I've started to update this friggin thing multiple times in the last month, but something keeps coming up--diversions, technical failures--you name it. I even started to write a post about the constant barrage of distractions that befall all of us every day, but I got distracted before finishing. As a result I have a small mountain of recent acquisitions, many of which probably wont get mentioned that should, but one never knows with me and my "sense of organization." So I give you some brief (or not) sketches of recent albums that have my heart rate ascending:
The Soundtrack Our Lives "Origin Vol. 1" (Republic/Universal) - I love rock, dude. I think I always will no matter how cynical I may become. I'll also grow bored with it, turn my back on it, drunkenly denounce it as little more than the skittering drone of a hamster running on a treadwheel, but then something will happen. A darkness will fall, and I'll throw on Buffalo Springfield's "Bluebird" or what have you, and get that righteous fever all over again. Hasn't failed so far, anyway, and these Swedish superstars seem to understand it all in a way that few others can. A lazy listen to TSOOL could yield expected dismissals and accusations of shameless plagiarism, but read the name again. The Soundtrack of Our Lives are shameless "classic rock" raconteurs, celebrants of a bygone era when the music we loved, everybody seemed to love, was actually on the charts. The Soundtrack revels in rock's most worthy cliches while leaving most of the bullshit--AKA Axl Rose--behind. This is a well produced album (all of 'em are) with blatant nods to The Who, Buffalo Springfield and of course the Rolling Stones, YET it's still somehow fresh (enough) and worth my time. These guys toured with Oasis, and I'm not a big fan of those cocksuckers, but the pairing actually makes sense given that both bands have a similar appreciation for the so called golden age of rock. Oasis aint near as bad as indie rock dogma would suggest by they way. "Origin" may be the least rewarding work to date from these guys, but it's still worthy of the name.
Michio Kurihara "Sunset Notes" (Pedal) - One of the most explosive guitarists alive today. His performances with White Heaven, Ghost, Mainliner and Damon and Naomi (to name a few) all speak for themselves. This solo debut has nine disparate tracks, ranging from flambed spaghetti western rawk to shimmery guitar pop. Through it all that unmistakable tone guides the listener through fuzzbox eruptions, minimal guitar scapes, fried surf rock and mellow pop not at all far from Nagisa Ni Te. Not the shredding freakout expected, it's a subtler, more varied journey through some of Kurihara's favorite sounds and styles. To think one day rap-rock-country phenom Big and Rich will be inducted by the RNR Hall of Fame and this guy wont even get a lifetime achievement award.
The Stars "Will" (Pedal) - Not the swooning synth pop band from Montreal, but Japan's premier heavy psych punk behemoth. The Stars are a quartet that features half of the legendary White Heaven and once more includes Kurihara. The Sound? Pristine early 70s proto metal blues like Mc5, Led Zeppelin and Cream thrown into a crockpot and simmered to a boil. Singer/guitarist You Ishihara has been working for 20 years to cultivate the ultimate Japanese approximation of bad ass English rock god vocals, and he's about as close as he's gonna get on opener "Everlasting Daylight," a monster of booming, heavy grooves and soaring power chords. Pulverizing and blissful at the same time, the stadium sized melody approaches the most divine heights of garage psych, only to be outdone by the blistering soloing of Kurihara, on fire throughout. The slower, softer moments are just as good with intricate dual guitar interplay that brings to mind Television. Those digging on the new wave of Japanese guitar psych (Up-Tight, Miminikoto, LSD-March) are gonna be absolutely blown away.
Angels of Light "Sings Other People" (Young God) - Michael Gira got his latest signing the Akron Family to be his studio band on the Angels' 4th album, and it easily rivals their best (mainly the last two). "Sings" is pretty much Gira at hit most whimsical with some shimmery ethereal moments interspersed throughout. The centerpiece "Dawn" sums up his journey till now with his typical emotional intensity in well under 3 minutes, and it just happens to be a song of contentment, thank you very much. Its twangy blues melody under a warm rush of harmonies from the Akrons under Gira's easy going delivery is one his most seductive moments to date. It brought me to my knees last night about 1:30 as I played it over and over again in a dark room. It's not the only classic on here though. Gira's all about quality control. An album of "love with no sentiment," as he sings on "Dawn," that steps away from the somberness of the last record towards something closer to joyful release.
Akron/Family "S/t" (Young God) - Gira has done it yet again with the signing of this young combo. In 2001 is was Calla, 2002 Devendra and now he invites the wonderfully off kilter art pop of the Akron/Family into the stable. And I suppose I can say that Gira knows me well, because this is one of my favorite new discoveries so far in 2005. The balance between gentle, fractured songcraft and shimmery head-swimming minimal bliss is conjured as well as anyone out there today. The effect brings to mind The Band inhabited by the warped spirit of Daniel Johnston or a much more ambitious Grandaddy. Stoned folk pop with tape noise, field recordings, bizarre head-swimming sonic effects and grandiose arrangements that rarely open up to reveal a wall of sound, but when they do...Look out. Flaming Lips, Eno, later Swans, even the poppier aspects of the Jewelled Antler also come to mind. Su-weet.
Tower Recordings "Message From the Celestial Explosions" (Holoscanner Consciousness) - “Message From the Celestial Explosions” can basically be seen as a freer sister to the recently hatched and more widely available, “The Galaxies' Incredibly Sensual Transmission Field of the Tower Recordings.” The folk and blues shadings are less apparent this time out in favor of blurred dispatches from distant faded galaxies. These five pieces touch on later Sun Ra, Sandy Bull and spacey Incredible String Band, matter and antimatter, alternating between meandering improvised space jazz, primitive noise, free folk in a way that only the ‘Recordings can. It’s evident from the first track that they’ve grown dramatically as improvisers over the last decade, or maybe this 30 min voyage is just edited with maximum transport value over a very short period in mind. Either way, no wasted seconds to be found. They peak just over halfway in and don’t let up till the promise land is revealed in rippling cosmic waves of effected ethnic drones. Enveloping opium trances for those who long to flee this world on a regular basis.
Sun City Girls "Carnival Folklore Resurrection: Radio One and Two" (Abduction) - This 2CD was originally conceived and edited for transmission on WFMU freeform radio, and I'd say it ranks with the finest in this most splendifurous archival series. It pretty much touches on all aspects of the Girls' stupefyingly unique, and often absurdist, approach. First track is a mind blowing cutup of Buddhist funeral chanting morphing into random DJ dialogue and then into the daintiest Far East synth pop number you've ever heard, all sprawled out over 13 minutes. Glorious stuff, it also represents what's going on at Sublime Frequencies to the hilt. There's hilarious twangy pop, lo-fi noise, jazz skronk, answer machine messages, station ID's and much more, all stamped with the SCG's uniquely subversive/surrealist slant. Even dear old Uncle Jim gets in on the action with a stoned recital of historical metaphors and self aggrandizement that culminates in such lovelies as "That's right, there's me...and yer not" and "Just be careful. You wouldn't wanna get your dick cut off in public would ya?" spoke-sung in a voice that can only be described as familiar.
Digitalis Watch:
The Golden Oaks "Autumn Testament" (Digitalis) - They came, they saw, they took stringed instruments in hand and fell back on a bed of gold and green stroking and plucking the sound they heard. The title track is the forest awakening from a cool slumber with shakers and ambient chirps blossoming into trance inducing acoustic guitars and Keith Wood's high vocal over distant chants and cello. The much longer "Candles Dangling From Boxwood Branches" posits drifting acoustic strums against field recordings and shimmery guitar feedback before voice sings a hymn to the birthing dawn, then welcomed as a celebration that develops into a gorgeous piano/drone drift. Brian Eno AND Harold Budd combined couldn't do it any better. A more exultant air greets the noise folk of "Arisel Arisol" before deep space is further defined on the epic "Hushed By Bells" with strings and low humming feedback backing vocals wandering through the haze before it opens up to a mellow raga. "A Fog Has Lifted" closes with an ambient swell of strings and drones over animated clicks and scratches in an effect close to a meditative Birchville Cat Motel. Strong debut, hinting at greatness to come.
Braspyreet "Maamme Laulu" (Digitalis) - Clattery free/art rock from Fins who've been drinking the bad water. They kick up a stoned racket that falls somewhere between Beefheart and Throbbing Gristle on the opener and totally kick much caveman butt in the process. Elsewhere the spirit of the mighty Avarus looms large, and of course No-Neck Blues Band. These people turn up the insanity/intensity though, reaching the breaking point with blood curdling screams over white noise before they're through. I have a thing for such nonsense derived from free jazz, blues and tribal spells, and they know how to make the more atonal detours pay off well. Some parts are bound to click for those familiar with Braspyreet's contemporaries. The entirety is sure to scare and/or annoy most anyone else.
Matt Rosin and Dead Raven Choir "Fire Mouth" (Digitalis) - I wasn't sure how to take "Fire Mouth" at first, but after a few listens I'm starting to think I may never escape its clutches. This postal collaboration features Smolken on tenor banjo, troll cittern and double bass. Matt Rosin sings, plays piano, mbira, wine glasses and resonator jar. The tracks are mostly what we'd expect, skeletal folk dirges with Rosin's baritone vocal crooning over top. The voice takes some getting used to, but it's not a bad thing. I believe the word is character. His piano against Smolken's double base occasionally lends a slight broken jazz quality (Gastr Del Sol comes to mind), while other pieces alternate from meandering picking and plucking/ droning vocals to percussive clangfests and meditative torch songs. Say what you will about this stuff; it's unique, and "Fire Mouth" evinces some growth while maintaining the blackened soul quality of earlier releases. A few moments are even downright beautiful. Along with the brilliant "Sturmfuckinglieder" 3" CD-R, my favorite DRC release to date.
That's all for now. Expect a few more posts in the coming days, including a bundle of recent Foxglove CD-R's of varying note. Check out the latest update of Foxy Digitalis too. Featured this time are Hiroyuki Usai (the man behind the amazing "Holy Letter" album reissued last year on VHF), Baby Dee, Satwa, Pumice (Get "Raft" on Last Visible Dog NOW if you haven't), Lau Nau, Gayle Brogan, My Cat is an Alien, Brooklyn Noise (Black Dice, Sightings, Excepter, Double Leopards, etc.) Sublime Frequencies, and the Aanitarha fest in Turku.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Celestial Starbursts of the Nethervoid...
Molten heavy metal pumps through the heart of the winged avenger that is Om. By the way, sorry for my lack of posts recently, but I've been getting crushed under some heavy compost heaps, flying high when I can to, dare I say, rise above--even if only in my head--all that would compact me into a tiny ball of vein bulging rage. "Variations on a Theme" is quite possibly the most rediculously stoned blast of subterrainial sludge I've heard since Sleep's "Jerasulem" (see below) presaged the current apocalypse doom vogue with a seriously toasted conceptual piece about a Heaven-sent dope-smoking messiah. I knew next to nothing about Om before the promo hit my box. There was no press sheet. I was even too lazy to goto Holy Mountain's site and read up. Weak, I know, but as previously noted I do well enough just to wake up, drink some coffee and shit these days.
So, finally the CD donned a mind of its own, grew tentacles and skuddled off the desk right into the changer as an invisible finger pressed 'play' and within seconds my jaw had dropped 16 inches closer to hell as I ingested the barbaric display that followed: evil fuzz bass/drum downtuned fury banged out at a constant brain-numbing pace--not too fast, not too slow--with verse after verse of acid touched lyrics intoning images such as "I climb towards the sun to breathe the universal" and "The flight to freedom gradient raise the called ascendent" over some of the most monolithic rhythms to ever vibrate forth from my dying speakers. Didn't even realize it was just bass/drums making the racket right away, but at about halfway through the 20 min opener I realized the beauty and undeniable logic of this approach. There's something very freeing about heavy metal without guitar solos. Re the Sleep comparison earlier? This is actually 2/3's of Sleep, the very same rhythm section and voice responsible for Jerusalem. That actually explains things.
And the other third, Matt Pike, has his own heavy metal trio, High on Fire, who we must now concede absolutely kill in terms of punk touched classic metal and thrash. "Blessed Black Wings" (Relapse) was recorded by Steve Albini, and I have to agree that it's about time that little bastard finally worked with someone who crunches out REAL METAL while sidestepping all the lame post hardcore/metal core moves that are killing the underground today....Ya know, that nu-metal-for-kids-with-buzz-cuts shit. Can't stand it. Flailing human tornado drumming of Des Kensel, Joe Preston's (of Melvins and Thrones) assaultive bass and Pike's monstro riffs and leads, drawn equally from the metal prowess of Maiden and Slayer and bombed out early punk psych (think Motorhead, Blue Cheer) arrive at a blunt and very necessary hard and heavy sound that is far more memorable than it should be, but probably not for the weak of heart. It ain't death metal either. It just rocks harder than anything else out there. Comes with a bonus DVD that proves they can do it live, and sweat like a mother fucker in the process. Amazing is not an understatement this time.
I love Godflesh. They've already been mentioned in Womblife a few times over the months, probably in relation to their earliest, genre defying recordings, namely "Streetcleaner," "Slavestate" and "Pure" (all released on Earache over a decade ago). Since then Justin Broadrick has done more for the advancement of revolutionary extreme sounds than damn near anyone out there, save for John Zorn. There's his heavy as fuck noise/hip hop project with Kevin Martin, Techno Animal (get "Brotherhood of the Bomb" on Matador if ya wanna hear that shit done right), and he even guested with John Zorn's free jazz/death metal behemoth, Painkiller. Through it all he's labored on with Godflesh, occasionally adapting to advancements of the era, ie incorporating hip hop and jungle beats into his trademark sound, ultimately veering things further from what made Godflesh so unmistakablly unique in the first place. I can understand the need to not repeat one's self, but if she ain't broke... and it wasn't. Broadrick finally put Godflesh down with "Hymns" in 2001, the first album to feature a live drummer since the self-titled debut 13 years before. It was not that great, didn't suck either. Just seemed a bit too familiar.
The self titled debut by Jesu is a welcome and necessary addition to to the sludge/drone scene. Justin Broadrick's new trio is an ensemble that takes his ideas further into the cosmos than ever before while retaining every bit of that fascination with pure sound and heavy sonic themes--the loss of spirit and self to the ever evolving machine of the state and progress--of his previous band. But Jesu is more a frozen phoenix risen from Godflesh's ashes, its fierce flames captured in a smooth mass of cosmic ice reflecting like a celestial mirror. This is massive, envelping stuff produced with an ear towards the most hypnotic slow motion trudge. If Godflesh was marked by an urgent hatred for all repression, Jesu is something that's slower and sadder and more profound that transcends the hate. The end results bring to mind Godflesh (of course), Parson Sound, Bardo Pond, Eno and more. Hydrahead did a very good deed in unleashing this tormented beauty to the masses.
Molten heavy metal pumps through the heart of the winged avenger that is Om. By the way, sorry for my lack of posts recently, but I've been getting crushed under some heavy compost heaps, flying high when I can to, dare I say, rise above--even if only in my head--all that would compact me into a tiny ball of vein bulging rage. "Variations on a Theme" is quite possibly the most rediculously stoned blast of subterrainial sludge I've heard since Sleep's "Jerasulem" (see below) presaged the current apocalypse doom vogue with a seriously toasted conceptual piece about a Heaven-sent dope-smoking messiah. I knew next to nothing about Om before the promo hit my box. There was no press sheet. I was even too lazy to goto Holy Mountain's site and read up. Weak, I know, but as previously noted I do well enough just to wake up, drink some coffee and shit these days.
So, finally the CD donned a mind of its own, grew tentacles and skuddled off the desk right into the changer as an invisible finger pressed 'play' and within seconds my jaw had dropped 16 inches closer to hell as I ingested the barbaric display that followed: evil fuzz bass/drum downtuned fury banged out at a constant brain-numbing pace--not too fast, not too slow--with verse after verse of acid touched lyrics intoning images such as "I climb towards the sun to breathe the universal" and "The flight to freedom gradient raise the called ascendent" over some of the most monolithic rhythms to ever vibrate forth from my dying speakers. Didn't even realize it was just bass/drums making the racket right away, but at about halfway through the 20 min opener I realized the beauty and undeniable logic of this approach. There's something very freeing about heavy metal without guitar solos. Re the Sleep comparison earlier? This is actually 2/3's of Sleep, the very same rhythm section and voice responsible for Jerusalem. That actually explains things.
And the other third, Matt Pike, has his own heavy metal trio, High on Fire, who we must now concede absolutely kill in terms of punk touched classic metal and thrash. "Blessed Black Wings" (Relapse) was recorded by Steve Albini, and I have to agree that it's about time that little bastard finally worked with someone who crunches out REAL METAL while sidestepping all the lame post hardcore/metal core moves that are killing the underground today....Ya know, that nu-metal-for-kids-with-buzz-cuts shit. Can't stand it. Flailing human tornado drumming of Des Kensel, Joe Preston's (of Melvins and Thrones) assaultive bass and Pike's monstro riffs and leads, drawn equally from the metal prowess of Maiden and Slayer and bombed out early punk psych (think Motorhead, Blue Cheer) arrive at a blunt and very necessary hard and heavy sound that is far more memorable than it should be, but probably not for the weak of heart. It ain't death metal either. It just rocks harder than anything else out there. Comes with a bonus DVD that proves they can do it live, and sweat like a mother fucker in the process. Amazing is not an understatement this time.
