Jason Kahn - Vanishing Point (23five CD)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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")

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)

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.