Recommendations
This is the heart and soul of Soundscape. Here I post articles that introduce the reader to one or more indie artists, and provide links to their music. To jump to an article, copy and paste the codes in brackets into your browser's Find tool. (Think of 'em as page numbers!)
Alternatively, you could just click on the blue codes to see specific articles.
Alternatively, you could just click on the blue codes to see specific articles.
[Demo70] - FF, Walter TV, Mega Bog
[SABM69] - Siobhan, Alison's Birthday, Mica Levi
[QKLC68] - Quimper, Kam Kama, Leggy, Crepehanger
[HVFG67] - Hag Face, Victor Florence, Fanciulli GOOM
[NLST66] - Nice Legs, MISTER SUIT, TV Girl
[ChCr65] - Chimney Crow
[PGrM64] - Paul Carr, Mowbird, Gretchen Lyme, Girl Band
[SMHB63] - Sleaford Mods, Biscuit Mouth, Household
[AWST62] - Anata Wa Sukkari Tsakarete Shimai
[MWSN61] - The Moonrakers, The Wytches, Sky Needle
[CTAB60] - Cowtown, Albert's Basement
[NDDT59] - North Dakota, Dogtower
[mfin!58] - !mindparade, Finnmark!
[HHB457] - Noon: 30, American Culture, Skinny Girl Diet, Bam! Bam!
[WkMB56] - Winkie, Muuy Biien
[TTAA55] - Timmy Tumble & The Tumblers, Antlered Aunt Lord
[WSyO54] - Odonis Odonis, The Wides, Ten Foot Nun, Ipswich, Winkie
[CCBB53] - Cars Can Be Blue
[MPGS52] - Mirror Parties, Gravel Samwidge
[DTDs51] - Dissolved
[BAIs50] - Banque Allemande, isvisible
[MBDY49] - Motorama, BODYWORK
[DTBW48] - Backwards
[WoMo47] - UN, Thumpermonkey, My Personal Murderer
[TITN46] - Tingle In The Netherlands
[IT1345] - Indietracks 2013
[DTHF44] - Hangin Freud
[JkGN43] - Jikan Ga Nai
[CDIY42] - Paul Carr
[PPB241] - Marblemouth, Reykjavictim, PRINCESS
[PPB140] - Mark Wynn, Orca Team, David Cronenberg's Wife
[DTSS39] - Social Studies
[HDMW38] - Helena Dukic, Monkton Wyld
[DTPg37] - Pang
[DnEx36] - The Carbon Manual, derTANZ, Council Tax Band
[BC1235] - Brutes, Faerground Accidents, Balancer
[RSDD34] - Micachu and the Shapes, Tunabunny, Mutineers
[IdEd33] - Alex Canasta, Michael Tarbox, Mumiy Troll, MRR-ADM
[BSpw32] - Tartufi, David Tantamount
[DspG31] - Wild Cub, T.O.Y.S
[XRef30] - Laurence Made Me Cry, Helicopter Quartet, Parquet Courts
[PDMk29] - Long Hat Pins, Young Dreams, Churn Milk Joan
[MXRR28] - Jeffery Drag Records, Nuclear Aminals, Future of the Left
[EPsG27] - Bad Thoughts, Black Light Dinner Party, Hallouminati
[BDPB26] - The Sinatra Test, Kam Kama
[BCGm25] - The Citradels, Flies on You
[AAHA24] - Fighting Kites, Broken Shoulder, Benjamin Shaw
[BkSn23] - Christ., melee beats
[RkFr22] - Electroshock Therapy, Fastlane Frank
[PvRc21] - Nosferatu D2, Drop Out Venus
[InDm20] - Interlard, Dementio13
[RvBV19] - His Electro Blue Voice, Red Cosmos
[DRBL18] - Ben Landis
[AltE17] - Lonesome Mercury, How To Swim
[SPSB16] - Solarno, Public Service Broadcasting
[AltR15] - Gnod, Strange Forces
[PAwk14] - Paul Hawkins & Thee Awkward Silences
[DavJ2] - David J
[ExOr1] - Extradition Order
[SABM69] - Siobhan, Alison's Birthday, Mica Levi
[QKLC68] - Quimper, Kam Kama, Leggy, Crepehanger
[HVFG67] - Hag Face, Victor Florence, Fanciulli GOOM
[NLST66] - Nice Legs, MISTER SUIT, TV Girl
[ChCr65] - Chimney Crow
[PGrM64] - Paul Carr, Mowbird, Gretchen Lyme, Girl Band
[SMHB63] - Sleaford Mods, Biscuit Mouth, Household
[AWST62] - Anata Wa Sukkari Tsakarete Shimai
[MWSN61] - The Moonrakers, The Wytches, Sky Needle
[CTAB60] - Cowtown, Albert's Basement
[NDDT59] - North Dakota, Dogtower
[mfin!58] - !mindparade, Finnmark!
[HHB457] - Noon: 30, American Culture, Skinny Girl Diet, Bam! Bam!
[WkMB56] - Winkie, Muuy Biien
[TTAA55] - Timmy Tumble & The Tumblers, Antlered Aunt Lord
[WSyO54] - Odonis Odonis, The Wides, Ten Foot Nun, Ipswich, Winkie
[CCBB53] - Cars Can Be Blue
[MPGS52] - Mirror Parties, Gravel Samwidge
[DTDs51] - Dissolved
[BAIs50] - Banque Allemande, isvisible
[MBDY49] - Motorama, BODYWORK
[DTBW48] - Backwards
[WoMo47] - UN, Thumpermonkey, My Personal Murderer
[TITN46] - Tingle In The Netherlands
[IT1345] - Indietracks 2013
[DTHF44] - Hangin Freud
[JkGN43] - Jikan Ga Nai
[CDIY42] - Paul Carr
[PPB241] - Marblemouth, Reykjavictim, PRINCESS
[PPB140] - Mark Wynn, Orca Team, David Cronenberg's Wife
[DTSS39] - Social Studies
[HDMW38] - Helena Dukic, Monkton Wyld
[DTPg37] - Pang
[DnEx36] - The Carbon Manual, derTANZ, Council Tax Band
[BC1235] - Brutes, Faerground Accidents, Balancer
[RSDD34] - Micachu and the Shapes, Tunabunny, Mutineers
[IdEd33] - Alex Canasta, Michael Tarbox, Mumiy Troll, MRR-ADM
[BSpw32] - Tartufi, David Tantamount
[DspG31] - Wild Cub, T.O.Y.S
[XRef30] - Laurence Made Me Cry, Helicopter Quartet, Parquet Courts
[PDMk29] - Long Hat Pins, Young Dreams, Churn Milk Joan
[MXRR28] - Jeffery Drag Records, Nuclear Aminals, Future of the Left
[EPsG27] - Bad Thoughts, Black Light Dinner Party, Hallouminati
[BDPB26] - The Sinatra Test, Kam Kama
[BCGm25] - The Citradels, Flies on You
[AAHA24] - Fighting Kites, Broken Shoulder, Benjamin Shaw
[BkSn23] - Christ., melee beats
[RkFr22] - Electroshock Therapy, Fastlane Frank
[PvRc21] - Nosferatu D2, Drop Out Venus
[InDm20] - Interlard, Dementio13
[RvBV19] - His Electro Blue Voice, Red Cosmos
[DRBL18] - Ben Landis
[AltE17] - Lonesome Mercury, How To Swim
[SPSB16] - Solarno, Public Service Broadcasting
[AltR15] - Gnod, Strange Forces
[PAwk14] - Paul Hawkins & Thee Awkward Silences
[DavJ2] - David J
[ExOr1] - Extradition Order
Demos from the Deep [Demo70]
4 January, 2015
A few months ago, Mike tossed me a few demo CDs. No, not the Frisbee disc kind of toss– but certainly with the usual couldn’t-give-a-toss shrug.
Funny – he gave me four total, with three of the four in nondescript white envelopes (perfect for note-taking). The fourth one had a proper jewel case, and tracklistings clearly printed on the CD – and, consequently, that one sounded the most boring. Glossy Americana-type stuff, if I recall correctly? Who knows, and who cares. I slightly regret deleting the whole shebang, but I certainly don’t regret pitching both case and disc into the trash can.
Anywho, I still have the other three, so here goes today’s Demo Review. Two months overdue, but hey - that's why it's here, and not anywhere else where timing is everything:
Funny – he gave me four total, with three of the four in nondescript white envelopes (perfect for note-taking). The fourth one had a proper jewel case, and tracklistings clearly printed on the CD – and, consequently, that one sounded the most boring. Glossy Americana-type stuff, if I recall correctly? Who knows, and who cares. I slightly regret deleting the whole shebang, but I certainly don’t regret pitching both case and disc into the trash can.
Anywho, I still have the other three, so here goes today’s Demo Review. Two months overdue, but hey - that's why it's here, and not anywhere else where timing is everything:
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FF - Lord (Couple Skate) - Oy. Sonic Youth peaked roundabout at Dirty, didn’t they? That’s the only one I own, actually, unless you count The Whitey Album - because why? “Chapel Hill?” “Sugar Kane?” Probably – and, without a doubt, that’s the metaphysical pallet FF dipped their brushes in. And that’s fine, for a gag. But Dirty was more than a gag. I dunno where “Wish Fulfillment” is on the SY hierarchy of tunes, but fuck me. The way it heaves and moans. The alien guitar whining above the wishes. I’m trying to extract what agonizing essence Thurston taps into when he bolts into this - humanity? Isolation? Desire? Sweet, salty lust? – because whatever it is, FF don’t got it.