I love Godflesh. They've already been mentioned in Womblife a few times over the months, probably in relation to their earliest, genre defying recordings, namely "Streetcleaner," "Slavestate" and "Pure" (all released on Earache over a decade ago). Since then Justin Broadrick has done more for the advancement of revolutionary extreme sounds than damn near anyone out there, save for John Zorn. There's his heavy as fuck noise/hip hop project with Kevin Martin, Techno Animal (get "Brotherhood of the Bomb" on Matador if ya wanna hear that shit done right), and he even guested with John Zorn's free jazz/death metal behemoth, Painkiller. Through it all he's labored on with Godflesh, occasionally adapting to advancements of the era, ie incorporating hip hop and jungle beats into his trademark sound, ultimately veering things further from what made Godflesh so unmistakablly unique in the first place. I can understand the need to not repeat one's self, but if she ain't broke... and it wasn't. Broadrick finally put Godflesh down with "Hymns" in 2001, the first album to feature a live drummer since the self-titled debut 13 years before. It was not that great, didn't suck either. Just seemed a bit too familiar.
The self titled debut by Jesu is a welcome and necessary addition to to the sludge/drone scene. Justin Broadrick's new trio is an ensemble that takes his ideas further into the cosmos than ever before while retaining every bit of that fascination with pure sound and heavy sonic themes--the loss of spirit and self to the ever evolving machine of the state and progress--of his previous band. But Jesu is more a frozen phoenix risen from Godflesh's ashes, its fierce flames captured in a smooth mass of cosmic ice reflecting like a celestial mirror. This is massive, envelping stuff produced with an ear towards the most hypnotic slow motion trudge. If Godflesh was marked by an urgent hatred for all repression, Jesu is something that's slower and sadder and more profound that transcends the hate. The end results bring to mind Godflesh (of course), Parson Sound, Bardo Pond, Eno and more. Hydrahead did a very good deed in unleashing this tormented beauty to the masses.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Thursday, March 03, 2005
I stole this review written by the exceedingly talented Nick Hennies from the Foxy Digitalis website to serve two purposes here: 1.) It fulfills a journalistic need for negative criticism (fair and balanced!), even though I didn't write it, and 2.) It perfectly, dare I say profoundly, sums up the inherent problem with admiring a band like And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead as anything more than a silly party band in this day and age. When was the last time a joke started taking itself too seriously in the indie rock world? Can ya say Urge Overkill? I saw these lads in 2001 or so, before a crowd of 50 tops, and personally I just didn't get it. No life altering conversion. No hooks. Nothing but a reminder of the former greatness of Unwound. A decent band, but a revelation? Not in my book. I remember one of them spitting beer on me and trying too hard to be dangerous looking (ironically, of course). Spinal Tap had more memorable stage antics.
And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead "Worlds Apart" (Interscope) 2 out of 10.
Sometime after the release of their major label debut, “Source Tags & Codes” Trail of Dead front man Conrad Keely posted an essay on the band’s website called “Abstract Art is Shit”. The essay claims that abstract art – specifically that of so-called “abstract expressionists” like Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko – is “shit” because it cannot be appreciated by the whole of society. While I hate to believe the cliché that minor stardom turns people into arrogant assholes, with this kind of evidence fighting in favor of the cliché it’s hard not to believe that some stereotypes exist for a reason. How presumptuous to completely discount one of the most important artistic movements of the 20th century based on the fact that your 5-year old niece finds it “ugly” and you find it incomprehensible. I can’t say I was shocked to have read such a thing; Trail of Dead always succeeded not on their artistic merits and musical innovation but by being destructive, pandering, and fun. I once saw Jason Reece, before playing “Homage”, say “It’s an Unwound rip off. I’m not afraid to admit it.” It was an endearing moment where I was reminded that this was a band unafraid of being tagged “derivative” that concerned themselves only with putting on a great show. Sadly, in 2005 you will find no such candidness from these black-haired boys (or men, as I’m sure they’d prefer).
If I needed music to accompany Keely’s pseudo-intellectual rant against experimental art then I’d need to look no further than his band’s newest album, “Worlds Apart”. This is an album so in love with itself that it has an overture – 85 seconds of instrumental music that sounds remarkably like the opening of composer (and Nazi sympathizer) Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana” or, if you like, every action-thriller film trailer ever made. It seems that Richard Strauss-like (another Nazi sympathizer!) overindulgence is par for the course as the entire album is littered with timpani, horns, string sections, a chorus, vocal effects, samples, sleigh bells, vibraphones, wind chimes, bird sounds, synthesizers, a faux-folk song waltz interlude, and huge stadium rock drum sounds catering to an anthem mentality where every song must be winning and triumphant. The result isn’t an album that sounds overextended or forced – Trail of Dead has more skill than that, they’re competent songwriters – but pushy and overconfident. Perhaps some people are swayed by this (just look who this country voted in as president) but I find it difficult to accept when the music is so predictable and off the shelf. The bulk of “Worlds Apart” is completely forgettable, a relentless string of attempts at anthemic songwriting full of cynicism, empty sentimentalities, and clichéd hooks. The repetitiveness and familiarity of it all becomes tiresome by the fourth track and unbearable by the twelfth. The album isn’t even ten minutes old before it becomes the Conrad Keely Show. Interscope Records seems to have footed the bill for Keely’s own personal soapbox with Jason Reece’s songwriting, previously providing much needed variety, inconspicuously taking a backseat.
The most painfully memorable moment of “Worlds Apart” is the album’s title track, a happy-go-lucky melody with lyrics that have Conrad Keely pointing his soft finger directly at the rest of the world. The lyrics for this song are so overwhelmingly ridiculous that they bear reprinting here. There are some errors in places where the singing is hard to understand and I have no interest in listening to the song repeatedly to iron them out. I think what I have here is plenty sufficient:
Random lost souls have asked me “What’s the future of rock n roll?”
I say, “I don’t know, does it matter?”
In that scene they sound all the same to me
Neither much worse or much better
We’re so fucked these days we don’t know who to hate or who to praise
Consider that, suffering in pain ("Hey, is that Kurt Cobain?)
It’s a privilege, the fact we forget about as we go (winding??) all over the place
How they laugh as we shove all the ashes Iraq has soured
Blood and death we will pay back the debt of the candy store of ours
Look as those cunts on MTV with cars and cribs and rings and shit
Is that what being celebrity means?
Let boys and girls and BBCs(???), corpses, rapes, and amputees
What do you think now of the American dream?
And the soccer moms and dads who raised their brats on those TV ads
I know that they sleep tonight
Their conscience is intact, they’ve convinced themselves of that
Giving money to Jesus Fuckin’ H. Christ
How they laugh as we shove all the ashes of the twin towers
Blood and death we will pay back the debt of the candy store of ours
Presumably only widespread commercial success or severe delusions of what constitutes reality could cause a person to be this condescending to the industry, fans, and social system that made his success possible. He discretely directs the song to “everyone” using self-inclusive words like “we” and “us” but I’m not buying it. If the rest of the world is laughing their days away at the candy store then Conrad Keely is the candy on the shelves, playing the escapist pop music he claims to have such disdain for. Never ones for subtlety, the 9/11-referencing chorus returns at the end of the album (just like “Jesus Christ Superstar”, another tasteless rock n roll epic), only this time it is half sung/spoken with a woman crying over top the lyrics. With this ominous and defeated warning (“This Jesus must die!”) about our societies impending doom the album launches into its final track, ending the album with a lame drum machine beat and a repetitive melody.
Simply stated, “Worlds Apart” is a sad reminder of what success and widespread admiration can do to a person. Until recently I had been a fan of Trail of Dead’s music since their first album was released to overwhelmingly negative reviews. I have watched this band develop from accused Sonic Youth plagiarists to one of the biggest indie rock bands in the world. Now we find ourselves miles from where we started. There are no more calls for pact suicide, no more perfect teenhood, no more spontaneous stage shows (there’s something decidedly less exciting about a guy smashing his guitar when his guitar tech is waiting to hand him a new one). Everything must be “meaningful”, the music must have great importance and weight. It is no longer enough to just have a good time, which is a tragedy because in their prime Trail of Dead had a better time than anyone. Trail of Dead in 2005 bears little resemblance to the band they once were, a ghost of better times. “Worlds Apart”, indeed.
And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead "Worlds Apart" (Interscope) 2 out of 10.
Sometime after the release of their major label debut, “Source Tags & Codes” Trail of Dead front man Conrad Keely posted an essay on the band’s website called “Abstract Art is Shit”. The essay claims that abstract art – specifically that of so-called “abstract expressionists” like Jackson Pollock and Mark Rothko – is “shit” because it cannot be appreciated by the whole of society. While I hate to believe the cliché that minor stardom turns people into arrogant assholes, with this kind of evidence fighting in favor of the cliché it’s hard not to believe that some stereotypes exist for a reason. How presumptuous to completely discount one of the most important artistic movements of the 20th century based on the fact that your 5-year old niece finds it “ugly” and you find it incomprehensible. I can’t say I was shocked to have read such a thing; Trail of Dead always succeeded not on their artistic merits and musical innovation but by being destructive, pandering, and fun. I once saw Jason Reece, before playing “Homage”, say “It’s an Unwound rip off. I’m not afraid to admit it.” It was an endearing moment where I was reminded that this was a band unafraid of being tagged “derivative” that concerned themselves only with putting on a great show. Sadly, in 2005 you will find no such candidness from these black-haired boys (or men, as I’m sure they’d prefer).
If I needed music to accompany Keely’s pseudo-intellectual rant against experimental art then I’d need to look no further than his band’s newest album, “Worlds Apart”. This is an album so in love with itself that it has an overture – 85 seconds of instrumental music that sounds remarkably like the opening of composer (and Nazi sympathizer) Carl Orff’s “Carmina Burana” or, if you like, every action-thriller film trailer ever made. It seems that Richard Strauss-like (another Nazi sympathizer!) overindulgence is par for the course as the entire album is littered with timpani, horns, string sections, a chorus, vocal effects, samples, sleigh bells, vibraphones, wind chimes, bird sounds, synthesizers, a faux-folk song waltz interlude, and huge stadium rock drum sounds catering to an anthem mentality where every song must be winning and triumphant. The result isn’t an album that sounds overextended or forced – Trail of Dead has more skill than that, they’re competent songwriters – but pushy and overconfident. Perhaps some people are swayed by this (just look who this country voted in as president) but I find it difficult to accept when the music is so predictable and off the shelf. The bulk of “Worlds Apart” is completely forgettable, a relentless string of attempts at anthemic songwriting full of cynicism, empty sentimentalities, and clichéd hooks. The repetitiveness and familiarity of it all becomes tiresome by the fourth track and unbearable by the twelfth. The album isn’t even ten minutes old before it becomes the Conrad Keely Show. Interscope Records seems to have footed the bill for Keely’s own personal soapbox with Jason Reece’s songwriting, previously providing much needed variety, inconspicuously taking a backseat.
The most painfully memorable moment of “Worlds Apart” is the album’s title track, a happy-go-lucky melody with lyrics that have Conrad Keely pointing his soft finger directly at the rest of the world. The lyrics for this song are so overwhelmingly ridiculous that they bear reprinting here. There are some errors in places where the singing is hard to understand and I have no interest in listening to the song repeatedly to iron them out. I think what I have here is plenty sufficient:
Random lost souls have asked me “What’s the future of rock n roll?”
I say, “I don’t know, does it matter?”
In that scene they sound all the same to me
Neither much worse or much better
We’re so fucked these days we don’t know who to hate or who to praise
Consider that, suffering in pain ("Hey, is that Kurt Cobain?)
It’s a privilege, the fact we forget about as we go (winding??) all over the place
How they laugh as we shove all the ashes Iraq has soured
Blood and death we will pay back the debt of the candy store of ours
Look as those cunts on MTV with cars and cribs and rings and shit
Is that what being celebrity means?
Let boys and girls and BBCs(???), corpses, rapes, and amputees
What do you think now of the American dream?
And the soccer moms and dads who raised their brats on those TV ads
I know that they sleep tonight
Their conscience is intact, they’ve convinced themselves of that
Giving money to Jesus Fuckin’ H. Christ
How they laugh as we shove all the ashes of the twin towers
Blood and death we will pay back the debt of the candy store of ours
Presumably only widespread commercial success or severe delusions of what constitutes reality could cause a person to be this condescending to the industry, fans, and social system that made his success possible. He discretely directs the song to “everyone” using self-inclusive words like “we” and “us” but I’m not buying it. If the rest of the world is laughing their days away at the candy store then Conrad Keely is the candy on the shelves, playing the escapist pop music he claims to have such disdain for. Never ones for subtlety, the 9/11-referencing chorus returns at the end of the album (just like “Jesus Christ Superstar”, another tasteless rock n roll epic), only this time it is half sung/spoken with a woman crying over top the lyrics. With this ominous and defeated warning (“This Jesus must die!”) about our societies impending doom the album launches into its final track, ending the album with a lame drum machine beat and a repetitive melody.
Simply stated, “Worlds Apart” is a sad reminder of what success and widespread admiration can do to a person. Until recently I had been a fan of Trail of Dead’s music since their first album was released to overwhelmingly negative reviews. I have watched this band develop from accused Sonic Youth plagiarists to one of the biggest indie rock bands in the world. Now we find ourselves miles from where we started. There are no more calls for pact suicide, no more perfect teenhood, no more spontaneous stage shows (there’s something decidedly less exciting about a guy smashing his guitar when his guitar tech is waiting to hand him a new one). Everything must be “meaningful”, the music must have great importance and weight. It is no longer enough to just have a good time, which is a tragedy because in their prime Trail of Dead had a better time than anyone. Trail of Dead in 2005 bears little resemblance to the band they once were, a ghost of better times. “Worlds Apart”, indeed.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Let me say it again: If you aren't in love with classic "folk" or "roots rock" albums released before you were born (or when you was just wee high) with titles like "Music From Big Pink," "Blood on the Tracks," "On the Beach," "Astral Weeks," "Stormcock" and "High, Low and In Between" just to name a meager few, there's something missing in your life.
There was once a time when honest, personal songwriting and unique perspectives were honored and revered by the music buying public at large, and very occasionally even at a mass level. Light pop, folk rock, the hippie 60s and the resultant early 70s folk and roots rock boom all brought a tide of warmth and genuine "goodness" and human joy to the airwaves and helped a wounded society get back to the daily business of living and loving. If a little buying was involved too, we could let it slide. Just buy something for the soul, maybe a good book, or record or even a DVD. Maybe some trinket or little totem. Or a trip somewhere nice. "On the Beach" holds so much more resonance in the world today, and how some of us are dealing with that sinking sensation, than every lame post 911 tribute song compiled since. Maybe it's not a surprise to some that everything has gotten so much more fucked up since, but it doesn't make it any easier for anyone raising a family or trying to find love amid so much hate. These lines from Young's "Motion Pictures" say it well:
"Motion Pictures on my TV screen,
a home away from home,
and I'm livin' in between,
but I hear some people
have got their dreams.
I got mine.
I hear the mountains are doing fine.
Morning glory is on the vine,
and the dew is falling.
The dukes are calling.
Yes I've got mine.
Well all those people,
they think they got it made,
But I wouldn't buy,
sell, borrow or trade
anything I have...
to be like one of them.
I'd rather start all over again.
Well all those headlines,
they just bore me now.
I'm deep inside myself,
but I'll get out somehow,
and I'll stand before you,
and I'll bring a smile
to your eyes..."
"Escape from reality" has never been a more acceptable evolutionary response. Every song on "On the Beach" is loaded with such honest reflections. But Young also knows we won't ever get anything done hiding in the shadows. Leave that to Jihadists and shadowy old game theorists pulling the strings from above and below. My real point in all this soapboxing is this: If you really feel this "classic folk rock" and folk-pop stuff, you might actually appreciate what's going on right now in the musical underground of today.
Listen closely and you might hear The Skygreen Leopards rolling and dancing in "Life & Love in Sparrow's Meadow" (Jagjaguwar). What these lads do is tap into that same spirit of all these old folkies and songwriters mentioned above with just as much wit and clarity, but they take it even further down the rabbit hole. The heavier rhythmic edges of rock are slightly whittled away here for the sake of simpler musical arrangements and sheer musical joy. That joy is leveled out by as much fear and sorrow, but this stuff always come from from a deeply felt, human place. The subject matter--largely a patchwork of vivid journeys into nature and the self--seems to echo Neil Young's sentiments above in a more abstract and direct way at the same time. There's such simple beauty in the plaintive "Mother, the Sun Makes Me Cry," a track that builds in a swirl of jangly acoustic guitars, hand drums and jew's harp to a chorus of Donovan and Glenn's disparate timbers woven together, almost clumsily echoing the rawer side of the Band. These songs are paintings that reveal visible beauty at first glance but also give you reasons to revisit and rediscover deeper, more hidden messages from the green mind. Throughout I capture glimpses of melodies from people like The Byrds, Them, Simon and Garfunkle, Bob Dylan, God, but the performances are so loose and natural you could almost call them "free." The only real reference point that comes to mind is Dylan and The Band on "The Basement Tapes," a collection of rehearsals and demos that just happens to be the greatest double album ever recorded.
"School of the Flower" (Drag City) by Six Organs of Admittance is my favorite release to pop from Ben Chasny's psychic womb yet. The guy's matured admirably, delving deeper into pure emotional catharsis from the songwriter's perspective and finding the way to his own voice in the process. I've always been blown away by his guitar skills and how he can turn a cryptic phrase into an epic dark folk invocation. With "School" though there's something almost new at play...call it joy. He splits things down the middle between free jazz/ethnic psych pieces, two featuring the great Chris Corsano on percussion, and gorgeous, heartbroke sermons from the mound about life, love and the Great Big Nothing At All. The concept of Nothing is not a fun thing to come face to face with, but when you can stare it down and see all the way to the other side of that abyss, and realize you're just looking right back in your own eyes, maybe it's not such a bad thing. Ben's always been one to come at whatever his chosen art is from a more personal perspective, and it's tempting for some cynical sorts to dismiss the hip folk magus image as just that, but it's more and more apparent that this is for real. You can hear the enthusiasm and passion in his voice, see the certainty in his finger tips. These 8 songs--be they slow, rambling folk-pop gems or long, cycling prog folk jams--never divert from that path of certainty. Golden.
