will. "Circle Round the Son" has an equally punny (yuk yuk...) title as "Possibleye Gone Wrong," but it's a bit more grooving. I do declare, the whole second side is damn near club worthy if I do say so myself. Neon night style, only without the over indulgent drug vision--just pure, good old fashioned fun with a pitstop off at some reservoir-hidden rave. A good bit stoned maybe, but a relatively clean crowd after little more than a hot night in the Big Apple. Great. "Try Angles & Bees" drips about nicely too, caressing jagged brick-lined window panes with its muted punctuation and hazy recognition. A nice closer to a real good time. Real good. Time. Thanks to Karl Bauer aka Axolotl in there too, so you know the dude's in good company.

Jason Kahn - Vanishing Point (23five CD)

2009-07-27T12:43:00.000-07:00

In from Brainwashed:

A 47-minute elegy to his daughter, who passed away two years before work began on the record, this disc offers a slow and meditative take on electronic composition. Combining field recordings with metallic vibrations, static hum and pure noise elements, Kahn is able to do a lot with what appears to be very little, conducting his own orchestra of sound in a piece whose emotional impact is garnered from its barren makeup.

When I say barren though, I certainly mean barren. The work is so slow to evolve in fact that many moments are only decipherable as different upon clicking through the piece's timetable. With this kind of cautious construction, layering the equivalent of vacuum cleaner air drawing upon airplane cabin engine noise, the work evolves slowly enough so as to take its virtually its entire length to entangling itself of each distinct moment. When distant scratches come through amidst the hiss around minute 13 it is nearly revelatory, being the most distinguishable sound yet presented. A soft hum around the 17 minute mark grounds it somewhat, imbuing it with a distinct direction for the first time, though that direction is surely a circuitous one not so much bent on arriving anywhere so much as one settling in to the old mental garden.

Yet the changes do happen, and the patience with which they do so rewards a concerted listening effort. Metal-on-metal clatter subsides in the mix almost half of the way through the work's length, sounding like a mini Gamelan orchestra playing from inside a wind turbine. Volumes are delicately adjusted, allowing details to come to the fore that, whether always present back there or not, feel to be coming from the same organism, drawing itself out through the most minute adjustments in color.

There is a sense of urgency in the latter half of the work, if only in contrast to the first half. It becomes less static and busier, with sounds rebounding around the space and jumping out from the singular static that started the work. Still, the consistency of sounds being as they are, the result is not so much busily seeking anything as it is teeming beneath its own weight, its super-heated molecules bouncing together without losing the general forms they inhabit.

It isn't until about half an hour into the piece that snippets of a discreet melody appear, though these too are so fractured as to become part of the general landscape, tickling the outer reaches of the hum with brief splashes of color. These flurries of notes not only tie the piece inward, setting the outer boundaries of the hiss buildup, but they also signal the piece's movement toward a more mechanistic and gestural sound for a time, one that has momentary flashes of a daily movement removed from the ethereal space of the work as a whole.

The final ten minutes find the work slipping back to its origins, decomposing until it is only the crackle of burning wax and a gentle airy breath of tone. Dense though it may be, the work is quite well situated and wisely done, uncompromising in its enactment without lacking beauty or finesse. There is likely no knowing just how this recording relates to its subject matter—certainly it is not in any linear manner representative of it—but there can be no doubt that this is a highly personal and well phrased statement from a musician with his ears on a singular form of sound composition.

The Golden Sores - A Peaceable Kingdom (Bloodlust! CD)

2009-07-22T11:01:00.000-07:00

Here's a disc I got a ways back but never got around to for whatever reason (i.e. general chaos) but that surely deserves some words. Sent to me by the group, this one is another fine example of the Bloodlust! imprint doing what they do best: long and languid affairs that tend toward the doom and gloom but always offer more in the way of general depth. Think Locrian, Prurient, Bloodyminded, etc. Well this one's no different, if even a bit more toward the light end of the spectrum, offering a nice sparkling drone work that's as well constructed as it is immersive.