These blokes just like to plug in and plug out – and it’s the same frequency, the same aesthete-brat delivery, and even the same minor chord clashes (especially evident on “#1” - sorry, no one bothered to label the damn MP3s on the CD). You can even hear the same compressed drum cascades. But sadly, the stuff that FF didn’t pillage from Sonic Youth is precisely the stuff that I clutched on Dirty - Kim’s gut-busting and totally uncool raunchiness; Thurston’s nutso guitar acrobatics...and, here I am standing on “Chapel Hill” again, and goddamn even Lee sounds better than I recall, crisper and more upfront than the simple batterings that FF bash out. Also, melody. Melody’s important, dudes. Dirty had distortion, but it also had tunes. No wonder “Sugar Kane” was the one I chased after, its sections stacked quite neatly from verse to chorus to freakout solo to bridge to glorious, climatic return of the refrain. There’s a girl in FF, and she sings sometimes, but on her one song (“#5” on my copy), the general meathead guitars drown her out. And then said guitars proceed to coast into their own feature, which does absolutely nothing save showcase their consistently scuzzy tone. Meanwhile, somewhere in between, there’s a duet which is probably s’posed to sound like the Swirlies, but doesn’t because the Swirlies bounced off the walls with their MBV-ih stringbending and giddy excess glee. “#6” does not bounce, but rolls a short ways and thuds. Oh, here’s one track name – but good lord, what dross. “Caught In A Dream”, it’s called, and perhaps strays the furthest from the SY model into outright Husker Dü-miming territory. Right. Pretend I own a label. Thumbs down on this one.
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Walter TV - Appetite (Sinderlyn) - Eesh. I sounded rather scathing when I scrawled my short-hand notes for this one. I’ll just list them:
Yeah. Not too flattering. And I stick by the monochromatic claim – there’s not much that separates one track from the other, apart from different words. But hey. For a warpy mush, it does please the ears. And at least Walter TV romp and scream and sound more fun than that sleazy Mac DeMarco (who shares a similar taste in faux-tropic vibes and Durutti Column-like shimmering).
If my hypothetical label were desperate for clientele, I might take this on. But otherwise, thumbs down on this too.
- A lo-fi-ness so pervasive, it’s getting harder and harder to trace
- A stable kind of squirming
- That noodly, wispy-wimpy kind of post-punk - Motorama gained some traction for this very shtick, but at least they kept it snappy
- Monochromatic
- ...and when we get right down to it, everyone wants to be more like Ariel Pink now, don’t they?
Yeah. Not too flattering. And I stick by the monochromatic claim – there’s not much that separates one track from the other, apart from different words. But hey. For a warpy mush, it does please the ears. And at least Walter TV romp and scream and sound more fun than that sleazy Mac DeMarco (who shares a similar taste in faux-tropic vibes and Durutti Column-like shimmering).
If my hypothetical label were desperate for clientele, I might take this on. But otherwise, thumbs down on this too.
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Mega Bog – Gone Forever/Banana (Couple Skate) - My copy of this has “GONE FOREVER” stamped on the front. But when I looked up Mega Bog on Couple Skate’s website, the LP’s listed as “Gone Banana”. This saddens me – I prefer the “forever”, with its hints of rainy fog that stretch on and on.
Oh, my, is this a lovely little gem. The glazed-eyes kind of riffing and warm bubbly bass in close quarters remind me of the cozy little cubbyholes of His Name Is Alive (especially on “Childog”). The lead singer has this casually sassy attitude (especially on “Gone Banana”) that reminds me of Lizzy Mercier Descloux. You can also hear that krautock/bossa nova Stereolab air that drives “Goobie Krisna”. And all over, this saxophone bursts out with that smoky, roadhouse lustiness. Indeed, saxes can come on too strong as jazzy antiques in pop, but in this corner café context, Mega Bog serves those sweet-and-sour wails with just enough heat to warm yr hands in the cold. The real winner here – where all the elements boil together into one irresistible radio single – is clearly “Year of Patience”. Mega Bog claim to champion Steely Dan – and while I don’t see how their hazy mystique stems from that urbane cool jazz, this one connects the dots. Fantastique. Of the three demos, Mega Bog’s offering stands out. FF and Walter TV both tunneled into one sound and failed to burrow out with any stamp or voice of their own. But Mega Bog, now, are on to something. My metaphysical label would follow up on this. And that’s it for this review. For more on Mega Bog and FF (and how to order the former, which you should do), pop over to Couple Skate’s page. |
Chills and Spills and Witchy Magick [SABM69]
31 October, 2014
Damn, what happened to the me below? I think my landlord may be right after all. But who am I kidding - today's Halloween. I'd entertained the notion of dressing up for a week, but I still don't have any costume ideas, so fuck it. I just wish I could chill at someone's house, pig out on pizza and candy corn, and play Super Smash Bros. all night. Is that too much to ask?
Siobhan – You’re standing in a empty street at the dead of night. Neon lights blink at you from every marquee, most only half-lit. Shards of amber glass and crumpled plastic cups litter the sidewalk. A tall bloke in a natty old sports jacket leans in the Southgate club’s doorway and stares at you from across the block. Yellowy teeth. Head bobbing slightly, you think from inebriation or fatigue, until you creep closer and hear the shuffling drum track from within. Synths as seedy as a stalker, and likely as old as one, too. Dare you enter?
The man does nothing as you slip by. Something in the music draws you closer – perhaps the notion, faint but gnawing, that no one mans the bumping beat anymore, that one 80-motherfuckin-8 will sit alone on a table as the buttons bop up and down to a program set decades ago.
It’s murky in here, too. You can barely make out the carpet beneath your feet, where there is carpet at all. Meanwhile the beat clatters with relentless purpose – voices crawl like slugs.
Finally you reach the tiles of the dance floor, and it pans out like a sea. Weak blue and red squares pulse in time beneath, as a shaky miasma oscillation fans out like a bee swarm. You gaze around wildly - no gear, no people, no dancing. Something must be here – you dash toward the center of the room, a black core in what seems to be an inky-violet fog. Once you start, your feet chug on their own – and the darkness reels you in, a conveyor belt of vapor screeching in age and agony as you hurtle faster and faster until –
CLICK.
[bottom line – addictive as your worst addiction. Snap it up from Opal Tapes.]
Siobhan – You’re standing in a empty street at the dead of night. Neon lights blink at you from every marquee, most only half-lit. Shards of amber glass and crumpled plastic cups litter the sidewalk. A tall bloke in a natty old sports jacket leans in the Southgate club’s doorway and stares at you from across the block. Yellowy teeth. Head bobbing slightly, you think from inebriation or fatigue, until you creep closer and hear the shuffling drum track from within. Synths as seedy as a stalker, and likely as old as one, too. Dare you enter?
The man does nothing as you slip by. Something in the music draws you closer – perhaps the notion, faint but gnawing, that no one mans the bumping beat anymore, that one 80-motherfuckin-8 will sit alone on a table as the buttons bop up and down to a program set decades ago.
It’s murky in here, too. You can barely make out the carpet beneath your feet, where there is carpet at all. Meanwhile the beat clatters with relentless purpose – voices crawl like slugs.
Finally you reach the tiles of the dance floor, and it pans out like a sea. Weak blue and red squares pulse in time beneath, as a shaky miasma oscillation fans out like a bee swarm. You gaze around wildly - no gear, no people, no dancing. Something must be here – you dash toward the center of the room, a black core in what seems to be an inky-violet fog. Once you start, your feet chug on their own – and the darkness reels you in, a conveyor belt of vapor screeching in age and agony as you hurtle faster and faster until –
CLICK.
[bottom line – addictive as your worst addiction. Snap it up from Opal Tapes.]
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Alison’s Birthday - Witchy little band of mischief makers on Brighton’s Tuff Enuff label. One of ‘em’s from Edible Arrangements, and that focused drone is a good place to start. But this is the elemental opposite of devout - and don’t let those cutesy pointy hats and sloppy drummy beats fool you. Somewhere between “Further Than The Moon” and “Psychic Vampire”, Alison’s Birthday wield the kind of black arts that most goth bands never attained (cos many of ‘em were too busy preening in a mirror and dancing in batcaves) – the power of ritual, of the magic circle drawn in the dirt with naught but a stick.
To plug in the inevitable RIYLs - a veiled Beat Happening, a moodier Kleenex/Liliput. But less krauty motoring, and no flanged riffing. Indeed, very less cohesive. And that’s to the good, really. The forces of the night shift like shadows, do they not? |
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Read full review of Under The Skin OST - MICA LEVI on Boomkat.com © |
Mica Levi - If you REALLY wanna tremble, though, you need to hear Under the Skin – err, the soundtrack to Under the Skin, I should say. Mica Levi is indeed the fab Micachu – here, though, she’s created a swarm of unsettling strings, vacuums and voids which condense infinity. Careful going anywhere with this one, ‘cos it’s bound to creep up when you least expect it. Somehow, Mica’s hardwired these strings to hit just that right pitch that raises goosebumps every damn time, which can be either an alien shrill akin to but not so harsh as) the dreaded chalkboard screech, or a darker menace, a low hum like a crop-dusting plane swooping in. And just when you thought your nerves were shot to pieces, a tune called “Love” descends gently like a feather from the sky, a sweet lament with a touch of woozy swoon. Lovely in the most marble statuesque way. A masterstroke of theme and variation.
Listen or buy with the Boomkat gizmo to the left. |
Back to Black to Pink to Black [QKLC68]
31 August, 2014
Guys! My landlord keeps telling me that it sucks to live! And on some levels, he's right! But then stuff like this comes around, and you wonder just how WRONG he may be after all. Music can't change the world, but it can illuminate things. You can stare at a shifting crowd of thick-skulled football fans and feel their anticipation on a higher plane than they'll ever reach. ANYWAY - here's FOUR new favorite bands:
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Quimper – A duo of black magic alchemists, the kind that live alone on the creepy chateau at the top of the hill. “”Unreasonable music for unreasonable people”, says the Bandcamp page, and if you’ve learned anything from me, then you know Bandcamp pages don’t lie. They don’t rock, they don’t roll, and they certainly don’t wear patent leather bondage gear – that’s for amateurs. No, in “Feline” you’re traipsing through the basement laboratory, daintily as possible with xylophone steps to avoid the strange gurgling tubes. The drums have been bewitched to jump and gallop on “Two Magpies” and “My Volunteer”; “Rictus” locks into a jerky groove that nevertheless entrances. Oh, yes, the production is as homegrown as it gets, kinda compressed and such, but Quimper make the best of it, especially on the eerie closer “The Balcony”, with its phantom violin and ghost echoes drifting over a sputtery synth pulse that should not fit at all, but does because it persists on fitting.