"The Earth is Blue," Damon and Naomi's new full length with Michio Kurihara of Ghost, White Heaven and The Stars, is an absolutely gorgeous feast for the heart and soul. Includes a stunning cover photo that I could easily take as another homage to that Neil Young classic quoted above, but that's probably just me showing my bias and abundant gratitude to Mr. Young. The music here is some of the most graceful, lovingly rendered studio work from these people yet, and they somehow carry on the high mark set by their previous studio album, recorded with three members of Ghost, and the following CD/DVD live set, "Song to the Siren," their final release for Sub Pop. "The Earth is Blue" is the flagship release for the duo's own label, 20/20/20, and it appears they've saved the best for most recent. These songs, lent stunning depth by Kurihara's singular guitar presence and Greg Kelley (trumpet) and Bhob Rainey (alto sax), honor a line that reaches all the way back to the first Damon and Naomi album, but the compositions are deeper and richer than ever before. There's really no way to put it other than that. Fuzz guitar, graceful electric leads, bass, piano, drums and Naomi's gorgeous vocals are all given plenty of room to float and resonate in the warm mix. In fact the weakest track here is probably the cover of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," which is actually amazing. The following "Ueno Station" is a sparse slow folk hypnologue "for Tomokawa Kazuki and Mikami Kan." Not to be outdone is the gliding dream of Caetano Veloso's "Araçá Azul" (Blue Guava) which connects magnificently with the closing title track as if both were always parts of the larger whole. Their best one yet. The first 100 ordered from the website came with a limited live CD-R captured in Tokyo in early 2004 that also features Kurihara and the great Taishi Takizawa (of Ghost) on flute. It's probably long gone though.
Speaking of Ghost and others Chasny has taken inspiration from, L (aka Hiroyuki Usui) played drums with Ghost before they were even Ghost, and Fushitsusha and Marble Sheep too! But on "Holy Letter," originally recorded around 1990, privately released 5 years later, and now widely available for the first time on VHF with liner notes from Mr. Chasny himself, the aura is gorgeously downcast and blurred to the point where dream space and reality flow together continuously in one deep river of love. This is unlike anything out there, yet many specters and masters past/present might materialize across the expanse of these 11 song journeys. Usui, on almost all instruments here, is quite simply a master of spacious folk blues and transcendental noise, weaving slow sad melodies from acoustic and electric guitars, the sounds of rainfall, the most haunted vibe work, cello, didgeridu, and more along with his own expressive and utterly accessible voice--employed as spoken word, singing, throat singing, etc--which loses none of its potency to foreign ears. Considerate sequencing and production lends the entire work a cohesion, and quite simply a holy aura, as various strains of one piece bleed into another to reveal a constant flow of hypnotic ecstasy. Perfect for readjusting to the sun's harsh glare after a particularly dark night, and an all around joy to behold. This reissue is definitely one of the most exquisite rediscoveries of 04, and there were certainly a lot of those.
"Halo" By Current 93 (Durtro/Jnana) is another intense and visionary disk that creeped out of the pop cellar in late '04. The former David Tibet's (now David Michael) band's latest live album is a genuine masterpiece of gothic chamber folk, industrial noise, hope and glory captured in one night in October, 2003 at Queen Elizabeth Hall in London with Chris and Cosey lending support. Now that's a piece of rock history right there, and thankfully dear seeker of emotional catharsis and heart-breaking song, Current 93's role that night is now much more than just a memory. If you've yet to take the great plunge into the vast and complex world of Current 93, this is as good a reason as any. It's also one of the more stunningly performed and recorded live albums I've ever heard, and I've heard more than I care to remember. Every aspect of David's musical accompaniment here is first rate. You dig Angels of Light? You'll love this. Like Godspeed You Black Emperor, but think they're a bit too predictable and uh...soulless? Look here for what's missing. Inspiring is an understatement. "Halo" is a brilliant selection of 16 songs, drawn mostly from the previous 12 years (Current 93's most vital phase), painstakingly rendered as one unforgettable whole. No surprise I have two other new c93 releases in transit to thee headquarters as I type... "Watch and pray," indeed.
There was once a time when honest, personal songwriting and unique perspectives were honored and revered by the music buying public at large, and very occasionally even at a mass level. Light pop, folk rock, the hippie 60s and the resultant early 70s folk and roots rock boom all brought a tide of warmth and genuine "goodness" and human joy to the airwaves and helped a wounded society get back to the daily business of living and loving. If a little buying was involved too, we could let it slide. Just buy something for the soul, maybe a good book, or record or even a DVD. Maybe some trinket or little totem. Or a trip somewhere nice. "On the Beach" holds so much more resonance in the world today, and how some of us are dealing with that sinking sensation, than every lame post 911 tribute song compiled since. Maybe it's not a surprise to some that everything has gotten so much more fucked up since, but it doesn't make it any easier for anyone raising a family or trying to find love amid so much hate. These lines from Young's "Motion Pictures" say it well:
"Motion Pictures on my TV screen,
a home away from home,
and I'm livin' in between,
but I hear some people
have got their dreams.
I got mine.
I hear the mountains are doing fine.
Morning glory is on the vine,
and the dew is falling.
The dukes are calling.
Yes I've got mine.
Well all those people,
they think they got it made,
But I wouldn't buy,
sell, borrow or trade
anything I have...
to be like one of them.
I'd rather start all over again.
Well all those headlines,
they just bore me now.
I'm deep inside myself,
but I'll get out somehow,
and I'll stand before you,
and I'll bring a smile
to your eyes..."
"Escape from reality" has never been a more acceptable evolutionary response. Every song on "On the Beach" is loaded with such honest reflections. But Young also knows we won't ever get anything done hiding in the shadows. Leave that to Jihadists and shadowy old game theorists pulling the strings from above and below. My real point in all this soapboxing is this: If you really feel this "classic folk rock" and folk-pop stuff, you might actually appreciate what's going on right now in the musical underground of today.
Listen closely and you might hear The Skygreen Leopards rolling and dancing in "Life & Love in Sparrow's Meadow" (Jagjaguwar). What these lads do is tap into that same spirit of all these old folkies and songwriters mentioned above with just as much wit and clarity, but they take it even further down the rabbit hole. The heavier rhythmic edges of rock are slightly whittled away here for the sake of simpler musical arrangements and sheer musical joy. That joy is leveled out by as much fear and sorrow, but this stuff always come from from a deeply felt, human place. The subject matter--largely a patchwork of vivid journeys into nature and the self--seems to echo Neil Young's sentiments above in a more abstract and direct way at the same time. There's such simple beauty in the plaintive "Mother, the Sun Makes Me Cry," a track that builds in a swirl of jangly acoustic guitars, hand drums and jew's harp to a chorus of Donovan and Glenn's disparate timbers woven together, almost clumsily echoing the rawer side of the Band. These songs are paintings that reveal visible beauty at first glance but also give you reasons to revisit and rediscover deeper, more hidden messages from the green mind. Throughout I capture glimpses of melodies from people like The Byrds, Them, Simon and Garfunkle, Bob Dylan, God, but the performances are so loose and natural you could almost call them "free." The only real reference point that comes to mind is Dylan and The Band on "The Basement Tapes," a collection of rehearsals and demos that just happens to be the greatest double album ever recorded.
"School of the Flower" (Drag City) by Six Organs of Admittance is my favorite release to pop from Ben Chasny's psychic womb yet. The guy's matured admirably, delving deeper into pure emotional catharsis from the songwriter's perspective and finding the way to his own voice in the process. I've always been blown away by his guitar skills and how he can turn a cryptic phrase into an epic dark folk invocation. With "School" though there's something almost new at play...call it joy. He splits things down the middle between free jazz/ethnic psych pieces, two featuring the great Chris Corsano on percussion, and gorgeous, heartbroke sermons from the mound about life, love and the Great Big Nothing At All. The concept of Nothing is not a fun thing to come face to face with, but when you can stare it down and see all the way to the other side of that abyss, and realize you're just looking right back in your own eyes, maybe it's not such a bad thing. Ben's always been one to come at whatever his chosen art is from a more personal perspective, and it's tempting for some cynical sorts to dismiss the hip folk magus image as just that, but it's more and more apparent that this is for real. You can hear the enthusiasm and passion in his voice, see the certainty in his finger tips. These 8 songs--be they slow, rambling folk-pop gems or long, cycling prog folk jams--never divert from that path of certainty. Golden.
"The Earth is Blue," Damon and Naomi's new full length with Michio Kurihara of Ghost, White Heaven and The Stars, is an absolutely gorgeous feast for the heart and soul. Includes a stunning cover photo that I could easily take as another homage to that Neil Young classic quoted above, but that's probably just me showing my bias and abundant gratitude to Mr. Young. The music here is some of the most graceful, lovingly rendered studio work from these people yet, and they somehow carry on the high mark set by their previous studio album, recorded with three members of Ghost, and the following CD/DVD live set, "Song to the Siren," their final release for Sub Pop. "The Earth is Blue" is the flagship release for the duo's own label, 20/20/20, and it appears they've saved the best for most recent. These songs, lent stunning depth by Kurihara's singular guitar presence and Greg Kelley (trumpet) and Bhob Rainey (alto sax), honor a line that reaches all the way back to the first Damon and Naomi album, but the compositions are deeper and richer than ever before. There's really no way to put it other than that. Fuzz guitar, graceful electric leads, bass, piano, drums and Naomi's gorgeous vocals are all given plenty of room to float and resonate in the warm mix. In fact the weakest track here is probably the cover of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps," which is actually amazing. The following "Ueno Station" is a sparse slow folk hypnologue "for Tomokawa Kazuki and Mikami Kan." Not to be outdone is the gliding dream of Caetano Veloso's "Araçá Azul" (Blue Guava) which connects magnificently with the closing title track as if both were always parts of the larger whole. Their best one yet. The first 100 ordered from the website came with a limited live CD-R captured in Tokyo in early 2004 that also features Kurihara and the great Taishi Takizawa (of Ghost) on flute. It's probably long gone though.
Speaking of Ghost and others Chasny has taken inspiration from, L (aka Hiroyuki Usui) played drums with Ghost before they were even Ghost, and Fushitsusha and Marble Sheep too! But on "Holy Letter," originally recorded around 1990, privately released 5 years later, and now widely available for the first time on VHF with liner notes from Mr. Chasny himself, the aura is gorgeously downcast and blurred to the point where dream space and reality flow together continuously in one deep river of love. This is unlike anything out there, yet many specters and masters past/present might materialize across the expanse of these 11 song journeys. Usui, on almost all instruments here, is quite simply a master of spacious folk blues and transcendental noise, weaving slow sad melodies from acoustic and electric guitars, the sounds of rainfall, the most haunted vibe work, cello, didgeridu, and more along with his own expressive and utterly accessible voice--employed as spoken word, singing, throat singing, etc--which loses none of its potency to foreign ears. Considerate sequencing and production lends the entire work a cohesion, and quite simply a holy aura, as various strains of one piece bleed into another to reveal a constant flow of hypnotic ecstasy. Perfect for readjusting to the sun's harsh glare after a particularly dark night, and an all around joy to behold. This reissue is definitely one of the most exquisite rediscoveries of 04, and there were certainly a lot of those.
"Halo" By Current 93 (Durtro/Jnana) is another intense and visionary disk that creeped out of the pop cellar in late '04. The former David Tibet's (now David Michael) band's latest live album is a genuine masterpiece of gothic chamber folk, industrial noise, hope and glory captured in one night in October, 2003 at Queen Elizabeth Hall in London with Chris and Cosey lending support. Now that's a piece of rock history right there, and thankfully dear seeker of emotional catharsis and heart-breaking song, Current 93's role that night is now much more than just a memory. If you've yet to take the great plunge into the vast and complex world of Current 93, this is as good a reason as any. It's also one of the more stunningly performed and recorded live albums I've ever heard, and I've heard more than I care to remember. Every aspect of David's musical accompaniment here is first rate. You dig Angels of Light? You'll love this. Like Godspeed You Black Emperor, but think they're a bit too predictable and uh...soulless? Look here for what's missing. Inspiring is an understatement. "Halo" is a brilliant selection of 16 songs, drawn mostly from the previous 12 years (Current 93's most vital phase), painstakingly rendered as one unforgettable whole. No surprise I have two other new c93 releases in transit to thee headquarters as I type... "Watch and pray," indeed.
Monday, February 14, 2005
tra_mendous: my theory is
tra_mendous: when humans destroy humanity....
tra_mendous: and some alien race exploring our solar system discovers our ruins
tra_mendous: kraftwerk will be the most helpful hint as to where to begin decyphering our code
i_miss_jim_laffin: yes... "they were a traveling culture."
i_miss_jim_laffin: "they loved robots and acid."
tra_mendous: when humans destroy humanity....
tra_mendous: and some alien race exploring our solar system discovers our ruins
tra_mendous: kraftwerk will be the most helpful hint as to where to begin decyphering our code
i_miss_jim_laffin: yes... "they were a traveling culture."
i_miss_jim_laffin: "they loved robots and acid."
Thursday, February 03, 2005
10 Great Fuzz Pop Records for Gregory...
In an effort to expose this guy to some rock music that adheres to pop sensibilities and heeds the restrictions of the sacred verse/chorus/verse archetype simultaneously, I give you ten new and recent examples of melodic fuzz pop:
Jennifer Gentle "Valende" (Sub Pop) - Weird Italian psych pop that falls somewhere between early Pink Floyd (the good shit) moddishness and Joe Meek productions (think looney tunes acid visions) that's delivered as actual songs, free noise freakouts, manic madlibs, bad trips, happy/sad sing-alongs. Weird but rewarding stuff that sounds disturbingly vibrant.
Spacemen 3 "Playing With Fire" (Fire) - If God were drugs and rock n roll were the savior, this would be the bible with which we hear The Holy Word. One of the coolest records in history, cut down the middle between effects laden minimal pop dreamscapes and blistering white noise rockathons. Masterful Divination for the sobriety impaired.
The Telescopes "The Telescopes" (Tristar) - A mellower tour-de-force from these UK space rockers; shimmering dream pop with a heavy dose of Love/Byrds jangle devotion and stellar harmonies. Excellent production from Guy Fixsen of the perpetually listenable Laika, making this a classic of sorts and essential listening for fuzz enthusiasts everywhere.
The Wedding Present "Take Fountain" (Manifesto) - Best album Dave Gedge and his raging hormonal ensemble has released since "Seamonsters" (well ok, since "Watusi"), and this even after a 5 year lay off! Cinerama was nice, but this is just super duper. Joy Division meets Love? Why not...
Monroe Mustang "Plain Sweeping Themes for the Unprepared" (Trance Syndicate) - One of the great hidden treasures in the Texan underground, these Oklahoma to Austin transplants keep it dusted and blown, somewhere between Bowie and Crazy Horse, or Pavement and Bedhead, or The Pink Mountaintops and Black Mountain, only with their own magnificently stoned oblivion/lo-fi aura that pretty much demands glazed attention. Sadly they're no more, which is a real a shame given they're much more interesting than that other "band of the moment" whose initials are MM (and I don't mean Eminem).
Yura Yura Teikoku "3x3x3" (Midi) - I know little about this Japanese group, aside from they are without a doubt the most energetic, melodic, poppy and truly intense psych group I've heard in years. A bit like Sweden's Dungen, bit like the 13th Floor Elevators, Kinks, Velvets, White Heaven, but tighter, heavier, faster, more raw, Japanese lyrics, blistering acid guitar eruptions. This dates from around 98, their first album. Don't know anything else (though Michio Kurihara appears on their album from 2004 and the bass player may have been a member of White Heaven). Click here for more info on their recent (and costly) import only albums.
Low "The Great Destroyer" (Sub Pop) - The Kings (And Queen) of Slowcore return with an album produced by the King of Noise Pop--David Fridmann of Mercury Rev--and it is at least half of a good album. I consider this Low's power pop rekkid as the tempos are faster, the songs more dynamic, and the whole thing sounds less ominous and foreboding, but it's pretty noisy and lumbering in spots. There's even a chorus or two you can sing along with and a whole heck of a lot of fuzz!
A. C. Newman "The Slow Wonder" (Matador) - New Pornographers lead singer guy goes solo and sounds just like the Pornos: raucous, off-beat power pop/new wave, kinda like Big Star meets Roxy Music (what with all the power chord meets acoustic guitars and bang bang pianos and cheesy keyboards). Arguably better than a Brian Ferry solo album.
Magnetic Fields "Charm of the Highway Strip" (Merge) - Classique minimalist synth pop/country road songs. Sort of like Hank Williams as reinterpreted by early Human League, maybe. A beautiful, bittersweet song cycle about breaking up and falling in love out on the modern day range we call the lonesome highway. The 'Fields at their best.
Quickspace "Precious Falling" (Hidden Agenda/Kitty Kitty) - Great British indie guitar drones, poppy songs, expansive experimental pieces, uprourious anthems and bellycrawling minimal ditties. Not that easy to get into, but worth the struggle for those who dig the prospect of a giddier garage take on early Stereolab with a great raw guitar sound and deep variety. These guys/gal are so good they're mostly ignored by the indie listening public at large. Go figure.