"Double Gyres" opens the disc on a shimmering note, offering some real cross-current glides with some heavy electronic atmospherics thrown in for good measure. Every line is treated with real care here, always moving if ultimately stagnent. Rather than just laying all the cards down and letting them get oggled though, the duo really constructs some fine and careful stuff. Steve Fors and Chris Miller really dabble on the edges of so many mediums with this piece alone, gliding along on a chasm, the darkness below and the sun above, and a hilltop meadow right beside.

The whole disc is this good though, as the unit uses cheapo keyboards, synths, guitar (even lap steel), etc to create a sound that draws on hi and low fidelity. The Casio burnout opening "The Awful Rowing Toward God" turns into a total scorcher before charring itself out while "Klonopin" looms along some electric wire ariel currents. "We'll Wield Fire," another scorcher, sits on the crackling drones of cheapo keyboards while ultra crisp stutterings pulse ahead--the mix, recorded as well as it is here, really works to fill out the entire sound, allowing it to avoid the trappings of both aesthetics while pulling on each strength. This one really cooks too, occupying some Indiana Jones trudge ahead, grind your teeth and deal heroism. Following that with "Ondine" makes sense too, as it expands way out in a real lofty, halo fuzz that serves as a nice come down before the closing "A Vision" fades in only to scrape itself down some flood pipe with electric razors as handles. Beautiful, but a hell of a way to go out. Just sharp all around, real top notch stuff, and it looks to have been produced in some real numbers. Killer. And how bout that entangled sheep adorning the cover?

Sudden Oak / Paper Leg - 12.11.2008 (Bezoar Formations CD-R)

2009-07-22T09:35:00.000-07:00

Here's the other one I got from the Bezoar folks, this time in the form of a beautifully packaged split. Combining the label house band with a project I haven't heard from, the split presents a nice document of what was surely a hell of a night. All recorded by Sean McCann too, to speak of the audience.

The first track is Sudden Oak's, and they present what is likely one of their tightest and clearest goes at it yet. Maybe it's the lack of tape hiss, but you can really pick out the sounds here, and the result is an even airier sounding grind that veers between finger-picked guitar eeriness and hollow dredges of saxophone billow. Actually, given the opening it's amazing these dude's manage to get as murky as they do--nice to know that's actually their sound and not just the recording method at work. Some reed grind makes itself clear though, and the general fidelity allows for bird calls and whale songs to find their way out of the river basin these guys dwell in. What's further, these dudes know when to pull it back down, always progressing clearly by building and, when they've gotten somewhere, cutting it off and having another go. This time it's ship bellows style with huge pumps spewing any water in the cargo area back out to sea. Totally weird and mobile, the thing goes through more realms than you can count but it always sounds distinctly Sudden Oak.

Paper Leg is the solo moniker of one Trevor Healy but man, it could just easily be two or three dudes having away at it. Muddied electronic work grinds along beneath deep saxophone breaths that really cry out from concrete padded walls. Almost an Uneven Universe/Handicapper Horns thing here but not quite. More focused and less purposefully nauseating it seems, but still a real trek into the outer reaches with hiss and piss combining into a real ball of super heated steam that gets tossed around with nary a caution. Thick stuff too, hardly any room to breath in there while this little percussive tap drives it into a frenzy that could raise mountains. Last bit is all eyes on the prize, serving as one big escalator to the sun--hot as hell up there though, and there's some unpleasant company to boot. Killer sound, damaged and unapologetically immense. Apparently this project is now a duo actually... can't imagine how big that sound is... killer split, brief but great tracks from both. The projects belong right there with one another too, and the package, again, is more than meets the eye. A lot to look at, a lot to hear.

Quick correction here which actually explains a good bit... Matt just let me know that these two pieces are actually both with all three participants playing together. Explains why that last track sounded so much a bigger band. Go figure.

Sudden Oak - Causeways of the Sun (Bezoar Formations CS)

2009-07-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

After a long journey across, through and around the ol' U.S. of A. the Bezoar Formations folks returned and laid a couple of their tour items on me for review's sake. Great to see that these guys are back at it and not only that but that they seem to have continued refining their sound. I only wish I had gotten a chance to see them live with jams this good.