Funny, innit, how even in our alternative universe the black arts are frowned upon. Don’t shun the goth label, kids. Refine and embrace it. |
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Kam Kama – On that note, Kam Kama are BACK with a full LP’s worth of gloriously serious For Against-ish post punk. Did I ever mention that one of the members compiled a full Allmusic-grade biography for Christian Death? (Actually, I don’t recall if it was for Allmusic or not, but you catch my drift). You know what I’m talking about – crawling bass, swirling guitars, dour tenor vocals, statements and promises laid on the line and delivered. All the reasons I delved deep into post-punk as a lonely college misfit and wore more black stuffs around campus – these were people who strived to live, who felt mishandled, who saw the complications in interacting with others and who didn’t laugh and shrug off the shivery sinking feeling.
I mean, I could tell you that “A1 Lockout” has a familiar wary jangle, and if I screw my memory I’ll tell you who (Comsat Angels? Opposition?), but more than that I see me in my old freshman residence hall, me alone in the cafeteria, me emptying the trash behind the apartment and wondering where to walk alone on this bleak cloudless Sunday afternoon… Maybe I just can’t shake it. A friend with similar tastes told me he’s done with it. But the problem is, egoism is rampant these days, and that’s gotta be checked. Shake it down, and look inward. Let “Berwick” devastate you. |
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Leggy – Now for a tangent. We loves a sunny tangent, we do, especially one with girls. But Cavity Castle isn’t just for growing plaque – it’s fun, stomp-around, color-outside-the-lines kind of indie pop, the kind that radical South Koreans Nice Legs are gaining traction with. Oh, yes, there is a track called “Sweet Teeth”, but those are pointed teeth, they are, with just the right blend of charging verses and chugging refrains. Push and pull, like a tug-o-war. It’s “Chardonnay Summer” that steals the show – and you will swoon, either ‘cos they stole yr heart or they socked ya in the jaw (or both).
Isn’t Honeyblood rocking this style, too? So why not Leggy? |
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Crepehanger – Thor, you’ve got thirty seconds to slay that giant over there. And by slay, I mean ANNIHILATE. Knock out bleeding chunks.
This. Is. CREPEHANGER. They mutilate guitars and they’re fucking ridiculous. I’m sure they snack on punks like you. Listen and bow down.
This. Is. CREPEHANGER. They mutilate guitars and they’re fucking ridiculous. I’m sure they snack on punks like you. Listen and bow down.
Round-Ups From The Dandy. [HVFG67]
6 August, 2014
Hullo, blog! I've been neglecting you for other outlets, especially since I can type whatever I want on Collapse Board anyway. But I return, with a small bounty. And a reminder - the world needs me for something. For what, I dunno yet - social justice? bass mastery? music curator? water pollution expert? - but cogs are turning. ANYWHO - no threads to link these together, save that little cash is required:
Hag Face – Hardcore annihilation music. Hag Face grind other dude punks into fine white dust and churn out savage tunes. Don’t cross with this pack while they’re on the prowl, or you may lose a limb or two.
Fuck you buddy – I’m not a fuckin’ doll
Kind of wish that I could stab you
I wish you’d just fuck off
This blitzkrieg of an LP, Rag Face, will smack you like a brick on first listen. Spin it again, though, and you’ll catch the wicked clever hooks, which many screamo nuts just can’t grasp (trust me). Listen closer, and many hues of rock come into focus -“WhIcH StOmP???”, for instance, pummels with a motoric intensity, yet ascends and expands to cosmic Hawkwind-esque heights. “Dirtbag Dreamboat/BRAT” opens on a crusty 50s doowop vibe (look, there’s the natty old disco ball, with its busted tiles) before the proper stage-trashing begins.
But, without a doubt, the climax of the nightmare peaks on “Slut Shame”. You’ve got to feel this sludgy behemoth rip you open fer yerself.
Fuck you buddy – I’m not a fuckin’ doll
Kind of wish that I could stab you
I wish you’d just fuck off
This blitzkrieg of an LP, Rag Face, will smack you like a brick on first listen. Spin it again, though, and you’ll catch the wicked clever hooks, which many screamo nuts just can’t grasp (trust me). Listen closer, and many hues of rock come into focus -“WhIcH StOmP???”, for instance, pummels with a motoric intensity, yet ascends and expands to cosmic Hawkwind-esque heights. “Dirtbag Dreamboat/BRAT” opens on a crusty 50s doowop vibe (look, there’s the natty old disco ball, with its busted tiles) before the proper stage-trashing begins.
But, without a doubt, the climax of the nightmare peaks on “Slut Shame”. You’ve got to feel this sludgy behemoth rip you open fer yerself.
Victor Florence – Oh, Florida. Outsiders glance at the wrap-around beaches and assume that every square inch of the state must abound with sunshine and carefree tanned natives, sunscreen and surf boards, tiki lamps and fishing boats. But behind the kinky seafood restaurants and the endless beachside hotel strips and the goliath surf shop meccas, dark cesspools lurk in empty swimming pools
Stare into Victor Florence’s Borderland, and you’ll hear shades of the gritty country, slices of a life on the margins. The man eerily sounds a bunch like Jason Molina, especially on the album’s more reflective moments (such as the title track and “Second Coming”). And he carries the ghost with grace – but note that the album opens with a drum machine, and a driving rhythm that soon pops and cracks and fizzles, like parallel strands of magnetic tape jumping on and off their reels. Like an ironed-out, smacked-out Modest Mouse down in the dirt and high on drone.
Note, too, the maelstrom that howls into “And Into the Cornfield He Disappeared”, an anecdote cut short and swallowed whole by static. Lost transmission? Bermuda Triangle-like interference?
But the real supernatural encounter begins on “I’m So Happy You Found Me”. Titanic oscillations drift in with the weight of icebergs. Spectral winds tear like scythes into the noise slab, and build into a colossus until, like before, the transmission fails on us. Where is this forlorn field, that such alien broadcasts collide with such jarring recollections like “Youth”, and short-circuit just as we close in? Should we even be here?
Perhaps this entire LP is a private document, a collection of gathered ghost recordings that the Paranormal Investigative Division of Florida have safeguarded from the public for years. Proofs of unsettling activity in the state’s less frequented corners. Handle with caution.
Stare into Victor Florence’s Borderland, and you’ll hear shades of the gritty country, slices of a life on the margins. The man eerily sounds a bunch like Jason Molina, especially on the album’s more reflective moments (such as the title track and “Second Coming”). And he carries the ghost with grace – but note that the album opens with a drum machine, and a driving rhythm that soon pops and cracks and fizzles, like parallel strands of magnetic tape jumping on and off their reels. Like an ironed-out, smacked-out Modest Mouse down in the dirt and high on drone.
Note, too, the maelstrom that howls into “And Into the Cornfield He Disappeared”, an anecdote cut short and swallowed whole by static. Lost transmission? Bermuda Triangle-like interference?
But the real supernatural encounter begins on “I’m So Happy You Found Me”. Titanic oscillations drift in with the weight of icebergs. Spectral winds tear like scythes into the noise slab, and build into a colossus until, like before, the transmission fails on us. Where is this forlorn field, that such alien broadcasts collide with such jarring recollections like “Youth”, and short-circuit just as we close in? Should we even be here?
Perhaps this entire LP is a private document, a collection of gathered ghost recordings that the Paranormal Investigative Division of Florida have safeguarded from the public for years. Proofs of unsettling activity in the state’s less frequented corners. Handle with caution.
Fanciulli GOOM – Electronic artists come and go in my radar. The trick these days is to balance retro sensibilities and gear with current sounds and production, and not sway too far either way. Too newish, and the music comes off as flat and mass-produced; too oldish, and you come off as an uninspired hack.
Where exactly Fanciulli GOOM stand in that continuum is beyond my expertise to say, but I do know they’re bloody ace. Digital mazes, vivid soundscapes with sharp, bubbly detail. Turbulent flights through rough galaxies (“Krarupiazzioni”). Far and away from the jungle underground, but rather churns with laser-bright, to-the-watch beats. The presser says this #1 was born from “experimentation and improvisation”; I can avouch for the former, and the latter at points (especially the glitchy, surreal fourth-dimension drifter of “Kodamas”) but throbbing giants like “Moka Moka Moka” sound so brilliantly sculpted that you’d swear some serious, deliberate engineering must have occurred beforehand.
At any rate, I’m really unnecessary here, since you can download the whole album gratis at 51 Beats’ website. Consume and create your own adventure.
Where exactly Fanciulli GOOM stand in that continuum is beyond my expertise to say, but I do know they’re bloody ace. Digital mazes, vivid soundscapes with sharp, bubbly detail. Turbulent flights through rough galaxies (“Krarupiazzioni”). Far and away from the jungle underground, but rather churns with laser-bright, to-the-watch beats. The presser says this #1 was born from “experimentation and improvisation”; I can avouch for the former, and the latter at points (especially the glitchy, surreal fourth-dimension drifter of “Kodamas”) but throbbing giants like “Moka Moka Moka” sound so brilliantly sculpted that you’d swear some serious, deliberate engineering must have occurred beforehand.
At any rate, I’m really unnecessary here, since you can download the whole album gratis at 51 Beats’ website. Consume and create your own adventure.