In an effort to expose this guy to some rock music that adheres to pop sensibilities and heeds the restrictions of the sacred verse/chorus/verse archetype simultaneously, I give you ten new and recent examples of melodic fuzz pop:
Jennifer Gentle "Valende" (Sub Pop) - Weird Italian psych pop that falls somewhere between early Pink Floyd (the good shit) moddishness and Joe Meek productions (think looney tunes acid visions) that's delivered as actual songs, free noise freakouts, manic madlibs, bad trips, happy/sad sing-alongs. Weird but rewarding stuff that sounds disturbingly vibrant.
Spacemen 3 "Playing With Fire" (Fire) - If God were drugs and rock n roll were the savior, this would be the bible with which we hear The Holy Word. One of the coolest records in history, cut down the middle between effects laden minimal pop dreamscapes and blistering white noise rockathons. Masterful Divination for the sobriety impaired.
The Telescopes "The Telescopes" (Tristar) - A mellower tour-de-force from these UK space rockers; shimmering dream pop with a heavy dose of Love/Byrds jangle devotion and stellar harmonies. Excellent production from Guy Fixsen of the perpetually listenable Laika, making this a classic of sorts and essential listening for fuzz enthusiasts everywhere.
The Wedding Present "Take Fountain" (Manifesto) - Best album Dave Gedge and his raging hormonal ensemble has released since "Seamonsters" (well ok, since "Watusi"), and this even after a 5 year lay off! Cinerama was nice, but this is just super duper. Joy Division meets Love? Why not...
Monroe Mustang "Plain Sweeping Themes for the Unprepared" (Trance Syndicate) - One of the great hidden treasures in the Texan underground, these Oklahoma to Austin transplants keep it dusted and blown, somewhere between Bowie and Crazy Horse, or Pavement and Bedhead, or The Pink Mountaintops and Black Mountain, only with their own magnificently stoned oblivion/lo-fi aura that pretty much demands glazed attention. Sadly they're no more, which is a real a shame given they're much more interesting than that other "band of the moment" whose initials are MM (and I don't mean Eminem).
Yura Yura Teikoku "3x3x3" (Midi) - I know little about this Japanese group, aside from they are without a doubt the most energetic, melodic, poppy and truly intense psych group I've heard in years. A bit like Sweden's Dungen, bit like the 13th Floor Elevators, Kinks, Velvets, White Heaven, but tighter, heavier, faster, more raw, Japanese lyrics, blistering acid guitar eruptions. This dates from around 98, their first album. Don't know anything else (though Michio Kurihara appears on their album from 2004 and the bass player may have been a member of White Heaven). Click here for more info on their recent (and costly) import only albums.
Low "The Great Destroyer" (Sub Pop) - The Kings (And Queen) of Slowcore return with an album produced by the King of Noise Pop--David Fridmann of Mercury Rev--and it is at least half of a good album. I consider this Low's power pop rekkid as the tempos are faster, the songs more dynamic, and the whole thing sounds less ominous and foreboding, but it's pretty noisy and lumbering in spots. There's even a chorus or two you can sing along with and a whole heck of a lot of fuzz!
A. C. Newman "The Slow Wonder" (Matador) - New Pornographers lead singer guy goes solo and sounds just like the Pornos: raucous, off-beat power pop/new wave, kinda like Big Star meets Roxy Music (what with all the power chord meets acoustic guitars and bang bang pianos and cheesy keyboards). Arguably better than a Brian Ferry solo album.
Magnetic Fields "Charm of the Highway Strip" (Merge) - Classique minimalist synth pop/country road songs. Sort of like Hank Williams as reinterpreted by early Human League, maybe. A beautiful, bittersweet song cycle about breaking up and falling in love out on the modern day range we call the lonesome highway. The 'Fields at their best.
Quickspace "Precious Falling" (Hidden Agenda/Kitty Kitty) - Great British indie guitar drones, poppy songs, expansive experimental pieces, uprourious anthems and bellycrawling minimal ditties. Not that easy to get into, but worth the struggle for those who dig the prospect of a giddier garage take on early Stereolab with a great raw guitar sound and deep variety. These guys/gal are so good they're mostly ignored by the indie listening public at large. Go figure.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Still playing catch-up with all the big Oscar contenders of '04. Most recently that means "The Aviator" and "Riding Giants," both of which totally kicked ass as far as I'm concerned. The former is the best thing Scorcese's done since "Kundun." Leo Decaprio has a mad glint in his eye that suits the disturbed flyer well. It sucks to have to praise him, but dem's da breaks. People wanna think Scorcese has lost it and "gone Hollywood" (I'm one of 'em), but I'd say "The Aviator" proves otherwise while literally going Hollywood at the same time. "Riding Giants," directed/edited by the same guys that did the righteous "Dog Town and Z Boys" a couple years back, gives the history of big wave surfing the kind of mythical resonance it deserves. I'm not a surfer, but like every young lad who goes through that "I wanna be an astronaut" phase, I've always dreamt of riding a big giant or two. Almost sounds perverse. Speaking of which, I love the name "Laird Hamilton." What a beautiful man. Also, see "Million Dollar Baby" if you haven't. Boxing movies may not be your gig, but you've never seen one directed by Eastwood with this kind of film noir atmosphere. He's a genuine renaissance man making personal, artsy fartsy indie films in the deplorable studio system like it's still 1952. My hat's off to the guy.
The return of American Idol on the airwaves has got me thinkin' of hot new pop contenders in '05. I've not seen one show of this season so far, and I'm'a feelin' the hurt in my bones. Apparently the keyboardist of Dallas area psych rawkers The Falkon was on last week, and I know there are wonderful new clowns and angels of many stripes to be gawked at and groaned over, but Lord help me, I've missed it all! Needless to say, I feel a great gulf between myself and our abominable American culture beast...it's lonely.:-( In terms of my own American idolatry, Antony and the Johnsons are coming on early as strong contenders for true Idol status. For those who don't know, Antony is a very tall cross-dressed singer and musician, but his fashion appears to be more derived from the early 70s glam androgyny of David Bowie and Andy Warhol's Factory than New Orleans drag queens. His voice is a tremulous, operatic wonder that draws inspiration from the jazz croon of later Tim Buckley and classic soul balladeers, and conveys lyrics that are personal and emotionally direct, usually as multitracked harmonies. Then there's his band, an accomplished chamber pop ensemble that specializes in artful baroque arrangements, mellow jazz scapes and majestic pop symphonies, always performing with a knowing ear towards experimentation. Antony's voice and style may not be for everyone, but those who can make the hurdle will find something that rivals a Pedro Amaldovar film in its ability to flesh out the humanity of characters that most mainstream media would call anything but. Antony is no joke, and a lot more sonically interesting than *insert hyped crooner of the moment here*. The music on the brand new "I Am a Flower Now" (Secretly Canadian) deftly sidesteps any sensational spectacle and lands directly in the realm of classic post glam balladry that makes me melt. Think Scott Walker, later Big Star, early 70s Lou Reed, Roxy Music, etc...
And what about this Cass McCombs character? "Prefection," released last year on 4AD and this year on Monitor in the US, is a fab slice of ethereal post punk cum soul psych that manages to remind me of plenty of eras and artists but maintains a timelessness throughout with its plentiful serving of minimal post punk/ethereal pop falling somewhere between John Lennon to and Soft Cell. Sugary sweet and lovingly rendered from beginning to end, yet Cass can kick up a worthy guitar crunch when needed over the ever present early 80s synth wash. Pretty much what you'd expect from a guy whose band has featured members of Palace, the Curtains, Long Live Death, The Oxes, Deerhoof and others. Another newbie comes to me via a package from the very kind Alan Davidson aka The Kitchen Cynics, whose "Compulsive Songwriting Disorder" has just been issued on CD-R by Audiobot. His chum Phillip Johnston plays a very accomplished mix of jazz psych in the Gong and Caravan mold along with true blue psych folk gems and spacious acid detours on the self-released "Sundaram" CD-R, featuring lyrics on one track penned by Davidson. This is a an absolutely captivating surprise that I hope more people will hear. Rarely does a self-released demo come with these kinds of complex harmonies and such a wide musical berth (incorporating guitars, flute, bass, mellotron, etc) that's fully dressed for mass consumption. Contact Phillip here for more info. In the same package Alan threw in the Kitchen Cynics' brand new self-released "Master of the Fuzzy Fadeout," which features 18 more mellow psych folk pop gems anchored on his languid vocals and trippy-dippy noise effects, introduced by John Peel of all people. Includes a Green Pajamas and Fairport cover, a re-recorded version of Bridget St. John's "Ask Me No Questions" and a guest contribution from Jesse Poe of the moody chamber folkies Tanakh.
Also of interest are two recent releases on the forest/noise/psych/folk chroniclers, Secret Eye. First up that means The Big Huge, who weaves a stark folk pop spell on "Crown Your Head With Flowers, Crown your Heart With Joy," a bittersweet confessional of home spun acoustic pop that's worthy of comparison to Neutral Milk Hotel, Will Oldham (albeit with more wyrd folky/banjo inclinations) and sounds a lot better than Bright Eyes. Quite beautiful, really. Finnish free noise groovers Avarus return with their second album released in North America, first one "III" was for HP Cycle, this time for Secret Eye. "Jättiläisrotta" is about as fine an everything-and-the-kitchen-sink clatter fest as I've heard from these wild fuckers yet. How to describe it? Feral, unhinged psychotic tribal jams that alternate between clattering collage and driving kraut pulse. Nice to see these lads/ladies readily available on our soil. A mini tour can't be far off...
Now...for the psych: First of which is the Danish power trio Hurdy Gurdy. A year or two after the recording of their self-titled disk they would mutate into the incredibly gorgeous acid folk butterfly Amber, but this is what I've been lookin' for, Akarma's reissue (from 2002, still widely available) of the self-titled Hurdy Gurdy, issued in 71. The vibe is thunderous heavy blues psych in the Cream/Experience mold that's flawlessly executed as complex power trio jams and intricate jazz interplay that features some truly mind-boggling acid leads from singer/guitarist Claus Bøhling. There's also an extended Indian styled raga (with beautiful sitar) that exposes the more ethereal realms Amber would explore a year or so later. Bless Akarma for resurrecting this beauty complete with their trademark album style packaging. Yeeessss, more good shit that hits on a similar head/gut level can be found on Miminokoto's excellent "III" (Siwa), still available in a limited vinyl edition from Siwa. These vintage studio recordings are a nice inverse to the more damaged live disk released last year on Last Visible Dog. Fans of LSD-March, High Rise, White Heaven, Broomdusters (members of all of these bands comprise the power trio lineup) and other scorched power jammers need this one asap. A more in depth review of this should be posted in the next Foxy Digitalis update. More to come, kiddies...
The return of American Idol on the airwaves has got me thinkin' of hot new pop contenders in '05. I've not seen one show of this season so far, and I'm'a feelin' the hurt in my bones. Apparently the keyboardist of Dallas area psych rawkers The Falkon was on last week, and I know there are wonderful new clowns and angels of many stripes to be gawked at and groaned over, but Lord help me, I've missed it all! Needless to say, I feel a great gulf between myself and our abominable American culture beast...it's lonely.:-( In terms of my own American idolatry, Antony and the Johnsons are coming on early as strong contenders for true Idol status. For those who don't know, Antony is a very tall cross-dressed singer and musician, but his fashion appears to be more derived from the early 70s glam androgyny of David Bowie and Andy Warhol's Factory than New Orleans drag queens. His voice is a tremulous, operatic wonder that draws inspiration from the jazz croon of later Tim Buckley and classic soul balladeers, and conveys lyrics that are personal and emotionally direct, usually as multitracked harmonies. Then there's his band, an accomplished chamber pop ensemble that specializes in artful baroque arrangements, mellow jazz scapes and majestic pop symphonies, always performing with a knowing ear towards experimentation. Antony's voice and style may not be for everyone, but those who can make the hurdle will find something that rivals a Pedro Amaldovar film in its ability to flesh out the humanity of characters that most mainstream media would call anything but. Antony is no joke, and a lot more sonically interesting than *insert hyped crooner of the moment here*. The music on the brand new "I Am a Flower Now" (Secretly Canadian) deftly sidesteps any sensational spectacle and lands directly in the realm of classic post glam balladry that makes me melt. Think Scott Walker, later Big Star, early 70s Lou Reed, Roxy Music, etc...
And what about this Cass McCombs character? "Prefection," released last year on 4AD and this year on Monitor in the US, is a fab slice of ethereal post punk cum soul psych that manages to remind me of plenty of eras and artists but maintains a timelessness throughout with its plentiful serving of minimal post punk/ethereal pop falling somewhere between John Lennon to and Soft Cell. Sugary sweet and lovingly rendered from beginning to end, yet Cass can kick up a worthy guitar crunch when needed over the ever present early 80s synth wash. Pretty much what you'd expect from a guy whose band has featured members of Palace, the Curtains, Long Live Death, The Oxes, Deerhoof and others. Another newbie comes to me via a package from the very kind Alan Davidson aka The Kitchen Cynics, whose "Compulsive Songwriting Disorder" has just been issued on CD-R by Audiobot. His chum Phillip Johnston plays a very accomplished mix of jazz psych in the Gong and Caravan mold along with true blue psych folk gems and spacious acid detours on the self-released "Sundaram" CD-R, featuring lyrics on one track penned by Davidson. This is a an absolutely captivating surprise that I hope more people will hear. Rarely does a self-released demo come with these kinds of complex harmonies and such a wide musical berth (incorporating guitars, flute, bass, mellotron, etc) that's fully dressed for mass consumption. Contact Phillip here for more info. In the same package Alan threw in the Kitchen Cynics' brand new self-released "Master of the Fuzzy Fadeout," which features 18 more mellow psych folk pop gems anchored on his languid vocals and trippy-dippy noise effects, introduced by John Peel of all people. Includes a Green Pajamas and Fairport cover, a re-recorded version of Bridget St. John's "Ask Me No Questions" and a guest contribution from Jesse Poe of the moody chamber folkies Tanakh.
Also of interest are two recent releases on the forest/noise/psych/folk chroniclers, Secret Eye. First up that means The Big Huge, who weaves a stark folk pop spell on "Crown Your Head With Flowers, Crown your Heart With Joy," a bittersweet confessional of home spun acoustic pop that's worthy of comparison to Neutral Milk Hotel, Will Oldham (albeit with more wyrd folky/banjo inclinations) and sounds a lot better than Bright Eyes. Quite beautiful, really. Finnish free noise groovers Avarus return with their second album released in North America, first one "III" was for HP Cycle, this time for Secret Eye. "Jättiläisrotta" is about as fine an everything-and-the-kitchen-sink clatter fest as I've heard from these wild fuckers yet. How to describe it? Feral, unhinged psychotic tribal jams that alternate between clattering collage and driving kraut pulse. Nice to see these lads/ladies readily available on our soil. A mini tour can't be far off...
Now...for the psych: First of which is the Danish power trio Hurdy Gurdy. A year or two after the recording of their self-titled disk they would mutate into the incredibly gorgeous acid folk butterfly Amber, but this is what I've been lookin' for, Akarma's reissue (from 2002, still widely available) of the self-titled Hurdy Gurdy, issued in 71. The vibe is thunderous heavy blues psych in the Cream/Experience mold that's flawlessly executed as complex power trio jams and intricate jazz interplay that features some truly mind-boggling acid leads from singer/guitarist Claus Bøhling. There's also an extended Indian styled raga (with beautiful sitar) that exposes the more ethereal realms Amber would explore a year or so later. Bless Akarma for resurrecting this beauty complete with their trademark album style packaging. Yeeessss, more good shit that hits on a similar head/gut level can be found on Miminokoto's excellent "III" (Siwa), still available in a limited vinyl edition from Siwa. These vintage studio recordings are a nice inverse to the more damaged live disk released last year on Last Visible Dog. Fans of LSD-March, High Rise, White Heaven, Broomdusters (members of all of these bands comprise the power trio lineup) and other scorched power jammers need this one asap. A more in depth review of this should be posted in the next Foxy Digitalis update. More to come, kiddies...
Friday, January 28, 2005
Hey dudes, I'm still kickin'. Expect a couple updates, mostly of a musical nature, this weekend. In the meantime, via AMG, here is a thought-provoking review of the two new Bright Eyes albums "I'm Wide Awake, It's Morning" and "Digital Ash in a Digital Urn" that exposes Conor Oburst for the fraud that he is. Return shortly...
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Some nutter has the entire run of the Sub Pop's Single of the Month club for auction on EBAY and it's only at $4,500.00 right now: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&category=306&item=4064898137&rd=1
Monday, January 10, 2005
A few more releases to make note of before movin on to the next orders of bidiness. After having the three recent releases on Digitalis for a month or so I've finally been able to get my ears around 'em, and I can say without reservation, each one offers something for the introspective traveler. In the case of The Lost Domain's "Sailor, Home From the Sea," coreleased on my old pal Mats' Broken Face imprint, that means ominous atmosphere and austere experimentation. This one took me some days to come to terms with, 'specially after the busier free jazz/psych scapes that made up their last CD-R for the Rhizome label, owned/operated by the ever knowledgeable Jon Dale. It's quieter and chillier, but rarely relaxed. The instrumentation is scaled back to the point that sometimes there's just organ or sax, faint percussion and the ghost of a guitar along with a wind instrument or some chimes pushing things forward. From the two part bookends of a cover of John Lee Hooker's "Waterfront" (complete with vocal cackles) to the four instrumentals that comprise the meat of the platter, each track offers a wind-swept journey through the deep dark blue void. These tracks have the mythical sway and pull of a Greek epic where the tumult kicks up a dank atmosphere of salty spirits, restless electronics and even some haunted melodies, all searching for that path back home.