To be honest, I've given this one a listen a few too many times to keep track of which side is which but their both being untitled I figure I can get away with it. Whichever it is, the first side I'm listening to right now opens with some drum and thump clatter before slipping right into some alien spa realms with lurking guitar drawl and creepy atmospherics for exfoliations' sake. Real warm bath water material, with algae gripping at the sides of the spring and thriving for real. Picks up a bit actually, with some vocal/saxophone/who knows what murmur and increased tempo, but it always remains heavily soiled and mud-caked. The duo has a way of keeping things brief too, moving from locale to locale without dropping any of the mood but definitely inspecting it from a different angle. Sax air gets thrown around in some cloud constricted forest, weaving through the trees and the moss as small creatures with big eyes sprint over vines in search of prey. By the end it moves to a rocky ledge where you just lie and watch as three-toed sloths descend into the water for a slow and lugubrious wade, claws drawing their way through the water. Seriously, though, this is straight field recording it seems, lovely.

Somehow that closing makes me think that the side just reviewed is actually part deux, but I'll just go with it and move on to the next (first?) side. This one starts off in similar territory, really working the tape hiss to create a damaged and wet sound where everything collides together into a hum under which there's so much activity it's tough to keep track of. Little details emerge and dissolve from behind the buzz, giving it a feel not quite of a drone track but more of a kind of deep listening thing, maybe some La Monte Young sax and guitar duet. Just slow and steady drift that really makes for a sound I can get behind. At times the thing is so blown out it turns into cross-tundra Mastodon calls that foreshadow the massive extinctions to come. Bleak, but too blurry to be gloomy. More dream-like, one step removed from fairy hallucinations but you can still see the remnants of glittering pixie dust trickling around you from invisible flybys. It's funny, in a lot of ways the group reminds me a bit of Skaters though they're going for totally different things. But the crude tape sound creates the same kind of ambiguity, focusing on changes in the fold rather than changes of the fold. Nice one for sure. One more to come from these guys shortly.

Blues Control - Local Flavor (Siltbreeze CD)

2009-07-22T07:13:00.001-07:00

Just in from Foxy Digitalis:

The follow-up full length to their amazing “Puff” release from a couple years back, “Local Flavor” sees the duo of Lea Cho and Russ Waterhouse teaming up with the happily resuscitated Siltbreeze imprint, about as fitting a meeting as ever there was. Continuing their unique take on post-rock uniqueness, the album sees an even further refined demonstration of Blues Control’s sound, which continues to grow without losing any sense of identity.

Opening with the aptly titled “Good Morning” the album lifts right off from the starting line, shunning the meandering groove of the band’s last effort in favor of squealing guitar and pounding, Jerry Lee Lewis piano pyrotechnics that pull from so many corners of the musical spectrum it’s tough to keep count; King Crimson, Amon Duul II, aforementioned early rockers and even Fats Waller, and all this before the saxophone comes in. Of course it’s all enmeshed in a basic blues structure, but the proggy drum machine backbeat and general dimensions of the work draw this far beyond the property of mere nostalgic congealing. Rather it is a group firmly in control of their distinct sound, always playing in the present by allowing their influences to flow naturally.

“Rest on Water” follows the opener, presenting a drifting regrouping of sorts as it meanders about with a feel not far removed from Jon Hassell’s Fourth World experiments, yet still delaying off into lands wholly their own. “Tangier” finds a series of loops, vocal and synthesized, building a rhythm that, when fully formed, leads right into some Kraftwerk style synth work circa “Autobahn.” Its sense of the horizon engenders it with the kind of hopeful optimism afforded by setting its sights on the future, snaking keyboard lines and thudding, Mustang rhythms scorching towards an endless sunset for its entire eight minutes.