Fizz, Flash, French [NLST66]
20 June, 2014
Is it wrong that I'm putting off a blog for the local paper to bring you a long-overdue Soundscape roundup? Probably. But this stuff excites me way more than the carefully cultured art-damaged "tolerant" scenesters that ruled the popularity contest/music award ceremony last night. If I could please, please, please never have to sit through the painfully pretend-coy, I-give-up, dainty teacup ukelele sound of Four Eyes for the rest of my stay in Athens, I wouldn't ask for anything else. (Except to please, please also never have to sit through a intolerably bluesy-whiny T. Hardy Morris performance. Of course, the whole dirty details will be pressed into words before this day is over, so stay glued to yr TV set (TV).
UPDATE - Seems the newspaper doesn't need my write-up, since the editor already wrote one. Go figure. Guess my real blogging finesse will be tested tomorrow after tonight's outing. Ah well. I'll post it up here anyway. Eventually.
UPDATE - Seems the newspaper doesn't need my write-up, since the editor already wrote one. Go figure. Guess my real blogging finesse will be tested tomorrow after tonight's outing. Ah well. I'll post it up here anyway. Eventually.
But anyway. What new and current happenings are resounding 'round the interwebs? Here's a peek.
Nice Legs – Vocalists can be a dime a dozen in these smaller outfits. Maybe it’s the proximity. Why don’t we hop a flight to South Korea? Here, from Seoul, shines the bass-heavy pop of Nice Legs. And what a lovely voice. I wish I weren’t so lazy / to change the things around me, she says on “Three” – but, m’dear, your bright and wistful graces could ripple these crowded waters yet. Not as petite and pixie-ish as, say, the chick from Deerhoof, but still young and green.
Lullaby Land is only the tiniest glimpse into this lush world - a bloom of bristling melody cut loose to float in the air (“One” and “Three”), a forlorn yet bouncy call-and-response (“Two”), and the sweetest little carousel (“End”), spinning at a snail’s pace as our cheeky protagonist (who, in this scenario, could be 24 or 16 or 10) sings across the horsies to her summer crush, I’ll be your god if you’ll be mine…
Quick. Grab yr bottle and catch this EP before it flies astray.
Lullaby Land is only the tiniest glimpse into this lush world - a bloom of bristling melody cut loose to float in the air (“One” and “Three”), a forlorn yet bouncy call-and-response (“Two”), and the sweetest little carousel (“End”), spinning at a snail’s pace as our cheeky protagonist (who, in this scenario, could be 24 or 16 or 10) sings across the horsies to her summer crush, I’ll be your god if you’ll be mine…
Quick. Grab yr bottle and catch this EP before it flies astray.
MISTER SUIT – Next contender for new fave single of 2014, if only because this Chicago native channels several disparate sources that tickle my gothic funny bone. No reference at all to the punkiest of Wire’s Pink Flag suite – “Hold On” is the jabbing, uber dancey missing link between Christian Death and the Horrors’ “Strange House” era (i.e the only Horrors album I come back to irregularly). Christ, this guy – his voice slips and slides all over the oil-slick churning groove. If it weren’t so sticky humid in here, I’d be all over this room.
The flip, “Get It Right”, can only be “new wave” (as the Bandcamp page claims) if new wave were always as laser-cut as the Fixx, whilst unraveling and fraying in your ears at the same time. Not as infectious as the A-side, but give the strident sucker a few spins and the impression will char another spot in yr cerebral lobes. Need more, dude.
The flip, “Get It Right”, can only be “new wave” (as the Bandcamp page claims) if new wave were always as laser-cut as the Fixx, whilst unraveling and fraying in your ears at the same time. Not as infectious as the A-side, but give the strident sucker a few spins and the impression will char another spot in yr cerebral lobes. Need more, dude.
TV Girl – Oh, I’m in love again. It’s true. Like one Bandcamp user commented, this is absolutely “a perfect pop album”. So effervescent in its texture, fuzzy yet not quite warm. Bright, but not sunny – more like glo-in-the-dark brites, bouncing blues and yellows and magentas. Crisp beats, synths fluttering like butterflies, breathing ragged neon mist...and of course that sublime sadness. “Pantyhose” is the first song in a long time with a story that made me gasp. Poor fellow.
Where are we, anyway? Give me a name here. Give me a hand. I’m trapped in a dream. Even more of an instant hit than Future Islands, and four times more lucid. Plus, whistling.
As a bonus, the band offers a jpg lyric sheet with the digitals, with “stylized visuals of beautiful women…added for visual pleasure”. That’s right, gentlemen – download this album and you’ll get free porn. Ladies will at least be content to see that the women in question are slender, not anorexic, with fairly average-sized boobs, and overall of the more free lovin’, late-sixties kind of mold. And if you think this is totally irrelevant in regards to the album, then you’re wrong – because TV Girl’s work is very girl-centric, sounding out her psyche and measuring her power in the perpetual romance cycle of pop. What she can say. The trump cards she can pull.
Where are we, anyway? Give me a name here. Give me a hand. I’m trapped in a dream. Even more of an instant hit than Future Islands, and four times more lucid. Plus, whistling.
As a bonus, the band offers a jpg lyric sheet with the digitals, with “stylized visuals of beautiful women…added for visual pleasure”. That’s right, gentlemen – download this album and you’ll get free porn. Ladies will at least be content to see that the women in question are slender, not anorexic, with fairly average-sized boobs, and overall of the more free lovin’, late-sixties kind of mold. And if you think this is totally irrelevant in regards to the album, then you’re wrong – because TV Girl’s work is very girl-centric, sounding out her psyche and measuring her power in the perpetual romance cycle of pop. What she can say. The trump cards she can pull.
Take “The Blonde”, for instance. To begin with, the verses echo The Cars’ “Drive”, which automatically resonates with shattering empathy. But the lyrics probe deeper, pressing deeper into the old stereotype about blondes and asking how she feels to be so wrongly misjudged as a sexual creature. The best part – the blackest, too – is after the narrator suggests that introverted blondes dye their hair:
it won’t do you any good
cause pretty soon your roots will be showing
and anytime you leave the room
They’ll ask you just where the hell
do you think you’re going
That’s the juiciest thing about French Exit – behind the Technicolor, glo-brite dream of it all is this bitter core, a resolute acceptance that the sexual fantasies often enacted by similar pop songs occur in real life with severe consequences. Both sides can be victims, and often are.
My one qualm is that the songwriter assumes quite often that females have this innate intuition about what to do in these sticky relations, and how to turn things to her advantage, which is a gross overstatement. I’m 24 and know nothing (nor do I care to know anything) from the universal spell book of man-charming. But that won’t stop me from swooning to this and seriously contemplating a French Exit T-shirt.
it won’t do you any good
cause pretty soon your roots will be showing
and anytime you leave the room
They’ll ask you just where the hell
do you think you’re going
That’s the juiciest thing about French Exit – behind the Technicolor, glo-brite dream of it all is this bitter core, a resolute acceptance that the sexual fantasies often enacted by similar pop songs occur in real life with severe consequences. Both sides can be victims, and often are.
My one qualm is that the songwriter assumes quite often that females have this innate intuition about what to do in these sticky relations, and how to turn things to her advantage, which is a gross overstatement. I’m 24 and know nothing (nor do I care to know anything) from the universal spell book of man-charming. But that won’t stop me from swooning to this and seriously contemplating a French Exit T-shirt.
The Rainbow Connection - Chimney Crow's Covers [ChCr65]
30 April, 2014
Mind, I've found more than a few new names in the past month or so. But my head is spinning in many directions, and words are spilling across the interwebs - not from me, but from wiser minds who have seen and heard far more than me. Twenty years on, what will the observers say about this generation? What legacy have we left besides an increasing infantile dependency on our multiple social networks? Sleaford Mods summed up the human condition today: "All you zombies TWEET TWEET TWEET."
I don't know. And I doubt you really care, 'cos you're foaming at the mouth for this month's free haul of tunes. Right on. Follow the kaleidoscopic cut-out masks to the stars, and you'll meet...
I don't know. And I doubt you really care, 'cos you're foaming at the mouth for this month's free haul of tunes. Right on. Follow the kaleidoscopic cut-out masks to the stars, and you'll meet...
Chimney Crow - demented analogue mixmeisters fronted by Paul Isgone who take ordinary songs, strip them of all that guitar-ish dross, and churn out stark synthy covers that pulse for some shadowy dance floor between the Residents, Suicide, and Monte Cazezza. These range from a thumping version of “Cracklin’ Rose” to – my fave - a virus-ridden “Legs” that casts the ZZ Top staple and its macho womanizing in the proper sinister light. “Zoloft” isn’t a cover, but nicks the main riff from the Cars’ “My Best Friend’s Girlfriend” for a perky little track that literally cheers on the drug (“Z, O, L-O-F-T”)
And man oh man oh man, that new cover, Segue Segue Sputnik’s “Love Missile” – they chug out the tune in the most Suicide-esque fashion, straight outta the motorcycle’s exhaust pipe, smashing fragments against the pavement.
Tell me, where’s “Groove Is In The Heart” from? No, don’t tell me. As far as I know, this home-brewed neon neo-Euro-funk groove must be CC’s own. These happy bobbing heads in cheap shades can never headline an act on the main stage, but open the hidden panel in the back wall and there Chimney Crow will be, reveling in their mini-freak out. (Everyone’s invited, of course, but no gig planner would ever wager a dime to give the poor weirdos the limelight.)
Perhaps the pinnacle of Chimney Crow’s mad penchant for covers, though, is “The Rainbow Connection”, an asthmatic, clattering ditty borrowed from Kermit the Frog. Bubbly and acrid, the tune still retains its intrinsic silliness, particularly because Paul can’t sing worth a flip, and that’s precisely why Kermit is so endearing, right? Think about it. Would you believe that it's not easy being green if Kermit belted it out like Sinatra? Well, you might, but then the silliness of it all would be lost. Hence why this makes me so happy. So many artists today are afraid to be silly, y'know - and not in that smirkish, ironic, inclusive way, via in-jokes that only the scenesters understand, but just silly.