With "Under Bent Limb Trees," Hush Arbors' follow-up to the excellent "Since We Have Fallen" CD-R, Keith Wood further expands on the haunted drone folk tapestry of his earlier works with minimal pieces of transcendental dream music juxtaposed with distant folk melodies. Wood's fragile, high voice glides over top an organic melange of guitar, bowed dulcimer, singing bowl, banjo, found sounds and more, all brilliantly constructed as vivid forest songs. In the case of the albums centerpiece "May All Your Pastures Now Spring With Herbs" that means acoustic guitars and voice are augmented with dissonant feedback washes, falling somewhere between the Ivytree and Flying Saucer Attack. While "Gypsy Wood" reposes his folk meanderings with the faintest hint of drone that seems to echo a distant siren call. What makes Hush Arbors essential listening though is the way Wood tempers these more intimate pieces with vivid strokes of minimal noise that convey a sense of bleary-eyed reverence and quiet contemplation. I should've ranked this one higher than the Foxglove CD-R (now long gone, save for piracy measures), but I doubt the dozen or so people who read this regularly will mind the discrepancy.
Also new on Digitalis: James Blackshaw's "Lost Prayers & Motionless Dances." This young Brit is a newbie to me, but his playing sounds as inspiring as the Adirondacks (or Appalachians or the Sierra Nevadas...). Put quite simply, there's a new finger picker in town, and he smokes in a post Robbie Basho way that will have you Jack Rose fans tripping over your tongues reaching for new ostentatious descriptions to wow the hip masses with. On top of some fluid 12 string workouts he piles on harmonium, radio, bells, cymbal and tom, but the mix is tastefully employed, building from a trance intro of harmonium fluctuations to florid 12-string raga that really does the job in terms of sweeping the mind clean before arriving at a mellower cul de sac of free/electro fuzz bits and muted quarks that eventually erupt at a folk gallop before its over. It's a trip in the purest sense of the word, one track clocking in at 35 mins, which makes it highly digestible in about the same amount of time it takes to have lunch or trip balls on some DMT. Looks like I'll have to hunt down his first release on Celebrate Psi Phenomenon before all's said and done.
With "Under Bent Limb Trees," Hush Arbors' follow-up to the excellent "Since We Have Fallen" CD-R, Keith Wood further expands on the haunted drone folk tapestry of his earlier works with minimal pieces of transcendental dream music juxtaposed with distant folk melodies. Wood's fragile, high voice glides over top an organic melange of guitar, bowed dulcimer, singing bowl, banjo, found sounds and more, all brilliantly constructed as vivid forest songs. In the case of the albums centerpiece "May All Your Pastures Now Spring With Herbs" that means acoustic guitars and voice are augmented with dissonant feedback washes, falling somewhere between the Ivytree and Flying Saucer Attack. While "Gypsy Wood" reposes his folk meanderings with the faintest hint of drone that seems to echo a distant siren call. What makes Hush Arbors essential listening though is the way Wood tempers these more intimate pieces with vivid strokes of minimal noise that convey a sense of bleary-eyed reverence and quiet contemplation. I should've ranked this one higher than the Foxglove CD-R (now long gone, save for piracy measures), but I doubt the dozen or so people who read this regularly will mind the discrepancy.
Also new on Digitalis: James Blackshaw's "Lost Prayers & Motionless Dances." This young Brit is a newbie to me, but his playing sounds as inspiring as the Adirondacks (or Appalachians or the Sierra Nevadas...). Put quite simply, there's a new finger picker in town, and he smokes in a post Robbie Basho way that will have you Jack Rose fans tripping over your tongues reaching for new ostentatious descriptions to wow the hip masses with. On top of some fluid 12 string workouts he piles on harmonium, radio, bells, cymbal and tom, but the mix is tastefully employed, building from a trance intro of harmonium fluctuations to florid 12-string raga that really does the job in terms of sweeping the mind clean before arriving at a mellower cul de sac of free/electro fuzz bits and muted quarks that eventually erupt at a folk gallop before its over. It's a trip in the purest sense of the word, one track clocking in at 35 mins, which makes it highly digestible in about the same amount of time it takes to have lunch or trip balls on some DMT. Looks like I'll have to hunt down his first release on Celebrate Psi Phenomenon before all's said and done.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
I realize that some of the older hippie cognoscenti out there may take issue with my placement of "Smile" in the year end list. I totally agree with all who recognize the cultural import of its deliverance from abandoned masterpiece hell, and it's been directly responsible for the shedding of many a Texas tear in the intervening hours since I purchased it it, but it's like old...OK? And in case you haven't noticed, this isn't the Summer of Love. Despite the deceptive presentation of the previously posted Best of List, those albums, including the runners up, can be taken in pretty much any order you wish. Lists, numbers, any standardized measurement of worth is pretty much bullshit in my world. The simple truth is 2004 was Da Bomb. I'm sure wherever you looked you found something worth hearing. Whether you ran your flag up the pop pole or slid it out the jazz boom, shit rocked, divas cooed, booties shook, hip hop owned (well rented). Avril Lavigne was back sans tie and gothified, Eminem fumed (again), Nora Jones rolled out a heavy sophomore LP. Bob Dylan hooked up with The Gap. Britney Spears did half the male population of Nevada. Janet Jackson decided she still mattered and bribed has been of the moment (former BIG DADDY of the moment) Justin Timberlake to make it possible for 13 million comatosed Americans to see her flaccid cow utter flop out in an instant. Who cares if the world's going to hell in an Oldsmobile, that shit was rockin'!
Perhaps most importantly, Christian Scott Stapp contributed the incredibly profound "Relearn Love" to the remarkable various blessed artists comp, "The Passion of the Christ: Original Songs Inspired by the Passion of the Christ: Type The Passion of the Christ One More Time, heathen," not to be confused with the more authentically apocalyptic "The Passion of the Christ: Songs Inspired by the Passion of the Christ," which featured Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Elvis Presley and Bob Dylan among others, so us slightly older jaded fucks could scoff at the Christina Aguilera/POD obsessed kewpie dolls and jock lawyers-in-training who shelled out their hard earned bucks for "that other" compilation. We know better than to throw a 14 spot down on some rusty old Nick Cave "goth faggot" and Elvis??? Not even funny. We can get half the age, 4 times the culture (Lauren Hill contributes, thank you) and All of God's Glory as refracted through the vocal nodules of Scott Stapp; so why would we want "Songs" when we can have "Original Songs"? Creed may be no more, it's true, but like A Certain Savior, the foppish Stapp hath ascended from his hell of banal post grunge mimicry to assume his place as The Second Coming of Steve Perry. Oh yeah, I also managed to see some good live shows in 2004. A meager breakdown follows.
5 Sweet Gigs in 04:
1. Brian Wilson (and his big ass band), Nokia Theater in Grand Prarie, Texas mid Nov. A re-emerging of the self, Brian Wilson clapping and grinning. He skips and he does lame dance move (think drunk Russians). The crowd rushed the stage. Actually spent 45 dollars on an ugly t-shirt.
2. Espers, Ridglea Theater upstairs in Ft. Worth, Texas, early Nov. What if they had a concert and nobody came? Play anyway! I live in the black hole of acid folk culture. I don't really know how to explain it, but I think kids in this here seat of the hiccupping twostep nowhere land could really give a fuck about hippie dippy Engrish folk. I think to them Country Joe is about as real a guy as Uncle Sam. For this reason the Incredible String Band didn't play at all. Espers played for myself and 3 other people...and about 30 very sexy emo hotties and their escorts. I'd like to think a seed was planted in their eager encephala this night...but I have my doubts.
3. Six Organs of Admittance, some bar in Denton, Texas, late May. I sat like 8 feet from the man. He played a Gary Higgins song (which is on the new album, Gary is MY DISCOVERY of 04, the guy I didn't ever know of before and probably will never be able to live without ever again. Thank you, Ben!) and a few of his own, so I could just watch and listen real close like as he made his wooden baby sing. It was one of those special-super-fantastic-up-close-and-personal-Six-Organs-gigs. There aren't many ya know! Don't even think he used an amp. I bought us a beer. We talked about Current 93, and I drove home in the misting rain (yeah, that's it).
4. Matt Valentine and Erika Elder, 1906 gallery(?), Aug 2 or so. Spirit music for the blessed few who are listening.
5. Sun City Girls/Rubble/Weird Weeds(who I missed! :-(), Dec 12. Real Punk Rock. Oh yeah, I'm in awe of "Improvika" (Locust) by Sir Richard Bishop. It really should've been on my best of list, darnit(!) since it' just may be the strongest solo avant guitar album released in 04? Affirmative.
Perhaps most importantly, Christian Scott Stapp contributed the incredibly profound "Relearn Love" to the remarkable various blessed artists comp, "The Passion of the Christ: Original Songs Inspired by the Passion of the Christ: Type The Passion of the Christ One More Time, heathen," not to be confused with the more authentically apocalyptic "The Passion of the Christ: Songs Inspired by the Passion of the Christ," which featured Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Elvis Presley and Bob Dylan among others, so us slightly older jaded fucks could scoff at the Christina Aguilera/POD obsessed kewpie dolls and jock lawyers-in-training who shelled out their hard earned bucks for "that other" compilation. We know better than to throw a 14 spot down on some rusty old Nick Cave "goth faggot" and Elvis??? Not even funny. We can get half the age, 4 times the culture (Lauren Hill contributes, thank you) and All of God's Glory as refracted through the vocal nodules of Scott Stapp; so why would we want "Songs" when we can have "Original Songs"? Creed may be no more, it's true, but like A Certain Savior, the foppish Stapp hath ascended from his hell of banal post grunge mimicry to assume his place as The Second Coming of Steve Perry. Oh yeah, I also managed to see some good live shows in 2004. A meager breakdown follows.
5 Sweet Gigs in 04:
1. Brian Wilson (and his big ass band), Nokia Theater in Grand Prarie, Texas mid Nov. A re-emerging of the self, Brian Wilson clapping and grinning. He skips and he does lame dance move (think drunk Russians). The crowd rushed the stage. Actually spent 45 dollars on an ugly t-shirt.
2. Espers, Ridglea Theater upstairs in Ft. Worth, Texas, early Nov. What if they had a concert and nobody came? Play anyway! I live in the black hole of acid folk culture. I don't really know how to explain it, but I think kids in this here seat of the hiccupping twostep nowhere land could really give a fuck about hippie dippy Engrish folk. I think to them Country Joe is about as real a guy as Uncle Sam. For this reason the Incredible String Band didn't play at all. Espers played for myself and 3 other people...and about 30 very sexy emo hotties and their escorts. I'd like to think a seed was planted in their eager encephala this night...but I have my doubts.
3. Six Organs of Admittance, some bar in Denton, Texas, late May. I sat like 8 feet from the man. He played a Gary Higgins song (which is on the new album, Gary is MY DISCOVERY of 04, the guy I didn't ever know of before and probably will never be able to live without ever again. Thank you, Ben!) and a few of his own, so I could just watch and listen real close like as he made his wooden baby sing. It was one of those special-super-fantastic-up-close-and-personal-Six-Organs-gigs. There aren't many ya know! Don't even think he used an amp. I bought us a beer. We talked about Current 93, and I drove home in the misting rain (yeah, that's it).
4. Matt Valentine and Erika Elder, 1906 gallery(?), Aug 2 or so. Spirit music for the blessed few who are listening.
5. Sun City Girls/Rubble/Weird Weeds(who I missed! :-(), Dec 12. Real Punk Rock. Oh yeah, I'm in awe of "Improvika" (Locust) by Sir Richard Bishop. It really should've been on my best of list, darnit(!) since it' just may be the strongest solo avant guitar album released in 04? Affirmative.
Sunday, January 02, 2005
25 Birds of Flight in 2004...
Close calls come in the form of Einsturzende Neubauten's "Perpetuum Mobile" (Mute), Brian Wilson's "Smile" (Nonesuch), Espers' "S/T" (Locust), Animal Collective's "Sung Tongs" (Fatcat), Up-Tight's "Five Psychedelic Pieces" (Static), Miminokoto's "3" (Siwa), Oneida's "Secret Wars" (Jagjaguwar) Gravenhurst's "Flashlight Seasons" (Warp) and plenty more. I liked that last Acid Mothers disk too, but like these more:
25. Ths Misunderstood "Lost Acetates" (Ugly Things)
24. Bardo Pond + Tom Carter “4/23/03” (Three Lobed)
23. Fennesz “Venice” (Touch)
22. Cul de Sac/Damo Suzuki “Abhayamudra” (Strange Attractors)
21. LSD-March “Kanashimino Bishoyunen” (HP Cycle)
20. Joanna Newsom “The Milk-Eyed Mender” (Drag City)
19. urDog “Garden of Bones” (Secret Eye)
18. Black Forest/Black Sea “Radiant Symmetry” (Last Visible Dog)
17. Hush Arbors “Since We Have Fallen” (Foxglove)
16. Birchville Cat Motel & Bruce Russell “S/T” (Celebrate Psi Phenomenon)
15. Grimble Grumble “Leaves Leader” (Pehr)
14. David Kilgour “Frozen Orange” (Merge)
13. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds “Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus” (Mute)
12. The Ivytree “Winged Leaves” (Catsup Plate)
11. Thuja/My Cat is an Alien “From the Earth to the Spheres” Vol. 2 (Very Friendly/Cargo)
10. Ghost "Hypnotic Underworld" (Drag City)
9. Comets on Fire "Blue Cathedral" (Sub Pop)
8. Marissa Nadler “Ballads of Living and Dying” (Eclipse)
7. Kemialliset Ystävät “Alkuhärkä” (Fonal)
6. Charalambides “Joy Shapes” (Kranky)
5. P.G. Six “The Well of Memory” (Amish)
4. Nagisa Ni Te “The Same as a Flower (Jagjaguwar)
3. Devendra Banhart "Rejoicing in the Hands" (Young God)
2. Tower Recordings “The Galaxies Incredibly Sensual Transmission Field of…” (Communion)
1. Nick Castro “Spy in the House of God” (Records of Gauhd)
Reissues:
5. Tie: Pavement “Crooked Rain Crooked Rain” (Matador)/ Guided By Voices “Bee Thousand” (Matador)/ Eno "Here Come the Warm Jets"/"Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)"/"Another Green World"(Warp), Virgin Prunes “If I Die I Die” (Mute)/ Vashti Bunyan "Just Another Diamond Day" (Dechristina Stair)/ Tom Carter "Monument" (Kranky)/ Hala Strana "Fielding" (Last Visible Dog)
4. Current 93 “Halo” (Durtro/Jnana)
3. Six Organs of Admittance “The Manifestation” (Strange Attractors)
2. Homestead and Wolfe “Our Times” (Anopheles Records)
1. Simon Finn “Pass the Distance” (Durtro)
Close calls come in the form of Einsturzende Neubauten's "Perpetuum Mobile" (Mute), Brian Wilson's "Smile" (Nonesuch), Espers' "S/T" (Locust), Animal Collective's "Sung Tongs" (Fatcat), Up-Tight's "Five Psychedelic Pieces" (Static), Miminokoto's "3" (Siwa), Oneida's "Secret Wars" (Jagjaguwar) Gravenhurst's "Flashlight Seasons" (Warp) and plenty more. I liked that last Acid Mothers disk too, but like these more:
25. Ths Misunderstood "Lost Acetates" (Ugly Things)
24. Bardo Pond + Tom Carter “4/23/03” (Three Lobed)
23. Fennesz “Venice” (Touch)
22. Cul de Sac/Damo Suzuki “Abhayamudra” (Strange Attractors)
21. LSD-March “Kanashimino Bishoyunen” (HP Cycle)
20. Joanna Newsom “The Milk-Eyed Mender” (Drag City)
19. urDog “Garden of Bones” (Secret Eye)
18. Black Forest/Black Sea “Radiant Symmetry” (Last Visible Dog)
17. Hush Arbors “Since We Have Fallen” (Foxglove)
16. Birchville Cat Motel & Bruce Russell “S/T” (Celebrate Psi Phenomenon)
15. Grimble Grumble “Leaves Leader” (Pehr)
14. David Kilgour “Frozen Orange” (Merge)
13. Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds “Abbatoir Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus” (Mute)
12. The Ivytree “Winged Leaves” (Catsup Plate)
11. Thuja/My Cat is an Alien “From the Earth to the Spheres” Vol. 2 (Very Friendly/Cargo)
10. Ghost "Hypnotic Underworld" (Drag City)
9. Comets on Fire "Blue Cathedral" (Sub Pop)
8. Marissa Nadler “Ballads of Living and Dying” (Eclipse)
7. Kemialliset Ystävät “Alkuhärkä” (Fonal)
6. Charalambides “Joy Shapes” (Kranky)
5. P.G. Six “The Well of Memory” (Amish)
4. Nagisa Ni Te “The Same as a Flower (Jagjaguwar)
3. Devendra Banhart "Rejoicing in the Hands" (Young God)
2. Tower Recordings “The Galaxies Incredibly Sensual Transmission Field of…” (Communion)
1. Nick Castro “Spy in the House of God” (Records of Gauhd)
Reissues:
5. Tie: Pavement “Crooked Rain Crooked Rain” (Matador)/ Guided By Voices “Bee Thousand” (Matador)/ Eno "Here Come the Warm Jets"/"Taking Tiger Mountain (By Strategy)"/"Another Green World"(Warp), Virgin Prunes “If I Die I Die” (Mute)/ Vashti Bunyan "Just Another Diamond Day" (Dechristina Stair)/ Tom Carter "Monument" (Kranky)/ Hala Strana "Fielding" (Last Visible Dog)
4. Current 93 “Halo” (Durtro/Jnana)
3. Six Organs of Admittance “The Manifestation” (Strange Attractors)
2. Homestead and Wolfe “Our Times” (Anopheles Records)
1. Simon Finn “Pass the Distance” (Durtro)
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Merry Christmas, kids... Merry Whatever you bow down to, be it one deity, a million stars or a gigantic seething void. I dig. I am currently staring at Albert Ayler's "Holy Ghost" boxset (Revenant), sitting here on my lil desk, and speechless is the word. It's the most stunning package I've ever seen, not to mention held in my hands. I'll have to share some thoughts some day when I have more time, which probably won't be anytime soon. Finding less and less time/energy to devote to the blog these days, but that may change after the rush. Either way it's been a fun experiment. I'll at least post a Best of '04 list and a cpl more roundups in the next week or so. One love from above.