The closer is where things really congeal though. “On Through the Night,” the longest piece by twofold here, opens with a static and distant rhythm overlaid by organ drift and tough to pin down vocal atmospherics. Eight minutes of this often detuning, almost sickening psychedelically, which rises and drops in pitch like the sun over water, is soon met with a patient rhythmic pulse that drives the latter half deep into space, a synth melody pushing forward in tandem with guitar before slipping deep into a jungle trance. The whole thing moves from place to place so effortlessly and distinctly, it is tough to deny the clear vision of this duo’s approach.

The real genius here however is in the album’s construction. Only four tracks long, each piece is longer than the last, meaning that the final track takes up nearly half the album’s length with its sixteen-plus minute buildup. This gives the album the same subtle sense of expansion as each track individually does, broadening the disc as it eases the listener into it. Being eased in continuously throughout necessarily means that the end requires another go at it, and there is plenty to be found upon reentry.

Jandek - Six and Six (Jackpot LP)

2009-07-20T14:17:00.000-07:00

Just in from Brainwashed:

It's no secret that Jandek is the oxymoronic title holder for most prominent musical recluse. With over 50 albums to his name in about 30 years of work, the musician has been as prolific as he has hidden. Only recently did he reveal himself to live audiences, beginning a welcome tour schedule that nevertheless has done little to diminish the mysteries buried beneath a quarter century under wraps. This, a reissue of his second album from 1981, presents for the first time since its initial pressing a vinyl copy of the album, which finds Jandek further refining his distinctly unrefined take on blues drift.

To call Jandek's sophomore effort a major step forward from Ready for the House—whose repeated guitar line carries throughout every song—would be a mistake. Indeed, the nine songs presented here all feature similar guitar ruminations as well, but with three years of work the album is slightly more dexterous in its interplay, even if the result is equally catatonic and harrowing.

The layout of the album is apparent from the opening, "Feathered Drums," which sees Jandek's detuned guitar abstracting the blues into a lonesome and highly individual interpretation. With his hollow vocals finding crevices in the guitar lines through which to sing his empty and cold poetry, Jandek's power is at once distinguishable, walking the cliched line between genius and insanity effortlessly and, better yet, genuinely. This is after all, like all of Jandek's albums, about as claustrophobically personal a music as anyone is likely to hear.

"I Knew You Would Leave" is the longest song on the album as well as its centerpiece, presenting over ten minutes of some of Jandek's most chilling and isolated dirges put to tape. Drawing out every line while his guitar punctuates certain statements with high-end twangs, the piece is utterly singular while still drawing on the emotional weight of so many other musical styles, like some twisted and dark Gospel sermon.

"Wild Strawberries" distorts the guitar line even more, proving a fine demonstration not only of how tight Jandek constrains himself in his forms, but also how much he manages to pull out of such similar material. With an almost raga-like quality, the piece glides and shifts instrumentally for an extended period before "Forgive Me" slows it down in favor of a solemn ballad. "You're the Best One" pulls as much from Gagaku and gamelan as it does folk.

Surely not an album that will win over any detractors, Six and Six is an impressive demonstration of Jandek's controlled vision. Utterly alone both in song and sound, the album is rich with depth that deserves deep and committed listening.

Plankton Wat - Dawn of the Golden Eternity (DNT Records LP)

2009-07-18T08:48:00.000-07:00

Here's a bomb. After what felt like an ample hiatus--just starting to mourn the loss in the form of frequent checks to the website--DNT has returned not with a fully loaded batch but with one ultra focused and fondly constructed LP from Dewey Mahood's Plankton Wat project. Probably better known as a member of Eternal Tapestry, Mahood's solo ventures have actually already been captured on the DNT imprint via a cassette from a ways back.