All these are 100% freeeeeee to download, though I would not mind chucking some monies their way just for the hell of it (and in fact, I have, for Chimney Crow's original album, Chimney Crow Is A Band, from Electric Phantom Records in Florida, which shows what a competent journalist I was when I wrote this the first time - review forthcoming). Even the instrumentals – like the scuzzy stalking fiend “Molly”, and the stretched out cosmic musique concrete journey of “the famous song” - are totally engrossing. Don’t miss a single track.
Non-Stardom Soul Bellow. [PGrM64]
6 March, 2014
Lordy, lordy, what's all happened since the last update now? Let's see - still mad about Sleaford Mods, still mad about the bloody battle lines that NME and Arctic Monkeys scrawled in the sand, and meanwhile Guardian thinks that noise is a new, growing hip trend. You and I both know, though, that noise in its rawest, most freshly-ripped-from-your-chest form will sputter and die in the crowded masses. (Either that, or the crowded masses will splatter and die first.) Anywho, we also know that the Soundscape is wider, much wider, than that. Here's some other brave artists (dudes AND chicks, which is more than the Guardian can claim) standing outside the careerist hip scenester thang.
Paul Carr – Acoustic mangler, abstract novelist, spoken word artist, and champion of the English pub tradition. I’ve lauded the curious History of Aviation cassette before, but here’s a full LP’s worth of woozy string curiosities and narratives, The Soul Bellows. Paul’s lyrics revolve around very ordinary, urban things – trains, cigars, that little bottle of wine – little details on the sidewalks on a cloudless day or in the murky interiors of pubs that the kids hurtle past in their greedy race to international fame. But in the frame of these stark and loopy guitar skeletons, Paul brings this tiny things into sharp focus. What’s mundane out there magnifies into subjects far more intriguing, at least for those willing enough to stop and look.
Anyone who’s paused, taken a deep breath, and sunken into Alvin Lucier or Steve Reich should tuck into the lovely redundancy of “Whatever the Weather”, a simple acoustic strain that rattles with percussive cascades. The other epic of the LP, “The Times of Mr. Farrell”, chug-a-lugs in a wonky, limping way while spinning its non-sequitur tale. A raspy voice in “Table Wine” jars our thoughts about what should be a cheery drink. My favorite, “It’s Shyte”, could be considered the most “upbeat”, but only in a spidery, jittery kind of way. Which, of course, is a huge plus. But, then, there’s my other favorite, “Minute Rhythm 1”, in which a slew of recorders and guitars go bananas.
Here. Listen below and see what ya think. Can’t be everyone’s cup of tea, of course – but if you’re one of those looking for the new avant-vangarde, ya oughta turn here.
Anyone who’s paused, taken a deep breath, and sunken into Alvin Lucier or Steve Reich should tuck into the lovely redundancy of “Whatever the Weather”, a simple acoustic strain that rattles with percussive cascades. The other epic of the LP, “The Times of Mr. Farrell”, chug-a-lugs in a wonky, limping way while spinning its non-sequitur tale. A raspy voice in “Table Wine” jars our thoughts about what should be a cheery drink. My favorite, “It’s Shyte”, could be considered the most “upbeat”, but only in a spidery, jittery kind of way. Which, of course, is a huge plus. But, then, there’s my other favorite, “Minute Rhythm 1”, in which a slew of recorders and guitars go bananas.
Here. Listen below and see what ya think. Can’t be everyone’s cup of tea, of course – but if you’re one of those looking for the new avant-vangarde, ya oughta turn here.
Mowbird – Three hip-hip-hurrays for Wales! Four reckless wretches from Wrexham, Wales joined forces on the empty corner of the playground to bring you this sloppy slab of joy called Islander. It’s a rickety carousel of bouncy indiepop rock delight, not too unlike our champs T.O.Y.S – but, where that threesome’s strength lies in bass-shaded uncertainties, Mowbird jitters with sweet eccentric stabs and swerves.
No one can deny the swirling effervescence of the single “Happy Active Horse Organ”, that bops and snarls into such a whirligig of a chorus that the listener is reduced to a kid in the county fair, begging his/her parents to ride ONE MORE TIME PLEEEEEEASE. “Holy Moly” wheels about in a similar fashion, but without seatbelts – watch out for turbulence! The flip of the single, “Brompton”, is the loop-de-loop roller coaster, screaming by at 180 mph and yielding such a rush that, come the abrupt ending, you’ll be mighty disoriented. The whole of this album, really, is one shimmering amusement park – although my personal fave, the low-bass rumble of “André the Giant”, soars with a more measured pace – though this, too, leads inevitably to euphoria.
Convinced yet? No? Here – just go listen to Islander yourself. Feel the rush. Meet yr new playmates.
No one can deny the swirling effervescence of the single “Happy Active Horse Organ”, that bops and snarls into such a whirligig of a chorus that the listener is reduced to a kid in the county fair, begging his/her parents to ride ONE MORE TIME PLEEEEEEASE. “Holy Moly” wheels about in a similar fashion, but without seatbelts – watch out for turbulence! The flip of the single, “Brompton”, is the loop-de-loop roller coaster, screaming by at 180 mph and yielding such a rush that, come the abrupt ending, you’ll be mighty disoriented. The whole of this album, really, is one shimmering amusement park – although my personal fave, the low-bass rumble of “André the Giant”, soars with a more measured pace – though this, too, leads inevitably to euphoria.
Convinced yet? No? Here – just go listen to Islander yourself. Feel the rush. Meet yr new playmates.
Gretchen Lyme – Do you hear it? Deep, deep inside of you. Buried under the static noise of the millions of white boys wanking off with guitars, under the thousands more constructing pre-assembled parts into a glossy, industry-standard household, there lies the quiet. The meditation. For many, this is the bridge to the soul. This is where we meet Fuck Buttons, Boards of Canada, Muslimgauze, and now Gretchen Lyme of Scotland.
Mogadon, her small EP, spreads slowly across the starlight night sky. “Gassed Giant” unfurls and unbends as flowers do – slowly, and when we’re not looking. The universal drone encompasses all, and streams from high windows to the empty pews below. The void and the light both yawn in this track, sometimes at the same time. In the span of eight minutes, we’ve soared over desert, through morning-lit churches, through the lowest valleys and the darkest jungle. “Metamfiezomaiophobia” has that sort of sharp, yet surreal lucidity – that intoxicating chemical texture - that I thought only Dissolved tracks could possess. The cadences and rhythm of the sample that follows entrances me, too, even when I can only catch the calm repetition of that one motif “fear”, “fear”, “fear”. Before long, the mere words, like Lucier’s “I am in a room”, mean nothing, and stir the bubbling pot of feedback that boils over in the end.
These journeys – and the 4-minute return trip, the soothing guitar-led “Fisher” – comprise one of the most stunning ambient albums I’ve ever encountered via Bandcamp (or any other really DIY artists). Only Broken Shoulder has touched this level of inner solace before. Many kudos to Gretch – here’s hoping she churns out another glorious trip through time and space soon.
Mogadon, her small EP, spreads slowly across the starlight night sky. “Gassed Giant” unfurls and unbends as flowers do – slowly, and when we’re not looking. The universal drone encompasses all, and streams from high windows to the empty pews below. The void and the light both yawn in this track, sometimes at the same time. In the span of eight minutes, we’ve soared over desert, through morning-lit churches, through the lowest valleys and the darkest jungle. “Metamfiezomaiophobia” has that sort of sharp, yet surreal lucidity – that intoxicating chemical texture - that I thought only Dissolved tracks could possess. The cadences and rhythm of the sample that follows entrances me, too, even when I can only catch the calm repetition of that one motif “fear”, “fear”, “fear”. Before long, the mere words, like Lucier’s “I am in a room”, mean nothing, and stir the bubbling pot of feedback that boils over in the end.
These journeys – and the 4-minute return trip, the soothing guitar-led “Fisher” – comprise one of the most stunning ambient albums I’ve ever encountered via Bandcamp (or any other really DIY artists). Only Broken Shoulder has touched this level of inner solace before. Many kudos to Gretch – here’s hoping she churns out another glorious trip through time and space soon.
Girl Band – All right, all right. To be fair, I wrote this before I saw the Guardian article. But no matter, because you've heard 'em on my show a month ago, so you know I beat 'em to the punch already. (The Waiting Room was the first to 'em, of course.) Anywho, three facts you should know about Girl Band:
1. They’re not girls. Sadly.
2. They’re Irish.
3. OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT DESTRUCTIVE SICK DEMENTED NOISSSSE
If you haven’t heard us DJ folk slobbering all over this twisted puppy, then enlighten yourself NOW. I mean RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Prepare to be obliterated. “Lawman” is as infectious as the common cold. Raw and throbbing and bleeding from pore to pore. And just when you thought they were loud enough – WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Sledgehammer and power drill directly to yr skull! Instant KO!
Given that righteous six-minute slaughter, one tends to overlook the swift killstroke of “Heckle the frames”, but blow me, is it LETHAL. This here single is one complete package of insanity, no doubt. Get it.
1. They’re not girls. Sadly.
2. They’re Irish.
3. OH MY FUCKING GOD WHAT DESTRUCTIVE SICK DEMENTED NOISSSSE
If you haven’t heard us DJ folk slobbering all over this twisted puppy, then enlighten yourself NOW. I mean RIGHT FUCKING NOW. Prepare to be obliterated. “Lawman” is as infectious as the common cold. Raw and throbbing and bleeding from pore to pore. And just when you thought they were loud enough – WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Sledgehammer and power drill directly to yr skull! Instant KO!
Given that righteous six-minute slaughter, one tends to overlook the swift killstroke of “Heckle the frames”, but blow me, is it LETHAL. This here single is one complete package of insanity, no doubt. Get it.