Sunday, December 19, 2004
Three more psychedelic albums...
...first a sidebar. The word "psychedelic" comes with all the wrong connotations these days. You smell patchouli mixed with musty birkenstocks, right? Envision throngs of Phish Phreinds rushing one lone battered portapotty in a field of green and yellow. Fact is, true psychedelia, as a musical genre or a state of mind, reaches well beyond all the silly tie-dyed cliches. True psychedelia does not require that one go insane after ingesting obscene amounts of lsd, DMT or mescaline to experience it, but that's certainly one sad possibility. As any well surveyed course on world cultures can attest, a truly psychedelic experience can be achieved through any number of means, whether they be by meditation, ritual body modification, the religious word or good old music. I fancy the idea of "psychedelia" in music (and other arts) because it is such a truly broad and all encompassing idea. Any sensory experience involving the five senses, six including the soul, can exist in, or at least step through, the area where perception is distorted and altered states of awareness realized. Good psychedelic music is one of the least damaging and most direct routes to "that place." No blood-letting is required, no sweat chambers or hours of meditation. To some people, this all may very well be found at a gathering of the tribes, sleeping and shitting in the mud for 48 hrs while reeling in the throws of 5 hit blotter dose, but I ain't buyin', personally. The music doesn't really enthrall (aside from the bands who inspired the whole mess, Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers), and the "scene" is closer to a latter day yuppie approximation of the hippie ideal with all the clothes and chemicals but none of the vitality or insight.
The New England collective, The Tower Recordings, has been weaving eerie, broken musicbox folk spells for a decade now. In that time, various members have broken off to do their own gigs; some have toured in ensembles that I've mentioned elsewhere in this ongoing chronicle of excess. Early albums like "Furniture Music for Evening Shuttles" (Siltbreeze) and "The Fraternity of Moonwalkers" (Audible Hiss) are bound to confuse, and even occasionally amaze, on first listens with their mix of detuned clangy drones and warped folk and blues ghosts. Hold up a minute, that sounds like about half the music covered here! Yes, you're onto something, brother. The Tower Recordings are one of the first bands I ever heard that struck me as a post Throbbing Gristle answer to the Incredible String Band. And I mean that only as praise. Throbbing Gristle were one of the first "rock bands" to seriously debunk the notion of what rock music can be, or psychedelia for that matter. The Incredible String band did the same thing within the idiom of folk, and The Tower Recordings ask the same question in regards to folk, blues and traditional music with virtually all of their recorded output to date. Those early albums should be viewed like musical puzzles: each listen offers a new chance to slide something into place. What sounds like half-assed, amateurish balderdash are in fact carefully designed despondent folk lapses backed with primitive electro skronk and swill that actually make sense when heard in a larger context. The Tower Recordings are a broken folk band for a broken folk world, but they always play with their hearts and heads turned skyward.
At a time when the world seems mostly intent on self-destruction, the Tower Recordings have gone and almost healed themselves. "The Galaxies Incredibly Sensual Transmission Field of the Tower Recordings" (Communion) is among the most fluid, engrossing and accessible folk dreams to emanate from this remarkable group yet. It's relatively short (just over 30 mins), but every bit the transportational vessel from start to finish, opening slowly like an old carnival carousel slowly spinning faster with the cycling folk rhythms of acoustic guitars and back masked vocals of "Harvester" and finally regenerating as a blues folk resurrection on "Other Kinds Run." The four intervening tracks are classic examples of twilight zone Americana, strange acid folk, and heaven-sent crude electronic noise. The mix is amazing, the vocals, the stories and lyrics, and the cohesion of the piece as a whole is pretty much what I'd expect from the same people responsible for "The Well of Memory" and "Ragas and Blues." The journey may be short, but it's ripe with vivid scenery.
Blacker modes are explored on "Live 2" (Threshold House), the second in a series, third released, of 4 live Coil albums recorded in the early 2000's. This is my latest attempt at coming to terms with this tortured and unique band who died last month when it's founder Jhonn Balance was taken in a tragic fall at his home. Recorded 4 days after 9-11 in Moscow in 2001, the CD features six of Coil's distinctive electro/industrial sound exorcisms, my favorite possibly being opening "Something: Higher Beings Command," a spine-tingler with Balance's spoken word intoning, "I dedicate this performance to the moon...to madness, to madness, to madness..." before Sleazy literally engulfs the capacity club in lacerating windstorms of overdriven machine hums and electro-whooshes. This is what industrial music should sound like, and I can't even begin to attempt to capture in words the psychotropic values of such a performance. Though the trance-inducing synth/beat pulse of "Amethyst Deceivers" could do it in sound. Don't even get me started on the closing rendition of "Constant Shallowness Leads to Evil," 17 mins of sexually charged spoken word sacrilege and primal machine drone and innerspace laser beams that end up sounding sort of like the slow warning siren for an apocalypse as brought on by thee ultimate doomsday machine.
Now moving up further North along the globe to Sweden, home of guitar maestro Björn Olsson, integral to the artistic success of Union Carbide Productions in the 80s and the Soundtrack of Our Lives in the 90s. He left the Soundtrack right after completion of their second album though, and sadly took much of their originality with him. Since, he's kept busy making solo psychedelic soundtrack albums, including the stunning "Instrumentalmusik: Instrumental Music...to Submerge in...and Disappear Through" (Omplatten), and "UPA" (Gravitation), which just arrived in my box recently. His brand new self titled album should be here soon. Back to "UPA" though, it comes as two versions of nine tracks, seven of which are bookended by expansive numbers that flirt overtly with psychedelic textures. Opener "Schweinfest" is a festive number that brings Caribbean percussion into the progressive age with Olsson's meticululosuly placed fuzz bursts pushing an infectious dance melody. Repetitious and infectious like giddy Krautrock. A more caustic rawk response to this is found in "Tema 1," an extended bout of overdriven space/psych rock that clearly reveals Olsson's affinity for Krautrock, Zeppelin and more dance-floor designated material at the same time. No, he doesn't employ a rack of samples, just a bit of a house beat on live percussion and a barrage of lysergic feedback runs. In between we get a smorgusboard of stylistic detours (via instruments all played by the man himself), from Burt Bacharach infused light-psych to Spaghetti Western soundtracks and more. Whatever chosen path Olsson chooses to traverse, he does so with wit and originality...and mystery. There are no wasted moments in this man's hands. It's a shame he split from TSOOL, but given the depth of his instrumentation and his ideas, it's also understandable that someone so talented would shy away from the soul-sucking glare of the commercial eye.
...first a sidebar. The word "psychedelic" comes with all the wrong connotations these days. You smell patchouli mixed with musty birkenstocks, right? Envision throngs of Phish Phreinds rushing one lone battered portapotty in a field of green and yellow. Fact is, true psychedelia, as a musical genre or a state of mind, reaches well beyond all the silly tie-dyed cliches. True psychedelia does not require that one go insane after ingesting obscene amounts of lsd, DMT or mescaline to experience it, but that's certainly one sad possibility. As any well surveyed course on world cultures can attest, a truly psychedelic experience can be achieved through any number of means, whether they be by meditation, ritual body modification, the religious word or good old music. I fancy the idea of "psychedelia" in music (and other arts) because it is such a truly broad and all encompassing idea. Any sensory experience involving the five senses, six including the soul, can exist in, or at least step through, the area where perception is distorted and altered states of awareness realized. Good psychedelic music is one of the least damaging and most direct routes to "that place." No blood-letting is required, no sweat chambers or hours of meditation. To some people, this all may very well be found at a gathering of the tribes, sleeping and shitting in the mud for 48 hrs while reeling in the throws of 5 hit blotter dose, but I ain't buyin', personally. The music doesn't really enthrall (aside from the bands who inspired the whole mess, Grateful Dead and the Allman Brothers), and the "scene" is closer to a latter day yuppie approximation of the hippie ideal with all the clothes and chemicals but none of the vitality or insight.
The New England collective, The Tower Recordings, has been weaving eerie, broken musicbox folk spells for a decade now. In that time, various members have broken off to do their own gigs; some have toured in ensembles that I've mentioned elsewhere in this ongoing chronicle of excess. Early albums like "Furniture Music for Evening Shuttles" (Siltbreeze) and "The Fraternity of Moonwalkers" (Audible Hiss) are bound to confuse, and even occasionally amaze, on first listens with their mix of detuned clangy drones and warped folk and blues ghosts. Hold up a minute, that sounds like about half the music covered here! Yes, you're onto something, brother. The Tower Recordings are one of the first bands I ever heard that struck me as a post Throbbing Gristle answer to the Incredible String Band. And I mean that only as praise. Throbbing Gristle were one of the first "rock bands" to seriously debunk the notion of what rock music can be, or psychedelia for that matter. The Incredible String band did the same thing within the idiom of folk, and The Tower Recordings ask the same question in regards to folk, blues and traditional music with virtually all of their recorded output to date. Those early albums should be viewed like musical puzzles: each listen offers a new chance to slide something into place. What sounds like half-assed, amateurish balderdash are in fact carefully designed despondent folk lapses backed with primitive electro skronk and swill that actually make sense when heard in a larger context. The Tower Recordings are a broken folk band for a broken folk world, but they always play with their hearts and heads turned skyward.
At a time when the world seems mostly intent on self-destruction, the Tower Recordings have gone and almost healed themselves. "The Galaxies Incredibly Sensual Transmission Field of the Tower Recordings" (Communion) is among the most fluid, engrossing and accessible folk dreams to emanate from this remarkable group yet. It's relatively short (just over 30 mins), but every bit the transportational vessel from start to finish, opening slowly like an old carnival carousel slowly spinning faster with the cycling folk rhythms of acoustic guitars and back masked vocals of "Harvester" and finally regenerating as a blues folk resurrection on "Other Kinds Run." The four intervening tracks are classic examples of twilight zone Americana, strange acid folk, and heaven-sent crude electronic noise. The mix is amazing, the vocals, the stories and lyrics, and the cohesion of the piece as a whole is pretty much what I'd expect from the same people responsible for "The Well of Memory" and "Ragas and Blues." The journey may be short, but it's ripe with vivid scenery.
Blacker modes are explored on "Live 2" (Threshold House), the second in a series, third released, of 4 live Coil albums recorded in the early 2000's. This is my latest attempt at coming to terms with this tortured and unique band who died last month when it's founder Jhonn Balance was taken in a tragic fall at his home. Recorded 4 days after 9-11 in Moscow in 2001, the CD features six of Coil's distinctive electro/industrial sound exorcisms, my favorite possibly being opening "Something: Higher Beings Command," a spine-tingler with Balance's spoken word intoning, "I dedicate this performance to the moon...to madness, to madness, to madness..." before Sleazy literally engulfs the capacity club in lacerating windstorms of overdriven machine hums and electro-whooshes. This is what industrial music should sound like, and I can't even begin to attempt to capture in words the psychotropic values of such a performance. Though the trance-inducing synth/beat pulse of "Amethyst Deceivers" could do it in sound. Don't even get me started on the closing rendition of "Constant Shallowness Leads to Evil," 17 mins of sexually charged spoken word sacrilege and primal machine drone and innerspace laser beams that end up sounding sort of like the slow warning siren for an apocalypse as brought on by thee ultimate doomsday machine.
Now moving up further North along the globe to Sweden, home of guitar maestro Björn Olsson, integral to the artistic success of Union Carbide Productions in the 80s and the Soundtrack of Our Lives in the 90s. He left the Soundtrack right after completion of their second album though, and sadly took much of their originality with him. Since, he's kept busy making solo psychedelic soundtrack albums, including the stunning "Instrumentalmusik: Instrumental Music...to Submerge in...and Disappear Through" (Omplatten), and "UPA" (Gravitation), which just arrived in my box recently. His brand new self titled album should be here soon. Back to "UPA" though, it comes as two versions of nine tracks, seven of which are bookended by expansive numbers that flirt overtly with psychedelic textures. Opener "Schweinfest" is a festive number that brings Caribbean percussion into the progressive age with Olsson's meticululosuly placed fuzz bursts pushing an infectious dance melody. Repetitious and infectious like giddy Krautrock. A more caustic rawk response to this is found in "Tema 1," an extended bout of overdriven space/psych rock that clearly reveals Olsson's affinity for Krautrock, Zeppelin and more dance-floor designated material at the same time. No, he doesn't employ a rack of samples, just a bit of a house beat on live percussion and a barrage of lysergic feedback runs. In between we get a smorgusboard of stylistic detours (via instruments all played by the man himself), from Burt Bacharach infused light-psych to Spaghetti Western soundtracks and more. Whatever chosen path Olsson chooses to traverse, he does so with wit and originality...and mystery. There are no wasted moments in this man's hands. It's a shame he split from TSOOL, but given the depth of his instrumentation and his ideas, it's also understandable that someone so talented would shy away from the soul-sucking glare of the commercial eye.
Friday, December 17, 2004
As I was sitting here preparing for the anniversary of the birth of Our Lord, Jesus Christ, and drinking too much gin, and attempting to put into words my profound admiration for the new Tower Recordings mystical sound vessel while also listening to Coil's "Live Two" and thinking "I truly love Coil" and "I never thought I ever would or could," I stumbled across The Book of Condolences for Jhonn Balance, the first seven days of which were printed and burned with him at his funeral. It's actually quite beautiful, but then I'm personally sensitive to these kinds of sentimental tributes. There will truly never be another like him. Goodnight, lords and ladies.
Friday, December 10, 2004
From the Associated Press, gives some exposition on the shooter. Sound like someone you know?
Suspect in nightclub shooting liked talking music, listening to Pantera before playing football- ANITA CHANG, Associated Press WriterFriday, December 10, 2004(12-10) 09:13 PST COLUMBUS, Ohio (AP) --The man who shot former Pantera guitarist "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott and three other men to death at a nightclub was obsessed with the popular heavy metal band and made bizarre accusations against it, a onetime friend said in reports published Friday.
Jeramie Brey said gunman Nathan Gale once showed up at a friend's house saying he wanted to share songs he had written. The pages of lyrics were copied from Pantera, but Gale claimed he had written them, Brey said."He was off his rocker," Brey told The Columbus Dispatch. "He said they were his songs, that Pantera stole them from him and that he was going to sue them."
He later told Brey that he planned to sue Pantera for stealing his identity. Brey and friend Dave Johnson said Gale's behavior frightened them and they distanced themselves from him several years ago. But other friends said they never considered Gale capable of violence.
On Wednesday night, the 25-year-old former Marine charged the stage at a show by Abbott's new band, Damageplan, and gunned down four people including Abbott before a policeman fatally shot him.Police said Friday they still didn't know Gale's motive, and they may never find out. Some witnesses said Gale yelled accusations that the revered guitarist broke up Pantera, but police had not verified those reports.
An imposing figure at 6-foot-3, Gale had made people uneasy even at the tattoo parlor, staring and locking them into conversations about heavy metal music. When he played offensive line for the semi-pro Lima Thunder football team, he psyched himself up before games by piping Pantera into his headphones, coach Mark Green said.
But Green had not pegged Gale as the type to go on a shooting rampage. "It wasn't like he was a loner," Green said.
Gale had had minor run-ins with police since 1997 but wasn't considered a troublemaker, according to police in his hometown of Marysville, 25 miles northwest of Columbus.
Gale had served with the 2nd Marine Division at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina until November 2003, when he was discharged after less than half of the typical four-year stint, Marine spokeswoman Gunnery Sgt. Kristine Scarber said. She declined to explain the discharge, citing privacy rules.
A few hours before the shooting, Gale had showed up at Marysville's Bears Den Tattoo Studio, where often he stared at people and forced them into conversations, manager Lucas Bender said.
"He comes in here and likes to hang out when he's not wanted," Bender said. "The most pointless conversations."
On Wednesday he asked about having the studio order tattoo equipment for him, tattoo artist Bo Toler said. Toler told him no, and Gale got angry and started yelling, he said.
"Last night was actually the first time I noticed his temper," Toler said.
No one answered the door Thursday at the Marysville home of Gale's mother, Mary Clark. A message left on her cell phone was not returned.
The violence at the smoke-filled Alrosa Villa club came just after the opening notes by Damageplan, the band formed by Abbott and his brother, drummer Vinnie Paul Abbott, after they left Pantera. Gale dodged two band members, grabbed Darrell Abbott and shot him at least five times in the head, witnesses and police said.
In less than five minutes, Gale had also killed Erin Halk, 29, a club employee who loaded band equipment; fan Nathan Bray, 23, of nearby Grove City; and band bodyguard Jeff Thompson, 40.
Two other band employees, Chris Paluska and John Brooks, remained in a hospital Friday morning with undisclosed injuries. Paluska was listed in good condition and Brooks in serious condition.
On 911 tapes released by authorities, one caller said, "I heard quite a few gunshots and I think somebody in the band definitely has been shot."