While that one was an ultra-serene pleasure cruise though, this one pushes against the shores a bit more. Opening with the flanging guitar of the "The Magic Citadel," a kind of paired down Burnt Hills psych number with real focus and drive, the piece is a call to arms for the rest of the album, which presents nine semi-miniatures in which one idea is essentially worked out and through and over. The title track, whose clattering free drums and guitar drift splay themselves out like the arched arms of illuminated cacti, segues beautifully into the Delta sproing and pan flute pitterings of "Song of Winter Death," whose Fahey allusions extend far beyond mere use of finger-picking. He somehow conjures the underlying weirdness as well, the uncertainties. "Shrouded Path of Enchantment Occult Blues" is a solo guitar venture that allows Mahood's spare caution to flower into a raga Renaissance blues style whose patient sense of time and restraint display a maturity far beyond the usual in this field, evolving incrementally as each successive leaf drifts to the floor. Closing out the side, "The Exiled Wanderer" finds parallel vocal and banjo lines sliding effortlessly into a sacred netherworld of Tibetan Appalachia, closing the side out with an emptiness immediately filled upon the flip.

"Sphere Within the Lotus," like the opener of the album, harkens in the side with gusto never again reached on the side. Splashes of guitars and frolicking drums mix with bells, vocals and Harper Mahood's flute for a brief cleansing of the palette before "While the Clouds Gather" takes delayed guitar into meditative drone worlds ripe with atmospherics and tender thematic painting via harp-like gracings over the strings. Resonating hairs strum by fingers as it meanders into warm winded vocal glides over the tundra on "Other Realms," building a humble cathedral of its resonant rainfall guitar before teetering inward for a bask in the light projected on the floor. Closing it out is "Voyage of the Night Pavilion," a drone and guitar piece firmly pointing toward the eternal beginning. A beautiful one from DNT and company, and a real accomplishment for Mahood. Killer package all around, glad to have DNT back.

Sunshine System Sometimes - Celestial Shimmer (House of Sun CS)

2009-07-16T08:07:00.000-07:00

Also in from Foxy Digitalis:

An Ontario based duo, Sunshine System Sometimes presents their debut offering, as well as their label’s maiden voyage, in the form of this mammoth hour-long offering. Initially opening with some lazy guitar drift, heavily leaning on the deckchair headboard, the sound soon takes a turn toward a more surprising hiss replete with ricocheting psych lines beneath. The deeper the guitar gets buried the more distant the back porch vibe becomes, but it does lay there in the background, creating a strong contrast between care free summer celebration and grating buzz and fuzz factory accompaniment. By side’s end any warmth is a distant memory until a bass heavy, tape-hiss infused bass jammer closes it out with slightly less arthritic intensions.

The second side’s looming opening is hardly a call to arms, but its foreboding character points toward the pursuits of the next half-hour. Slipping away though, the work becomes something of a musique concrete excursion, if not in makeup then in approach. Sounds come and present themselves behind a vast expanse of emptiness, then slip away again briefly. Soon the sounds turn into a veritable brass section of carousing, divisive horn lines billowing out and again, slipping away—of course it likely is all guitar, which makes it all the more intriguing. It’s an impressive vision, if not totally complete in realization. Still, an interesting listen whose surprises far outnumber what one might guess from the outset. Spaced stuff that travels many zones.

Locrian - Plague Journal / Apocryphal City, Portents Fallen (Bloodlust! 7")

2009-07-16T08:04:00.000-07:00

Just in from Foxy Digitalis:

Suddenly highly visible, especially after their winning full length “Drenched Lands,” Locrian present herein a far briefer expression of their sound. With as constrained a timetable as a 45 presents, and as expansive an approach as the duo typically partake in, it is perhaps a bit surprising that the group pulls this off so well. Yet rather than approach the format with miniaturized versions of their melancholy buildups they wisely try an entirely different approach. “Plague Journal” presents a bounding guitar line that writhes continuously, slightly changing in texture but not in build, before a haunting close with high end choral effects humming amidst buzzing electronics and oscillator runs draws things back down toward silence.

The following cut, “Apocryphal City, Portents Fallen,” with its blustery opening, is a far grimier and more bombed out atmosphere. Here the group’s typical patience is exercised, if consolidated, and the twisting guitar arpeggios lay the groundwork for a mineshaft of debris and concrete. There’s a song buried in their somewhere interestingly, but it also all feels very meditative in its repetition, though in a pretty destitute way. Never doom-y for doom’s sake, Locrian always manages to fill their work with real feeling, a kind of deep blues sadness that is far more frightening and lonely than mere blackness. This little offering only broadens the group’s potential as something far more than another Earth copyist, expounding on minimalist structures, electronics, drone and psych in the name of a forgotten future. Another piece of the puzzle, and an important one at that.