Lean and Mean (and Black and White) [SMHB63]
1 February, 2014
Wow! Am I a total sellout or what? For nearly a month I've steered away from the blog to write for Collapse Board. Such a busy idiot I am. Anywho, I've been clingin' on to some leftovers from last year for a while now, so it's about time I spilled out some words - especially since the first one, Sleaford Mods, are actually plotting nation domination (or maybe just pub circuit domination, the nation's a bit too ambitious) for this still nascent year. The last one's a new acquisition, courtesy of a bona fide print 'zine I picked up. Still got loads more to unload, but that's what radio shows are for, eh?
Sleaford Mods -
What the kids need these days is more anger. I’m sniffin’ a
whiff of Foxygen for the first time now - what sniveling derivative flower
power nonsense! Who are these artists, that gloss over all the mess in the
world with these complacent, long-dead sunshine styles? (Yes, you too, Mr.
faux-Wig Out Malkmus, with your hashed out classic rock stiff white dude chummy
vibes.)
This is where Sleaford Mods come in. Anger is their art. And not posed, packaged, and/or melodramatic kind of ire, mind, about relationships and girls and not getting laid. (You sissies.) Austerity Dogs is the everyman’s rant.
“Do you want me to tell you what I think about you, cunt? I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you? You pock-mouthed, four-eyed, shit-fitting shirt, white Converse and a taste for young girls. Don’t send me home with a glint in MY eye! I told my family about the fucking wage rise!”
(No worries, ladies. As far as I can tell, anytime they slam down the c-bomb, they're always referring to a dude. Gentleman, they are.)
The form is quite simple. Take a meaty, churning, maybe faintly funky bass line, loop it. Use drums and guitar sparingly. Bring these fellows - Jason and Andrew, let's call 'em - to the mike and let 'em rip into ordinary scum, like ladder-climbing corporate flesh bags, rock star musician types, suck-ups, all those smug folk around you that you wish you could just punch in the face. These lyrics are that punch.
Now, we could debate back and forth whether their sour delivery is, in fact, a “rap”. I’d probably debate not, though – but what a glorious flurry of fury, a non-conforming, up-yours-polite-society blaze of caustic banter. Punk kids only wish they could sound this bitter.
“I don’t want to improve my fucking life for you. You make more money out of my existence than I do. I dodge the small towners, the music scene think-they-ares, the shit bands. You’re all wankers.”
Please. Do keep going. As long as your rage is directed at all the blokes that piss you off, I’ll be behind you all the way. Austerity Dogs is out now on their Bandcamp page via Deadly Beefburger Records, and another ace album’s in the work. Oh, and if that's not enough, there's more nastiness on their Soundcloud page.
This is where Sleaford Mods come in. Anger is their art. And not posed, packaged, and/or melodramatic kind of ire, mind, about relationships and girls and not getting laid. (You sissies.) Austerity Dogs is the everyman’s rant.
“Do you want me to tell you what I think about you, cunt? I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you? You pock-mouthed, four-eyed, shit-fitting shirt, white Converse and a taste for young girls. Don’t send me home with a glint in MY eye! I told my family about the fucking wage rise!”
(No worries, ladies. As far as I can tell, anytime they slam down the c-bomb, they're always referring to a dude. Gentleman, they are.)
The form is quite simple. Take a meaty, churning, maybe faintly funky bass line, loop it. Use drums and guitar sparingly. Bring these fellows - Jason and Andrew, let's call 'em - to the mike and let 'em rip into ordinary scum, like ladder-climbing corporate flesh bags, rock star musician types, suck-ups, all those smug folk around you that you wish you could just punch in the face. These lyrics are that punch.
Now, we could debate back and forth whether their sour delivery is, in fact, a “rap”. I’d probably debate not, though – but what a glorious flurry of fury, a non-conforming, up-yours-polite-society blaze of caustic banter. Punk kids only wish they could sound this bitter.
“I don’t want to improve my fucking life for you. You make more money out of my existence than I do. I dodge the small towners, the music scene think-they-ares, the shit bands. You’re all wankers.”
Please. Do keep going. As long as your rage is directed at all the blokes that piss you off, I’ll be behind you all the way. Austerity Dogs is out now on their Bandcamp page via Deadly Beefburger Records, and another ace album’s in the work. Oh, and if that's not enough, there's more nastiness on their Soundcloud page.
Biscuit Mouth - What! Have I not written words to praise the carnal terror
that is Biscuit Mouth? I have not. Shame on me! This man, this primal screecher
that revels in unrestrained shouting rants, is something like a loonier Albini,
or maybe even a more hoarse Black Francis, a maestro of ricocheting riffs that
swing into lumbering sound walls.
Captain Greggs,
Wrapped in Legs is a savage affair, a visceral assault, that yet feels
utterly insular. As wicked as “I’ve Not Cut This Loose In Years” is – with its
clockwork splatter beat and skin-crawling bass – something is stilted, sideways
about it. Like a one-man, wrung-out, deformed Fugazi crusade that took a wrong
turn toward the norm. Which is not an insult at all – if there’s anything I
hate, it’s the norm.
Two major highlights here. One, the the blistering “Mr. Minto”, a staggering clattering of drums that careens into spastic gasps of bristling furor. Two, the wistful outlier, “Luau”, a terse but bobbing little tune that fleshes out with a chug-a-chug drum line into a stunning, sharp-focused tour de force of precision. Really, the latter is where you realize the full potential of this Biscuit Mouth entity – how this seemingly unbounded madman of a voice can in fact sit down and craft something very intentional and, for all its bluster, poignant.
Anyway, what I mean to say is, it’s a fine piece of racket, and it’s on Biscuit Mouth’s Bandcamp page for a name-yr-own-tip price.
Two major highlights here. One, the the blistering “Mr. Minto”, a staggering clattering of drums that careens into spastic gasps of bristling furor. Two, the wistful outlier, “Luau”, a terse but bobbing little tune that fleshes out with a chug-a-chug drum line into a stunning, sharp-focused tour de force of precision. Really, the latter is where you realize the full potential of this Biscuit Mouth entity – how this seemingly unbounded madman of a voice can in fact sit down and craft something very intentional and, for all its bluster, poignant.
Anyway, what I mean to say is, it’s a fine piece of racket, and it’s on Biscuit Mouth’s Bandcamp page for a name-yr-own-tip price.
Household - “I have a hobby of
expecting the worse”
Now here’s a different punch in the face. Whoa. From the
heart of New York, we have Household, another minimal outfit, but more in the
plucky, sparse, Young Marble Giants vein. Elaines
is a lean and speedy affair, a workout of nimble guitar lines (my lord, “Calculations”),
militant rhythm (“Panorama”, especially), and clever counter-melodies (“Out of
Reach” is particularly hypnotic). On the surface, you sense that classic
post-punk restraint, that urgent command of the melody; however, the lovely,
breezy harmonies of “In Smoke” reveal a tender side, an after-hours drowsy glee
that only the best of friends share with each other.
Household have a history, which I’ll no doubt crack into, as this release and their older ones are only three bucks to download. Do it.
Household have a history, which I’ll no doubt crack into, as this release and their older ones are only three bucks to download. Do it.
Another Bearsuit - Anata Wa Sukkari Tsakarete Shimai [AWST62]
6 January, 2014
I thought I could spring this on Gold Flake Paint some months ago, but...alas! The piece never aired. Too eccentric for the glitter kids, I reckon. Well, never mind them - Mark Whitby hailed this as one of the finest albums of the year, and I lauded it highly, too. Here, see (and hear) for yerself...
Often times, when enthusiastic critics state that something is “beyond classification”, they’re really just too lazy to figure out what it sounds like. But not always, of course. If you’re one of those folk that like filing your albums under neat little categories, then Anata Wa Sukkari Tsakarete Shimai (hereafter referred to as AWSTS) will completely stupefy you.
Perhaps the best label for the whole album is the label it was released for. Yup – file under “Bearsuit”, that consistently (and endearingly) quirky label from Scotland that scans the globe far and wide for the strangest artists. AWSTS is no exception, as it’s a trio comprised of an Englishman, a Scotsman, and a Japanese bloke – or, at least, it used to, but the latter artist, Mr. _ (Underscore), has vanished from the face of the virtual earth. Strange times.
At any rate, this leaves us with The Lost Charles Underscore, AWSTS’s latest LP. In a nutshell, it’s a blazing chain reaction of supernovas – ideas burst from the bright, churning mix in fits of color. A whole prism of electronic tones, from booming drum machines to sparkling vintage synths to hip skidding beats, permeate each and every track.
This cascade of color flows in a dense, dark rainforest of sound, turning and twisting and shifting shades enough to dazzle even the most jaded listener. “Backyard” slips from a percussive dance ritual to an otherworldly onslaught to a becalming but befuddling drift into deep waters. “invalid bed” lifts you upward with a gentle draft of synths, yet twitches and writhes and moans in spurts of spliced drums and twisted guitars.
Interwoven in these baffling medleys are spoken words, narratives of sorts, tales that demand repeated listens to unravel – but “the cost of a spiritlifter” inspires fear at once. “Don’t worry – you won’t even notice him, even when he’s inside you.” Combined with the gross squishing and squirming in the background and the deepened voice, you’d expect this tune to descend into something horrific, like the bloody climax of a horror flick where the token squeamish click is laid out fully conscious on a dissecting table – but instead, it resolves to a trance-inducing wave, a happy sedation and successful operation.
Summarizing the whole of this vivid album would be ridiculous. For AWSTS invent so many astonishing surprises, and merge so many incompatible colors, that saying much more would spoil the novelty of the experience. And trust me, The Lost Charles Underscore is an experience in every sense of the word. It’s out now on Bearsuit’s Bandcamp page.