A short time later a man called and said: "He's on stage right now. He's got a gun." A moment later, the man said, "He just shot again," and then, "He's got a gun to somebody's head."
Despite a drizzle and temperatures in the 40s, more than 200 people turned up for a vigil Thursday night in the club's parking lot.
Shawn Sweeney, 22, played "old-school Pantera" on an acoustic guitar as a half-dozen young men held a blue tarp over his head and sang along as a crowd gathered.
"This is beautiful, this is absolutely beautiful," Sweeney said.
Suspect in nightclub shooting liked talking music, listening to Pantera before playing football- ANITA CHANG, Associated Press WriterFriday, December 10, 2004(12-10) 09:13 PST COLUMBUS, Ohio (AP) --The man who shot former Pantera guitarist "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott and three other men to death at a nightclub was obsessed with the popular heavy metal band and made bizarre accusations against it, a onetime friend said in reports published Friday.
Jeramie Brey said gunman Nathan Gale once showed up at a friend's house saying he wanted to share songs he had written. The pages of lyrics were copied from Pantera, but Gale claimed he had written them, Brey said."He was off his rocker," Brey told The Columbus Dispatch. "He said they were his songs, that Pantera stole them from him and that he was going to sue them."
He later told Brey that he planned to sue Pantera for stealing his identity. Brey and friend Dave Johnson said Gale's behavior frightened them and they distanced themselves from him several years ago. But other friends said they never considered Gale capable of violence.
On Wednesday night, the 25-year-old former Marine charged the stage at a show by Abbott's new band, Damageplan, and gunned down four people including Abbott before a policeman fatally shot him.Police said Friday they still didn't know Gale's motive, and they may never find out. Some witnesses said Gale yelled accusations that the revered guitarist broke up Pantera, but police had not verified those reports.
An imposing figure at 6-foot-3, Gale had made people uneasy even at the tattoo parlor, staring and locking them into conversations about heavy metal music. When he played offensive line for the semi-pro Lima Thunder football team, he psyched himself up before games by piping Pantera into his headphones, coach Mark Green said.
But Green had not pegged Gale as the type to go on a shooting rampage. "It wasn't like he was a loner," Green said.
Gale had had minor run-ins with police since 1997 but wasn't considered a troublemaker, according to police in his hometown of Marysville, 25 miles northwest of Columbus.
Gale had served with the 2nd Marine Division at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina until November 2003, when he was discharged after less than half of the typical four-year stint, Marine spokeswoman Gunnery Sgt. Kristine Scarber said. She declined to explain the discharge, citing privacy rules.
A few hours before the shooting, Gale had showed up at Marysville's Bears Den Tattoo Studio, where often he stared at people and forced them into conversations, manager Lucas Bender said.
"He comes in here and likes to hang out when he's not wanted," Bender said. "The most pointless conversations."
On Wednesday he asked about having the studio order tattoo equipment for him, tattoo artist Bo Toler said. Toler told him no, and Gale got angry and started yelling, he said.
"Last night was actually the first time I noticed his temper," Toler said.
No one answered the door Thursday at the Marysville home of Gale's mother, Mary Clark. A message left on her cell phone was not returned.
The violence at the smoke-filled Alrosa Villa club came just after the opening notes by Damageplan, the band formed by Abbott and his brother, drummer Vinnie Paul Abbott, after they left Pantera. Gale dodged two band members, grabbed Darrell Abbott and shot him at least five times in the head, witnesses and police said.
In less than five minutes, Gale had also killed Erin Halk, 29, a club employee who loaded band equipment; fan Nathan Bray, 23, of nearby Grove City; and band bodyguard Jeff Thompson, 40.
Two other band employees, Chris Paluska and John Brooks, remained in a hospital Friday morning with undisclosed injuries. Paluska was listed in good condition and Brooks in serious condition.
On 911 tapes released by authorities, one caller said, "I heard quite a few gunshots and I think somebody in the band definitely has been shot."
A short time later a man called and said: "He's on stage right now. He's got a gun." A moment later, the man said, "He just shot again," and then, "He's got a gun to somebody's head."
Despite a drizzle and temperatures in the 40s, more than 200 people turned up for a vigil Thursday night in the club's parking lot.
Shawn Sweeney, 22, played "old-school Pantera" on an acoustic guitar as a half-dozen young men held a blue tarp over his head and sang along as a crowd gathered.
"This is beautiful, this is absolutely beautiful," Sweeney said.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
2004 seems to be the year of Fonal. I've mentioned a few fantastic avant folk/drone things these industrious Fins have released in recent months, all deserving of much devotion and appreciation, but had no idea label head Sami's work under the Es moniker was so gosh-darn beautiful in its own right. Sparse chamber music, warm tape noise, samples, guitar, effects and ethereal fem vocals come together in an inspired, glitchy production worthy of the finest in the genre on "Kaikkeuden Kauneus ja Kasittamattomyys." Think Labradford, Islaja (who I believe lends her vocal talents) and Popol Vuh, but maybe released on the Touch label.
More goodies floating up from down below, some courtesy of the PseudoArcana imprint. I'm still playing catchup here, as there's already a slew of newer releases I ain't heard, but that's alright for now, because the "Crescent" CD-R by Claypipe, co-released with Root Don Lonie For Cash, will keep me busy many late nights with it's deep meandering drone swells, archaic hums and bowed strings, all giving way to tonal eruptions of the most brilliant, elusive colors. Fine stuff for anyone reared in the ways of early John Cale/Tony Conrad. Sunken is a new duo of Antony Milton and Stefan Neville of Pumice exploring similar improvised space, but this time via organs, loops and guitar. It's a testament to the players that they can conjure dense, living soundscapes from thin air with such resonating results. Checkout the cyclical builds of 25 min "Spa" to get the gist. The 3" CD-R "Springtime in Saturnalia" is Davenport's tribal entry for the label--opens with muffled noise, vinyl scratching, a jet flying overhead as birds and insects chirp and rustle right next to your ears. From the constant environmental hum rises serene raga-folk workouts and droning ethnic noise that slowly develop into a stately slow groove (Pelt and Jackie-O Motherfucker comes to mind) and totally smokes in a non threatening manner. The Wooden Cupboard apparently has some relation to the Skaters, a mysterious ensemble I keep hearing about but have yet to hear. 3" CD-R "Boiling the Animal in the Sky" is out there garage/free noise comprised of elephantine wails and farting strings, stuttering percussion, ominous sirens and more. Harder to get into than the Davenport. The shrill sound quality and warped cut-up production makes me think Angus Maclise a lot of the way, but I like the crude meditative slant the second track takes halfway through more than the ethnic incantations. And finally comes Keijo and Friends (again?! you say!) with the 2CD-R, "Unfolding Emptiness/Decomposing Dawn and Dew," one a solo slab of post industrial earth drones and broke-dick folk meanderings, the other trio free noise screechiness indebted to early AMM.
"Live at Club Donut" (Holy Mountain) is a fine solo vinyl only document from experimental psych guitar maestro Steven Wray Lobdell. Few today are willing to merge classic acid streaked solos with these kinds of earth-shaking industrial noise squalls. The results thrill across 45 mins of live solo improvs that alternate between searing electric ragas and dissonant looped breakdowns. Lobdell pulls it off in a way that brings to mind both Manuel Gottsching and Keji Haino, among others. Last Visible Dog have dropped a cpl more musical cherries on top of the creamy pop parfait with Peter Wright's "Distant Bombs" and Pumice's "Raft." The former sees kiwi loner Wright weaving cautious spells of layered guitar/drone interactions in an approach that brings to mind a more digital answer to the kind of endless dream-states that Fripp and Eno used to explore so brilliantly in the mid 70s. Best I've heard from him yet. Pumice, on the other hand, is the work of one Stefan Neville, employing guitar, effects, tape noise and voice, in ramshackle home-made pop and noise concoctions that have become far too rare in recent years. Alastair Galbraith and Chris Knox come to mind, which I suppose serves as high praise to some and might register indifference to others. Whoa be to those others. "Live Gyakuryu Kokuu" is a totally killer 2 track live album from dark psych trio Kousokuya, who've apparently been part of the scene longer than PSF Records has. First track is a stomping side long heavy blues thing, somewhere between High Rise and Fushitsusha; the second sees the trio climbing further into the free jazz void with utterly compelling results. In other words: raw garage jams played with the kind of paint-peeling intensity PSF has embodied for the last 20 years or so.
More goodies floating up from down below, some courtesy of the PseudoArcana imprint. I'm still playing catchup here, as there's already a slew of newer releases I ain't heard, but that's alright for now, because the "Crescent" CD-R by Claypipe, co-released with Root Don Lonie For Cash, will keep me busy many late nights with it's deep meandering drone swells, archaic hums and bowed strings, all giving way to tonal eruptions of the most brilliant, elusive colors. Fine stuff for anyone reared in the ways of early John Cale/Tony Conrad. Sunken is a new duo of Antony Milton and Stefan Neville of Pumice exploring similar improvised space, but this time via organs, loops and guitar. It's a testament to the players that they can conjure dense, living soundscapes from thin air with such resonating results. Checkout the cyclical builds of 25 min "Spa" to get the gist. The 3" CD-R "Springtime in Saturnalia" is Davenport's tribal entry for the label--opens with muffled noise, vinyl scratching, a jet flying overhead as birds and insects chirp and rustle right next to your ears. From the constant environmental hum rises serene raga-folk workouts and droning ethnic noise that slowly develop into a stately slow groove (Pelt and Jackie-O Motherfucker comes to mind) and totally smokes in a non threatening manner. The Wooden Cupboard apparently has some relation to the Skaters, a mysterious ensemble I keep hearing about but have yet to hear. 3" CD-R "Boiling the Animal in the Sky" is out there garage/free noise comprised of elephantine wails and farting strings, stuttering percussion, ominous sirens and more. Harder to get into than the Davenport. The shrill sound quality and warped cut-up production makes me think Angus Maclise a lot of the way, but I like the crude meditative slant the second track takes halfway through more than the ethnic incantations. And finally comes Keijo and Friends (again?! you say!) with the 2CD-R, "Unfolding Emptiness/Decomposing Dawn and Dew," one a solo slab of post industrial earth drones and broke-dick folk meanderings, the other trio free noise screechiness indebted to early AMM.
"Live at Club Donut" (Holy Mountain) is a fine solo vinyl only document from experimental psych guitar maestro Steven Wray Lobdell. Few today are willing to merge classic acid streaked solos with these kinds of earth-shaking industrial noise squalls. The results thrill across 45 mins of live solo improvs that alternate between searing electric ragas and dissonant looped breakdowns. Lobdell pulls it off in a way that brings to mind both Manuel Gottsching and Keji Haino, among others. Last Visible Dog have dropped a cpl more musical cherries on top of the creamy pop parfait with Peter Wright's "Distant Bombs" and Pumice's "Raft." The former sees kiwi loner Wright weaving cautious spells of layered guitar/drone interactions in an approach that brings to mind a more digital answer to the kind of endless dream-states that Fripp and Eno used to explore so brilliantly in the mid 70s. Best I've heard from him yet. Pumice, on the other hand, is the work of one Stefan Neville, employing guitar, effects, tape noise and voice, in ramshackle home-made pop and noise concoctions that have become far too rare in recent years. Alastair Galbraith and Chris Knox come to mind, which I suppose serves as high praise to some and might register indifference to others. Whoa be to those others. "Live Gyakuryu Kokuu" is a totally killer 2 track live album from dark psych trio Kousokuya, who've apparently been part of the scene longer than PSF Records has. First track is a stomping side long heavy blues thing, somewhere between High Rise and Fushitsusha; the second sees the trio climbing further into the free jazz void with utterly compelling results. In other words: raw garage jams played with the kind of paint-peeling intensity PSF has embodied for the last 20 years or so.
I actually liked Pantera for about 5 minutes in the early 90s, and then spent the next ten years or so wishing somebody would shoot 'em. Never actually thought I'd get my wish, though: Apocalypse at the Alrosa Villa.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Here is a great ramble clipped from the latest Aquarius update as to why it's not cool to hate Nirvana. Couldn't agree more. I am and have always been a Nirvana fan....
"NIRVANA "With The Lights Out" (DGC) 3cd+dvd 57.00 Been trying to figure out what to write about this for a while now. Every time I sit down to write it, I feel like I'm trying to write a euology for an old friend. Which should speak volumes. We knew this was coming. And man, were we excited. And it is not a disappointment in any way. If anything, it's more than we could have hoped for. See, everyone loves Nirvana. Everyone. Those of you who say you don't are just trying to be c'ool'. Sort of like the people who talk about how the Beatles suck. The Beatles did not suck. They wrote more perfect pop songs than any band in the history of rock and roll. Nirvana also don't suck. And are also responsible for some of the best songs ever. It's not cool to pretend you don't like Nirvana. Not at all. In fact, it's unbelievably UNCOOL. Why deny yourself some of the most important, visceral music of the last 15 years? Because it gets played on MTV? Because jocks blast "Smells Like Teen Spirit" after the big game? Nope, sorry. Not good enough.
Nirvana were one of those bands we could all love. Heavy enough to appeal to headbangers, raucous enough to still be punk, but equipped with a pop sense unrivalled, and thus able to whip out the most beautiful pop song in the world without a second thought -- usually sandwiched between two swirling snarling blasts of stage destroying chaotic rrroooaaaar. But that's part of what was so charming about Nirvana. Even when they were huge, they acted like you or me. Stupid jokes, smashing guitars, unlikely covers, ripped jeans and t-shirts and greasy long hair. It was like your pal or your older brother was snatched out of your suburban hellhole of a life and made a rock star. And how could you not love that (once you got over wishing it was you)? Which also goes to why it was such a blow when Kurt Cobain died. I literally cried. At the time I remember thinking "Why the fuck am I crying." I mean, it's not like he was a friend of mine or something. But he was something special. To me. To everyone I know. And Nirvana was something special. Our generation's Beatles? Maybe. But definitely the most important band of the nineties. Responsible for reshaping popular music, killing off hair metal, and giving us music that would be the soundtrack to our lives: breakups, mixtapes, road trips, broken hearts, life and death, fucking and fighting. Sounds like hyperbole but it's really not. This band was and is really important to me, and millions of other folks. Which is pretty remarkable. After the death of Cobain, and after getting over the sheer sadness and loss, one could not help but think about all the amazing music and the songs that would now never be written. Callous maybe, but the music is what made us love him/them. Their recent greatest hits disc offered us the unreleased "You Know You're Right", which was at the time the greatest thing we could've heard, a song as good as any of their others, seemingly pulled from the ether. And now we have this. A collection of what is supposedly everything. or at least everything worth releasing. And it is absolutely fantastic. I literally got all teary listeing to this, and the DVD had me all choked up as well. Can't remember the last time a record did that to me.
So, what's on it? If you're like me, it hardly matters. Just knowing that it's stuffed to the gills with rare and unreleased Nirvana songs and I'm sold. If you need more than that, here goes. Don't sell back your greatest hits though, "You Know You're Right" only appears here as a solo acoustic recording from 1994. This version may not rock as hard, but it is a lot more intense and personal. The box is basically in chronological order, so disc one is definitely gonna hit the spot for those of us (like Allan) who loved Bleach the best. Demos and acoustic tracks and live on the radio, this is all Holy Grail sort of stuff. Live versions of Zeppelin's "Heartbreaker" and "Moby Dick" done in suitably ramshackle chaotic Nirvana style. Live versions and demos of tracks that would show up on Bleach. But by far the most exciting tracks are the unreleased songs. "White Lace And Strange", "Help Me I'm Hungry", "Mrs. Butterworth", "Grey Goose", "Token Eastern Song" and more. Disc two has less unreleased tracks but lots of alternate versions of tracks from future records, as well as loads of b-sides (their split with the Jesus Lizard, maybe one of the best Nirvana songs ever) and covers (Wipers!) and a big ol' chunk of solo acoustic versions of classic tracks that sound even more intense and harrowing performed sans band. Disc three brings us close to the end. A handful of demos and more solo acoustic versions of songs you already know and love. Highlights include the track "Sappy" which was a secret track on a benefit compliation and was originally titled "Verse Chorus Verse" and is another of their best curiously relegated to being hidden uncredited at the end of a random comp ("Train In Vain" anyone?). Also "Marigold", the only Nirvana song sung by Dave Grohl, an obscure b-side, that hints at Grohl's Foo Fighter future. A sweet and jangly Vaselines cover and more. The set ends with a solo acoustic version of "All Apologies" and if you hadn't gotten all emotional yet, this one will definitely do it to you.
The DVD is pretty amazing as well and adds to the whole feeling of Kurt being an old friend who passed away. Mostly home movies, the first chunk is a party / rehearsal in Krist's mom's house and features the band rocking out in a panelled, carpeted basement, while various rockers sit around drinking beer. Cute and sad, and funny and sort of remarkable how amazing they were as a band even so early on. The rest of the DVD is made up of various tracks filmed live in various locations, from small clubs to huge arenas. Lots of hilarious onstage banter, lots of drum kit destroying, and lots of powerfully off kilter versions of all of the best Nirvana songs. Beautifully packaged in an oversized hardcover book, on the front an embossed metal plate featuring the band in their Sunday best, as if they were at a funeral. Or a wake. Because as sad as this is, and as much as this makes us miss someone we felt we knew as well as our best friend, and a band who meant more to us than almost any in our memory, under the circumstances, we couldn't be happier."