Eric Copeland - Alien in a Garbage Dump (Paw Tracks CD)

2009-07-13T12:32:00.000-07:00

Just in from Brainwashed:

Former Black Dice member Eric Copeland has set out on his own off late, forging a highly unique sound that draws lines between pop, hip-hop, experimental and dance modes into an entrancing discourse on contemporary music culture. This, his second solo outing, further traces this at once nostalgic and futuristic musical approach ever deeper into the spaceways.

From the opening it is clear that this is not a sampling album of the usual order. Hardly as poppy as Animal Collective has become in recent outings, "King Tit's Womb" starts things with a pitch-bent vocal loop loping along atop a slowed down, street meandering beat before a bass line's funk restrains the work from being overwhelmed by the snaking fits and starts. More in line aesthetically with James Ferraro (of the Skaters) and his Lamborghini Crystal or Edward Flex projects, the piece has the same Ray Ban adorned dimentia of Ferraro's work, if a tad more giddy.

Yet the overwhelming nature of the pieces do retain this feel, pulling from seemingly any source that holds appeal in the name of a congested and highly immediate sound whose basis could only lie in the overloaded information age of today. The title track moves from short rap samplings, sprawled amongst a thick mass of bass garbble and flow, to trotting techno rhythms being manipulated to whatever sickening means are necessary.

Where many in this realm have a difficult time avoiding the trappings of a certain sound, Copeland's abilities extend themselves in his manner of treating each track as its own, forming worlds evocative of a highly varying number of moods.The celebratory chorus of pumping rhythms and crowded mumblings on "Osni" has a summer time trajectory that is highly contrasting to the go-nowhere pop malfunctioning of "Muchas Gracias." "Al Anon" is perhaps an even better of the pop album at the heart of this record, with nearly decipherable lyrics splayed over a bounding, spring-like rhythm with a chorus and everything.

At its heart the disc—actually a combination of two previously released EPs—is a party record, but one conscious of its role within that setting. Never a copyist and, conversely, a theft at heart, Copeland has fun with his material to such a degree that it becomes a distinct vision all his own, as twisted and convoluted as any contemporary head space. There's a poetry to the method it seems, but one buried far beneath the laughter accompanying it.

Mike Khoury / Chris Riggs - My Words Came Out Slow and Odd (Holy Cheever Church Records CS)

2009-07-09T11:47:00.001-07:00

Last one from that new batch of Holy Cheevers, this time with the maestro in tandem with fellow acoustic destruction meister Mike Khoury. This is a duo that makes a ton of sense to me, much like the Matt Endahl or Chris Dadge tag teams, as they all come at the music from a similar stance, classically based perhaps, but far more concerned with the noises themselves than any defining mode of play.

Of course the same goes here, with the first side seeing Khoury laying down some long violin lines while Riggs' electric sort of blubbers about, mumbling down the street, increasingly, until it all just turns to spastic mouth gestures mimicking 40s motorcycle engines. Khoury responds with a nice high pitched fizz, giving a real space between the two of them while Riggs moves some furniture around from corner to corner. Pretty spare material that'll drop out on you right quick before swinging back in with some new contraption or movement spurring the action. Even some two chord repetition from Khoury--Fiddler on the Loose or something. Real dramatics here, but all ground down to dust so the remnants are all that's left. Spooky even, taking on a kind of itching melodicism equal parts Godard's Weekends and fucking Close Encounters of the Third Kind.Like being trapped in a dark box in the middle of some empty desert with only four holes to look out, one on each side, just so you can truly take in the nowhereness. Better take the finger nails to the wood and start wearing it down before the sun comes up...