Perhaps the best label for the whole album is the label it was released for. Yup – file under “Bearsuit”, that consistently (and endearingly) quirky label from Scotland that scans the globe far and wide for the strangest artists. AWSTS is no exception, as it’s a trio comprised of an Englishman, a Scotsman, and a Japanese bloke – or, at least, it used to, but the latter artist, Mr. _ (Underscore), has vanished from the face of the virtual earth. Strange times.
At any rate, this leaves us with The Lost Charles Underscore, AWSTS’s latest LP. In a nutshell, it’s a blazing chain reaction of supernovas – ideas burst from the bright, churning mix in fits of color. A whole prism of electronic tones, from booming drum machines to sparkling vintage synths to hip skidding beats, permeate each and every track.
This cascade of color flows in a dense, dark rainforest of sound, turning and twisting and shifting shades enough to dazzle even the most jaded listener. “Backyard” slips from a percussive dance ritual to an otherworldly onslaught to a becalming but befuddling drift into deep waters. “invalid bed” lifts you upward with a gentle draft of synths, yet twitches and writhes and moans in spurts of spliced drums and twisted guitars.
Interwoven in these baffling medleys are spoken words, narratives of sorts, tales that demand repeated listens to unravel – but “the cost of a spiritlifter” inspires fear at once. “Don’t worry – you won’t even notice him, even when he’s inside you.” Combined with the gross squishing and squirming in the background and the deepened voice, you’d expect this tune to descend into something horrific, like the bloody climax of a horror flick where the token squeamish click is laid out fully conscious on a dissecting table – but instead, it resolves to a trance-inducing wave, a happy sedation and successful operation.
Summarizing the whole of this vivid album would be ridiculous. For AWSTS invent so many astonishing surprises, and merge so many incompatible colors, that saying much more would spoil the novelty of the experience. And trust me, The Lost Charles Underscore is an experience in every sense of the word. It’s out now on Bearsuit’s Bandcamp page.
This is MADNESS! [MWSN61]
5 January, 2014
WHAM BAM BACK AT YA MAN. Another slew of skull-crushing music up my sleeve. Knock yerself out with the righteous noise slaughter!
The Moonrakers - You glorious bastards, you. You’re nasty. You’re messy. You’re more Fall-like than the Fall – in the sense that you could all fall apart at any time, and certainly do fall apart every time. You remind me of Swell Maps, and that triggers so many pleasure buttons in my head that you’ve nearly killed me with joy. This is what’s missing in the alternative world – amateurs that are actually fuckin’ amateur. That knock over chairs and collapse into lampshades not as an art statement, but because the band is too smashed to stand up straight. NOISE NOISE NOISE. And what fidelity? Fuck fidelity! You know I loves me ears to be crushed and grinded, twisted and sucker-punched.
“Trashwhore Panties!” What else needs to be said? “Trashwhore panties!” Although “2 bit tiramisu, sometimes I miss you” is also one of the catchiest, punchiest phrases I’ve ever heard, especially in that dude’s wailing, careening voice.
Oooh, Moonrakers. You are lust, raw and throbbing. And all your tunes are dirt cheap, as in pay-what-you-want. I am hoarding it all.
“Trashwhore Panties!” What else needs to be said? “Trashwhore panties!” Although “2 bit tiramisu, sometimes I miss you” is also one of the catchiest, punchiest phrases I’ve ever heard, especially in that dude’s wailing, careening voice.
Oooh, Moonrakers. You are lust, raw and throbbing. And all your tunes are dirt cheap, as in pay-what-you-want. I am hoarding it all.
The Wytches - No, the Wytches aren’t chicks – they’re Brighton boys - but fuuuuuuck do they wield the black magick. Grungy? Yeah? Surfy? YEAH. Hardcore? Ohhhh yes. The “Digsaw” single is a delicious slab of nasty, but two-sided nevertheless – the A-side and title track humming with steamy psychedelic melody, with heavy blue garage that blasts into fury; “House of Mirrors”, however, dispels all polite melody for screeching and hammering. SICK.
Don’t miss the Thunder Lizard Revisted EP, either, another arcane offering of cackling walloping blackening plague. You say you hear Nirvana, I say I hear Vanilla Fudge. This is the season of the Wytch! (Seriously, though. “She’s So Far Out” does have that rock grandeur mystique of “Season of the Witch”. In my mind, anyway.) They prove they can also tone it down a notch, too, without wanking or wallowing out, in “Her”. And, of course, the title track burns down the whole fuckin’ studio.
You need this bewitching devastation in your library. GO ON, both releases are uber cheap. Buy them, you cheapskate.
Don’t miss the Thunder Lizard Revisted EP, either, another arcane offering of cackling walloping blackening plague. You say you hear Nirvana, I say I hear Vanilla Fudge. This is the season of the Wytch! (Seriously, though. “She’s So Far Out” does have that rock grandeur mystique of “Season of the Witch”. In my mind, anyway.) They prove they can also tone it down a notch, too, without wanking or wallowing out, in “Her”. And, of course, the title track burns down the whole fuckin’ studio.
You need this bewitching devastation in your library. GO ON, both releases are uber cheap. Buy them, you cheapskate.
Sky Needle - Now, ladies and gentlemen, I bring you the most raucous of the three, music before the invention of conventionalized instruments, the recordings of the first musicians on the planet Earth. Sky Needle are from Brisbane, Australia, and have contrived their own weapons for inflicting vaguely melodic, barely harmonious chaos upon the world. That chick on lead is some kind of goddess, the female aspect of Loki. The music clangles, skwonks, screes, brumbles, moaks, plonks. If those descriptors frustrate you, then leave the room now. The rest of us will squalk at all the happy nonsense tweeking in our ears.
The only possible parallels I can draw are heroes that you habitual readers (ha) may recognize – the same clattering spirit of Micachu and the Shapes, the same no-fi twang and all wrong blues of Gasoline Stew and the Dump (which - oh nos, I did not transfer over from my last.fm musings. Must do at some point.) This should excite you.
Best of all, however, Sky Needle has put out loads of this primordial mess. Below, however, is the last LP, and it’s fucking great too, even though you can't order it from Bandcamp. But you can download the others, sooooo...devour.
The only possible parallels I can draw are heroes that you habitual readers (ha) may recognize – the same clattering spirit of Micachu and the Shapes, the same no-fi twang and all wrong blues of Gasoline Stew and the Dump (which - oh nos, I did not transfer over from my last.fm musings. Must do at some point.) This should excite you.
Best of all, however, Sky Needle has put out loads of this primordial mess. Below, however, is the last LP, and it’s fucking great too, even though you can't order it from Bandcamp. But you can download the others, sooooo...devour.
Electric! [CTAB60]
4 January, 2014
As you regular readers (ha) know, the ol' Soundscape is slow to latch onto hot new happenings. That's what this blog is really for, anyway - for the things too cold for the high-traffic joints. But these are the bands that rebel against expiration dates - that remain so unnaturally fresh that they could have only been...electrified! OK, that makes no physical sense, and I apologize. But electricity they do share.
Cowtown - Words are clunky things to describe rock with. Especially
when said rock…y’know, rocks.
Cowtown are that kind of rock. The kind that sends bodies
leaping across the floor. The kind that pumps electric joy into your skull.
Yes, it’s so Devo - and that ain’t an insult – but beefier. And, err, not
actually devolved.
Dudes VS. Bad Dudes! A fight for the ages! Cowtown, of course, are the dudes on the left – the dudes on the right are all the wusses, the dreamy wimps, the somber hipsters, and anyone else who dare contort a pop song past five minutes. It’s a straight, solid border. Light vs. dark. Hot vs. cold. No mystery or intrigue behind Cowtown. Straight lines. All energy. They come, they throw one helluva party, they leave.
“Ski School” is everything that rocked about the new wave – somewheres between Split Endz and The Fixx and Squeeze and…oh, you get the idea. “Night Beats” is that, too, and then some. “Monotone Face” is the wittiest and most Devo-esque, and also the most danceable (note: actually, I haven’t danced to this yet. Will do so in good time). A chick sings on “Animals”, a stop-start stomper, and a zigzag line from Cowtown to Deerhoof (which is still comprised of straight lines, so my first assertion about lines remains true).
If I write any more words, I would do the blokes an injustice. So just crane yr ears to the high-voltage below and GET ENERGIZED. And a bumbling ostrich tells me (little birds are out on vacation) they’ll be teaming up with superstars HHBTM in this lovely new year…
Dudes VS. Bad Dudes! A fight for the ages! Cowtown, of course, are the dudes on the left – the dudes on the right are all the wusses, the dreamy wimps, the somber hipsters, and anyone else who dare contort a pop song past five minutes. It’s a straight, solid border. Light vs. dark. Hot vs. cold. No mystery or intrigue behind Cowtown. Straight lines. All energy. They come, they throw one helluva party, they leave.
“Ski School” is everything that rocked about the new wave – somewheres between Split Endz and The Fixx and Squeeze and…oh, you get the idea. “Night Beats” is that, too, and then some. “Monotone Face” is the wittiest and most Devo-esque, and also the most danceable (note: actually, I haven’t danced to this yet. Will do so in good time). A chick sings on “Animals”, a stop-start stomper, and a zigzag line from Cowtown to Deerhoof (which is still comprised of straight lines, so my first assertion about lines remains true).
If I write any more words, I would do the blokes an injustice. So just crane yr ears to the high-voltage below and GET ENERGIZED. And a bumbling ostrich tells me (little birds are out on vacation) they’ll be teaming up with superstars HHBTM in this lovely new year…
Albert's Basement - My brother got a Casio once for Christmas. It was inevitably his, because he was the one that tried to play proper tunes on pianos. So, for many years, he kept it in his room and worked out little melodies on it, from the Super Mario Bros. theme to that solo in “Jump!”. Being the ever-helpful brother, he’d sit me down in front of the keyboard sometimes and try to teach me a technique or two. But that was always HIS Casio in my mind, and so I never really practiced or even fiddled with the thing.