"NIRVANA "With The Lights Out" (DGC) 3cd+dvd 57.00 Been trying to figure out what to write about this for a while now. Every time I sit down to write it, I feel like I'm trying to write a euology for an old friend. Which should speak volumes. We knew this was coming. And man, were we excited. And it is not a disappointment in any way. If anything, it's more than we could have hoped for. See, everyone loves Nirvana. Everyone. Those of you who say you don't are just trying to be c'ool'. Sort of like the people who talk about how the Beatles suck. The Beatles did not suck. They wrote more perfect pop songs than any band in the history of rock and roll. Nirvana also don't suck. And are also responsible for some of the best songs ever. It's not cool to pretend you don't like Nirvana. Not at all. In fact, it's unbelievably UNCOOL. Why deny yourself some of the most important, visceral music of the last 15 years? Because it gets played on MTV? Because jocks blast "Smells Like Teen Spirit" after the big game? Nope, sorry. Not good enough.
Nirvana were one of those bands we could all love. Heavy enough to appeal to headbangers, raucous enough to still be punk, but equipped with a pop sense unrivalled, and thus able to whip out the most beautiful pop song in the world without a second thought -- usually sandwiched between two swirling snarling blasts of stage destroying chaotic rrroooaaaar. But that's part of what was so charming about Nirvana. Even when they were huge, they acted like you or me. Stupid jokes, smashing guitars, unlikely covers, ripped jeans and t-shirts and greasy long hair. It was like your pal or your older brother was snatched out of your suburban hellhole of a life and made a rock star. And how could you not love that (once you got over wishing it was you)? Which also goes to why it was such a blow when Kurt Cobain died. I literally cried. At the time I remember thinking "Why the fuck am I crying." I mean, it's not like he was a friend of mine or something. But he was something special. To me. To everyone I know. And Nirvana was something special. Our generation's Beatles? Maybe. But definitely the most important band of the nineties. Responsible for reshaping popular music, killing off hair metal, and giving us music that would be the soundtrack to our lives: breakups, mixtapes, road trips, broken hearts, life and death, fucking and fighting. Sounds like hyperbole but it's really not. This band was and is really important to me, and millions of other folks. Which is pretty remarkable. After the death of Cobain, and after getting over the sheer sadness and loss, one could not help but think about all the amazing music and the songs that would now never be written. Callous maybe, but the music is what made us love him/them. Their recent greatest hits disc offered us the unreleased "You Know You're Right", which was at the time the greatest thing we could've heard, a song as good as any of their others, seemingly pulled from the ether. And now we have this. A collection of what is supposedly everything. or at least everything worth releasing. And it is absolutely fantastic. I literally got all teary listeing to this, and the DVD had me all choked up as well. Can't remember the last time a record did that to me.
So, what's on it? If you're like me, it hardly matters. Just knowing that it's stuffed to the gills with rare and unreleased Nirvana songs and I'm sold. If you need more than that, here goes. Don't sell back your greatest hits though, "You Know You're Right" only appears here as a solo acoustic recording from 1994. This version may not rock as hard, but it is a lot more intense and personal. The box is basically in chronological order, so disc one is definitely gonna hit the spot for those of us (like Allan) who loved Bleach the best. Demos and acoustic tracks and live on the radio, this is all Holy Grail sort of stuff. Live versions of Zeppelin's "Heartbreaker" and "Moby Dick" done in suitably ramshackle chaotic Nirvana style. Live versions and demos of tracks that would show up on Bleach. But by far the most exciting tracks are the unreleased songs. "White Lace And Strange", "Help Me I'm Hungry", "Mrs. Butterworth", "Grey Goose", "Token Eastern Song" and more. Disc two has less unreleased tracks but lots of alternate versions of tracks from future records, as well as loads of b-sides (their split with the Jesus Lizard, maybe one of the best Nirvana songs ever) and covers (Wipers!) and a big ol' chunk of solo acoustic versions of classic tracks that sound even more intense and harrowing performed sans band. Disc three brings us close to the end. A handful of demos and more solo acoustic versions of songs you already know and love. Highlights include the track "Sappy" which was a secret track on a benefit compliation and was originally titled "Verse Chorus Verse" and is another of their best curiously relegated to being hidden uncredited at the end of a random comp ("Train In Vain" anyone?). Also "Marigold", the only Nirvana song sung by Dave Grohl, an obscure b-side, that hints at Grohl's Foo Fighter future. A sweet and jangly Vaselines cover and more. The set ends with a solo acoustic version of "All Apologies" and if you hadn't gotten all emotional yet, this one will definitely do it to you.
The DVD is pretty amazing as well and adds to the whole feeling of Kurt being an old friend who passed away. Mostly home movies, the first chunk is a party / rehearsal in Krist's mom's house and features the band rocking out in a panelled, carpeted basement, while various rockers sit around drinking beer. Cute and sad, and funny and sort of remarkable how amazing they were as a band even so early on. The rest of the DVD is made up of various tracks filmed live in various locations, from small clubs to huge arenas. Lots of hilarious onstage banter, lots of drum kit destroying, and lots of powerfully off kilter versions of all of the best Nirvana songs. Beautifully packaged in an oversized hardcover book, on the front an embossed metal plate featuring the band in their Sunday best, as if they were at a funeral. Or a wake. Because as sad as this is, and as much as this makes us miss someone we felt we knew as well as our best friend, and a band who meant more to us than almost any in our memory, under the circumstances, we couldn't be happier."
Friday, December 03, 2004
I finally got some more goodies from the primo Finnish CD-R empire 267 Lattajjaa recently, the same people responsible for Avarus's astounding "A-V-P" a year or two back (and due for reissue I believe). Another one worth getting in on the hunt for is The Buried Civilizations' "Tunnels to Other Chambers" CD-R. Half of Thuja, with a cpl other lovely souls, weave levitated tone poems of long passed tribal elders in 14 short tracks, all bathed in the translucent glow of primitive mysticism that comes with virtually all Jewelled Antler releases. Equally evocative is Davenport's 3" CD-R "Little Howling Jubilee," which starts with a murmur of free clatter and drones and builds to quite a mind-blowing barrage of the kind of tribal jam insanity that Amon Düül used to churn out with some consistency at the end of the 60s. By the time those moaning chants come in and that damn dog starts to barkin'...an inspired mess it is. I raved about Grey Park way back when here, and 3" CD-R "A Preparatory Course for Agents Going Abroad" is just as good, and a bit different. Instead of trembling dissonance and deep drone, at first we get a languid, quasi pop melody (think Low) beset with moog drones. The other two tracks explore a more post industrial space with minimal synth and tapes noise, a bit closer to what I'd expect. "Soon With the Sun" is another recent disc (I think he's released about 5 so far this year) by weird noise elder, Keijo, and it's a gorgeous echo-drenched whirl of springy drones, chimes, tapes of streaming water and bubbling electronics, but it's not electronica, no sir-ee, Bob. There's a roughness to it all, but mixed as a fully formed ethnic drone collage, so that it goes down ever so smooth. And last but never the least from 267 Lattajjaa, Anla Courtis (of Reynols) gives us the "...y el resplandor de la luz no conoce limites" 3"CD-R, a searing beam of aural sunlight that builds on wave after wave of fuzz guitar, organ, mouth harp and hawk-bells to a primo wall of textural drone, and fasten your seatbelt at about 11 min. in when the the shaft gets lashed with conduits of shrieking distortion.
"Wire on the Box: 1979" (Pink Flag) is a CD/DVD package that offers the rare priveledge of seeing Wire (probably the best "punk band" to come out of England) in their prime in a live show that was originally recorded for German television, making us the lucky ones when the setlist includes classics like "The 15th," "Practice Makes Perfect," "I Feel Mysterious Today," "French Film Blurred," "Map Ref," "A Touching Display," "A Question of Degree"...you get the idea. Incredible. Nice sound quality, effective proscenium style production on the video, and the songs are the songs--as good as minimal art punk and pop gets--yet more stripped down than the studio classics, revealing the explosive energy as well as the depth of Mike Thorne's production on those studio originals. There's even a 20 min sit down with the band. Seems like I've been waiting decades for this, and I've even seen Wire live, but not in '79. Mute has finally reissued the early albums by the most excellent Virgin Prunes, pick of the litter surely being the Colin Newman produced "If I Die, I Die," one of the most atmospheric, caustic and totally right on post punk albums ever. Joy Division and Wire appreciaters need it asap, but don't go expecting any copy-catting. The Prunes had a unique vibe that simply puts them in the same league. Another band the Prunes are worthy of comparison to is Australia's The Birthday Party, whose former lead singer, Nick Cave, has taken to writing gothic literatur and playing sad, beautiful ballads with his band The Bad Seeds in recent years, but not so much this year. 2CD set "Abattair Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus" (Mute) is a barn-burner, but not of the raw, art damaged variety that marked the B'day's, more of the classic steamrolling gospel tinged big band blues punk variety. On tracks like "Get Ready For Love" and the amaaaaazing "There She Goes, My Beautiful World," Cave and his band (short one Bargeld, whose own band released a monster earlier this year) pick up where they left off on last year's "Nocturama" (the awesome extended noise raveup, "I'm On Fire"), and throw in a gospel choir and plenty of hooks, awe-inspiring dynamics, and some of Cave's most, er...worldly lyrics to date. Heavy as shit and utterly essential (and I should mention there are some beautiful pop moments here and there, a few sad slow bits too; it's simply more varied than the last 4 Bad Seeds albums). It actually sounds like a punk rock Spiritualized in places, and I thought that long before reading it in Arthur. Makes me feel like you really can die and be reborn. A must-see live proposition.
"Wire on the Box: 1979" (Pink Flag) is a CD/DVD package that offers the rare priveledge of seeing Wire (probably the best "punk band" to come out of England) in their prime in a live show that was originally recorded for German television, making us the lucky ones when the setlist includes classics like "The 15th," "Practice Makes Perfect," "I Feel Mysterious Today," "French Film Blurred," "Map Ref," "A Touching Display," "A Question of Degree"...you get the idea. Incredible. Nice sound quality, effective proscenium style production on the video, and the songs are the songs--as good as minimal art punk and pop gets--yet more stripped down than the studio classics, revealing the explosive energy as well as the depth of Mike Thorne's production on those studio originals. There's even a 20 min sit down with the band. Seems like I've been waiting decades for this, and I've even seen Wire live, but not in '79. Mute has finally reissued the early albums by the most excellent Virgin Prunes, pick of the litter surely being the Colin Newman produced "If I Die, I Die," one of the most atmospheric, caustic and totally right on post punk albums ever. Joy Division and Wire appreciaters need it asap, but don't go expecting any copy-catting. The Prunes had a unique vibe that simply puts them in the same league. Another band the Prunes are worthy of comparison to is Australia's The Birthday Party, whose former lead singer, Nick Cave, has taken to writing gothic literatur and playing sad, beautiful ballads with his band The Bad Seeds in recent years, but not so much this year. 2CD set "Abattair Blues/The Lyre of Orpheus" (Mute) is a barn-burner, but not of the raw, art damaged variety that marked the B'day's, more of the classic steamrolling gospel tinged big band blues punk variety. On tracks like "Get Ready For Love" and the amaaaaazing "There She Goes, My Beautiful World," Cave and his band (short one Bargeld, whose own band released a monster earlier this year) pick up where they left off on last year's "Nocturama" (the awesome extended noise raveup, "I'm On Fire"), and throw in a gospel choir and plenty of hooks, awe-inspiring dynamics, and some of Cave's most, er...worldly lyrics to date. Heavy as shit and utterly essential (and I should mention there are some beautiful pop moments here and there, a few sad slow bits too; it's simply more varied than the last 4 Bad Seeds albums). It actually sounds like a punk rock Spiritualized in places, and I thought that long before reading it in Arthur. Makes me feel like you really can die and be reborn. A must-see live proposition.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
I'm backed up over here like a truck driver with chorizo poisoning, so these are gonna be (semi) short and sweet: Metal Album of the Year appears to have arrived in the form of Lair of the Minotaur's "Carnage, Fucking Carnage" (Southern Lord). The Gods hath ejaculated 8 Mordorian blades straight into thine ears. My jank asshole hasn't been this battered since I was baptized into the Church of Satan. Fans of Slayer, Venom, Mayhem, The Obsessed and Thee Dark Lord best get smokin (and I mean smokin) . Goddamn.... I like it, I reckon, because they're tight as fuck and as crushingly adept at mid-tempo biker riffage as they are the flailing grind bits, blast beats, and occasional DOOM tangents--masterful sludge, literate leads, great vokills, too. Speaking of singers of note, Wino (St. Vitus, The Obsessed) has unleashed the second album from The Hidden Hand. In case ya didn't know, the dude sort of helped forge what would become known as the "doom" or "stoner" sound way back in the 80s. With "Mother Teacher Destroyer" (Southern Lord) he and his collaborators waste no time in emerging as one of the prime movers in the scene Southern Lord has come to epitomize, with politically charged metal anthems that often approach the psych abyss and occasionally dive right into the deep dark nothing. Wino sounds pristine, his solos on fire, his band, his songs, his titles ("The Deprogramming of Tom Delay" for instance)--all first rate on a record that strikes a good balance between sneering discontent and stoned accord, and it's more digestable than most doom today. My homies in the Melvins recently hooked up with Lustmord for "Pigs of the Roman Empire" (Ipecac) to see their funkafied southern/epic sludge metal augmented with extended bouts of the 'Mord's icylationist drones. Works well, but I'm not sure it's as successful as their own stab at crude ambient noise, the live "Colossus of Destiny" (Ipecac), but then it explores more minimal space and offers its own kind of metallic mind solvent. THUMS UP! Now in the realm of heavy, you can go much further, if willing, and a band like England's Aufgehoben will seriously take you to the other side. This is some demented "free noise" that is hard to put a finger on, aside from it's studiously performed, uber-distorted, post Mainliner/Skullflower jazz skronk-that must be heard by those who like their aural masochism textured and blistering. It's the tension and the builds, the way quiet rumbles and squiggles erupt into paint-peeling, super loud, metal on metal shred death that demand focused attention and fevered awe. "Anno Fauve" (Riot Season) is as good as this sort of thing gets, but hardly for the faint of heart.
Semi-recently received a package from Foxy Digitalis of newer items in their Foxglove CD-R series, chock full of many a goody, among them United Bible Studies, another assemblage of the Druids of Deserted Village. "The Lunar Observatory" is a mesmerizing slab of rustic, low-key improv and gorgeous drifting jazz balladry with piano lulls and sax daze. Loverly. Vapaa weaves low-moving organic machine hum, whoosh, scree, field recordings and more into oscillating dream worlds on "Tilat." Musti Laiton conjures his (their) own brand of hypnotic drone murk and more ambitious Krautrockery with stumbling reverb-drenched acid leads and even the occasional prog bombast, but "Survival Horror" is mostly a mellow groove with some effective production flourishes. A.M.'s "Tasman" is 4 tracks of amp buzz, violin, radio noise and reverb built up into shimmering pyramids of devotional awe (sans overdubs!). Absolutely perfect for noise bathing. Nice to see Hush Arbors and Mr. Foxgloves himself, The North Sea, teaming up for the "Singing Through Moss and Mist" split CD-R. Hush Arbor's First track is a long minimal piece with nature sounds and some slight acoustic plucks, while the second is a darker, more rumbling drone mass that sees our nature freak probing the darkest regions of (inner) space. The North Sea opens with effects drenched electric guitar that slowly builds in volume/density before delivering an amalgam of ambient tones, chirping cicadas, shakers, flutes, bowed strings and languid acoustic guitar. Oxygen for the soul. Included in the same package: free folksters Juniper Meadows ("Pistols for Madeline"), Kiwi sound sculptor Peter Wright ("Desolation, Beauty Violence") and Agitated Radio Pilot ("Like Flightless Birds"). FD has had a ridiculously prolific output this year, but the quality and depth of this stuff speaks for itself, and more importantly it offers people 'round my neck of the woods a chance to hear some things that we might not get to otherwise. Nothing wrong with spreadin' that love butta thick.
Semi-recently received a package from Foxy Digitalis of newer items in their Foxglove CD-R series, chock full of many a goody, among them United Bible Studies, another assemblage of the Druids of Deserted Village. "The Lunar Observatory" is a mesmerizing slab of rustic, low-key improv and gorgeous drifting jazz balladry with piano lulls and sax daze. Loverly. Vapaa weaves low-moving organic machine hum, whoosh, scree, field recordings and more into oscillating dream worlds on "Tilat." Musti Laiton conjures his (their) own brand of hypnotic drone murk and more ambitious Krautrockery with stumbling reverb-drenched acid leads and even the occasional prog bombast, but "Survival Horror" is mostly a mellow groove with some effective production flourishes. A.M.'s "Tasman" is 4 tracks of amp buzz, violin, radio noise and reverb built up into shimmering pyramids of devotional awe (sans overdubs!). Absolutely perfect for noise bathing. Nice to see Hush Arbors and Mr. Foxgloves himself, The North Sea, teaming up for the "Singing Through Moss and Mist" split CD-R. Hush Arbor's First track is a long minimal piece with nature sounds and some slight acoustic plucks, while the second is a darker, more rumbling drone mass that sees our nature freak probing the darkest regions of (inner) space. The North Sea opens with effects drenched electric guitar that slowly builds in volume/density before delivering an amalgam of ambient tones, chirping cicadas, shakers, flutes, bowed strings and languid acoustic guitar. Oxygen for the soul. Included in the same package: free folksters Juniper Meadows ("Pistols for Madeline"), Kiwi sound sculptor Peter Wright ("Desolation, Beauty Violence") and Agitated Radio Pilot ("Like Flightless Birds"). FD has had a ridiculously prolific output this year, but the quality and depth of this stuff speaks for itself, and more importantly it offers people 'round my neck of the woods a chance to hear some things that we might not get to otherwise. Nothing wrong with spreadin' that love butta thick.
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