Second side is more or less of a similar mind, if a bit trillier and more spaced out. Like side one as the soundtrack to deep space exploration, where purple planets reveal bat-like creatures whose propensity for flowers is only rivaled by their thirst for blood--but not Earth blood, it seems. It's all very thrown against a wall stuff, ground into the siding and revealed for its essence. Beautiful and light, but no less guttural than their other stuff. Just weaving lines of glycerin-flushed strings see-sawing over one another. Great Beetlejuice-ish tape stripes too. A swell time all around.

Vanilla Host - Folded at the Face (Housecraft CS)

2009-07-08T10:58:00.000-07:00

Got the new batch of Housecraft tapes in recently and it's a real doozy, though I gotta say it's a shame that the Jeffry Astin/Josh Burke split is as limited as it is--only 33 copies I think. It's a lovely little guy. And all the artwork on these new ones is NEXT LEVEL--especially that four-way split. Up and out on all of them. Was gonna cover the Astin/Burke split but I couldn't find any pictures of it online and the camera's back home, so I opted to go with this one, which of course is no disappointment either.

Actually a mail collabo between Astin and Dan of Excitebike/Uneven Universe/Body Morph, etc. fame, this number seems to veer toward the Excitebike side of things in terms of sheer basement cruise control zonkers. Real down and out, the first side presents "Exiter," which I assume references a total exodus of mind, body and soul. Pretty eerie scrapy, drone noise stuff that actually does a nice job of swaying between the two styles, one minute going deep into Michigan sub-aquatics and the next riding on the Xiphiidae train toward lower earth. Hope on the ganjala my friend, and trust me, you can see all the tops of the gates from way down here. Crunched and churned, singed just enough that the hairs start to smell while the razor glitches out from water damage. Nice air traffic control worshiping material, radio waves on the out and rain-drenched cloud beasts on the in.

The second side, "Flat Earth Variation," meshes the two styles even better than the first I'd say, finding a nice balance between the off kilter crustacean evocations of Jeff's stuff with the spurted brick and coat hanger chiseling of Dan. Dentist drills running on high and shoved, drill bit down, into the soil, clearing out any worms or aphids that might be a hindrance to its downward journey. Round the bend and the tape, bent toward disaster, peels itself apart in the name of crumbled cloisters of distress. Sounds like some sorrowful cow about to be sent through the hacker, the metallics not so much representing the shredding mechanism itself but the internal workings of the meat as it processes these alien soundscapes. Some beautiful bowed saxophone notes or something too, gives a kind of minor melody distress call, beached whale fever. It's a real creeper and perhaps even more together than the first side in its singular and empty outlook. A super interesting mash-up, and one that will hopefully continue as the two both bring such different elements into the mix, not so much meeting halfway as laying it all out and watching how they interact. And boy do they.

Bazvotni - Vrums (For Noise's Sake 3" CD-R)

2009-07-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

Here's another offering from Madrid based For Noise's Sake, this time in the form of an eleven minute, ten track cruiser by a lad named Nicolash, who also plays in Pier. Stripping down his setup to only drums, mics and vocals, the thing is over before you get started, but it has a certain immediacy to it that's pretty hard to deny.

Talking about individual tracks feels a bit silly when the longest offering here is under two minutes and all of them are more or less constructed from the same material, but the whole romp has the kind of caveman, primitivist attitude and aesthetic of Foot Village or Black Pus, only with a tad looser, more cannibalistic, ballistic feel to it. All about total wreckage with this one, as wordless vocal utterances are huffed and puffed atop free rock/jazz drumming that glides between multi-angular African mishmash and complete numb-nuts brawl material. "Loueem Fv" might have a semblance of a beat for its minute, but its weirdly unconcerned in a kind of punk nihilist way that flies way beyond simplicity for simplicity's sake. Elsewhere the vocals are more central, as on "Neaneamem," where growls harken in clattering putters of cymbal tinkling and snare pulse while his hyper Jandek chants fuel a kind of sadomasochistic, hurts so bad it's good energy. Weird.

Like I said before though, the whole thing is eleven minutes long, and its brevity actually adds to the excitement--never stops moving at all. And the submerged, muffled production makes it sound even more like emissions from some deep cavernous wake, a small flame visible atop the bass drum. Surprisingly effective stuff.