At any rate, we’d both gather behind the keys sometimes and just muck around with the 100 different tones on it. Car horn cacophonies, alien signal calls, the icy space echo thud of the “pearl drop”, human sounds with impossible vocal ranges…and , most fun of all, percussion noises! With this many aural toys to bang around with, who needed actual melodies?
What a shame that I had no inkling of a clue about synthpop back then. No form of pop should ever be complicated, particularly not on the keys – just think about that banger of a hit, OMD’s “Enola Gay”. If you really wanted to, you could nail the main melody in half an hour.
Albert's Basement know this, especially on their LP S e c r e t V a l l e y. Two seconds into “Streets of Fitzroy”, and I remember those Casio days – it’s a simple oscillation, in the most glaringly synthetic sound possible, but in the context of a song it lends neon color, flying color, the color of the car speeding through neon-lined streets, lights blinking in time. The synthetic trumpet on “You Will Never Be Satisfied” can be played with one finger, but without it the tune would lose its stately sweetness, the paper crimson curtain (velvet’s waaaaay too expensive). Most remarkable, perhaps, is how the little lines in “The Wilted & Unwilted” drift by, and how fine chords like the thinnest sugar icing coat the dusky haze of raging guitar simmering at the pit of the song. How a tune can be so sweet and fiery is beyond me.
But before you mistake Albert’s Basement for a run-of-the-mill basement synthpop band, ya gotten listen to the thudding assault of “Three Is A Tragic Number”, its jackhammer stuttering and snarling cleaving right through the sheeny glitz. Or my fave, the searing undulating moan of “Glitter Lung”.
And THEN, just when you think you’ve pegged Albert’s Basement down, then they break out “Morning Star…”, a sing-along acoustic pop number with a bit of minor melancholy and bluesy swagger – which, in itself, bursts open toward the end. You just can’t hold those kids down, can ya?
So…big thumbs up for you, Albert’s Basement. Way to go for fiddling around with instruments, stringing together sounds, and producing such charming, seething, living tunes. Here’s their album, S e c r e t V a l l e y, below. Download it.
At any rate, we’d both gather behind the keys sometimes and just muck around with the 100 different tones on it. Car horn cacophonies, alien signal calls, the icy space echo thud of the “pearl drop”, human sounds with impossible vocal ranges…and , most fun of all, percussion noises! With this many aural toys to bang around with, who needed actual melodies?
What a shame that I had no inkling of a clue about synthpop back then. No form of pop should ever be complicated, particularly not on the keys – just think about that banger of a hit, OMD’s “Enola Gay”. If you really wanted to, you could nail the main melody in half an hour.
Albert's Basement know this, especially on their LP S e c r e t V a l l e y. Two seconds into “Streets of Fitzroy”, and I remember those Casio days – it’s a simple oscillation, in the most glaringly synthetic sound possible, but in the context of a song it lends neon color, flying color, the color of the car speeding through neon-lined streets, lights blinking in time. The synthetic trumpet on “You Will Never Be Satisfied” can be played with one finger, but without it the tune would lose its stately sweetness, the paper crimson curtain (velvet’s waaaaay too expensive). Most remarkable, perhaps, is how the little lines in “The Wilted & Unwilted” drift by, and how fine chords like the thinnest sugar icing coat the dusky haze of raging guitar simmering at the pit of the song. How a tune can be so sweet and fiery is beyond me.
But before you mistake Albert’s Basement for a run-of-the-mill basement synthpop band, ya gotten listen to the thudding assault of “Three Is A Tragic Number”, its jackhammer stuttering and snarling cleaving right through the sheeny glitz. Or my fave, the searing undulating moan of “Glitter Lung”.
And THEN, just when you think you’ve pegged Albert’s Basement down, then they break out “Morning Star…”, a sing-along acoustic pop number with a bit of minor melancholy and bluesy swagger – which, in itself, bursts open toward the end. You just can’t hold those kids down, can ya?
So…big thumbs up for you, Albert’s Basement. Way to go for fiddling around with instruments, stringing together sounds, and producing such charming, seething, living tunes. Here’s their album, S e c r e t V a l l e y, below. Download it.
Bring Back the Riot! [NDDT59]
27 December, 2013
Am I referring to riot grrl? No - but yes. Indeed, the two bands on tap today are both femme-fronted, and they're both loud and unruly. They could start something. Like fires. Or the aborted girl power revolution. Maybe? In an alternate reality?
You'll hear me refer to children quite a bit. And I apologize for that. But here's the issue, see - if grown-up women musicians are supposed to wear little black evening dresses, or sing soppy coffee bar shit, or whisper in French and get trapped in crystal prisons, or maximize cleavage for maximum success, then fuck growing up. Resist, RESIST, kick 'em in the teeth and reject all the bikinis and pole dances of the world. We can be as ugly and upfront and nasty as we wanna be. Rock on, sisters.
You'll hear me refer to children quite a bit. And I apologize for that. But here's the issue, see - if grown-up women musicians are supposed to wear little black evening dresses, or sing soppy coffee bar shit, or whisper in French and get trapped in crystal prisons, or maximize cleavage for maximum success, then fuck growing up. Resist, RESIST, kick 'em in the teeth and reject all the bikinis and pole dances of the world. We can be as ugly and upfront and nasty as we wanna be. Rock on, sisters.
North Dakota - Whether or not these chicks actually hail from North Dakota is irrelevant. All that matters is that they have guitars, loud amps, and buckets full of glee.
Their sound transcends states, anyway – lightning rounds of giddy screams, slippery beats, but especially teethy riffs, the kind that grins the biggest smile then chomps down on your ears. Pat Waggy is their first LP, a shimmying snake of a howler. Lo-fi as all get-out. A straight-line focus, but with a wiggly, warping, jiggling tendency. “Stagecoach” lurches forward after dusky sways of modern blue cool, but “Galapaghost” wriggles to and fro with a righteous post-punk stomp. North Dakota don’t sit still – they run circles around the studio, swap records and ideas with each other. Most of all, though, North Dakota love to make a racket.
But “Waiting In White”. Ooooooh, what swagger. What simmering intensity. Where much of this LP is a rush of raw energy, of squealing cheer and adventure, this tune is carefully plotted, deploying subtle motorik groove with minimal synth wobbling to entice the listener closer, closer, ever closer.
Do North Dakota connect dots? If they did, they might start at Liliput (“Angry Boy” , then draw shaky lines between the Kills, Deerhoof, the Clean…but by then they’d be bored, and curving loops off the page. Nope, North Dakota don’t draw lines. It’s always the critic that picks up the pieces anyway, isn’t it? Tiny jigsaw pieces that you swear should line up, that look like they belong together, but really never quite fit.
Enough. Shell out some cash and download this.
Their sound transcends states, anyway – lightning rounds of giddy screams, slippery beats, but especially teethy riffs, the kind that grins the biggest smile then chomps down on your ears. Pat Waggy is their first LP, a shimmying snake of a howler. Lo-fi as all get-out. A straight-line focus, but with a wiggly, warping, jiggling tendency. “Stagecoach” lurches forward after dusky sways of modern blue cool, but “Galapaghost” wriggles to and fro with a righteous post-punk stomp. North Dakota don’t sit still – they run circles around the studio, swap records and ideas with each other. Most of all, though, North Dakota love to make a racket.
But “Waiting In White”. Ooooooh, what swagger. What simmering intensity. Where much of this LP is a rush of raw energy, of squealing cheer and adventure, this tune is carefully plotted, deploying subtle motorik groove with minimal synth wobbling to entice the listener closer, closer, ever closer.
Do North Dakota connect dots? If they did, they might start at Liliput (“Angry Boy” , then draw shaky lines between the Kills, Deerhoof, the Clean…but by then they’d be bored, and curving loops off the page. Nope, North Dakota don’t draw lines. It’s always the critic that picks up the pieces anyway, isn’t it? Tiny jigsaw pieces that you swear should line up, that look like they belong together, but really never quite fit.
Enough. Shell out some cash and download this.
Dogtower - Oh, yeah. Thought Poly Styrene was inimitable, eh? Wait ‘til you hear Dogtower. The lead singer belts out like the perfect vocal stunt double - screaming, thrashing, commanding, throwing the wildest temper tantrums. But forget Lora Logic – the kids have grown past X-Ray Spex, past the old punk-pop bop, past the Top of the Pops game. In that sense, Dogtower is a very literal “post-punk”, or rather a “post-modernist punk”. They’re grungy, and not in a 90s way, but as in clothes strewn over the bedroom floor, bibs stained with mushy peas, crusty spaghetti sauce on the walls.
Don’t get me wrong, though – the Dogtower LP (a self-titled one, it is) is quite a poppy punk, but in many guises. They strip it to Beat Happening basics for “Trinkets”, set it ablaze on “Fireworks”, and mix it up into a happy spiky sloppy milkshake for “Simulated Drinking”. Buzzcocks for breakfast, Germs for lunch, some pink flag for dessert. Supper, meh. Who has time to sit for that?
The most fascinating bits on the Dogtower menu, though, are the stuff that most artistes would call “bloopers” – the false start on “Pub” (über-ace track, by the way – bubbly, buoyant, and laced with petrol – “HOLD OUT YOUR WRIST, HE’LL X-RAY YOUR FACE”), the barely audible banter in the up-and-down, sprint-and-brake “Dogtower”. Well, and the line “I only want you for your cock” is golden songwriting, if ya ask me (“Cock”).
Anyway, what does it all add up to? All these mishaps and raunchy humor and incendiary vocals? Not polite society, that’s for sure. The kids of Dogtower (and they are kids, no matter what their actual age is – I say that with mounds of praise) want to muck up the crystal-preserved world of today’s wannabe garage rockers, channeling X-Ray Spex as their main muse but hardly the only one. Don’t bring ‘em home to yr mum. And never show these blokes a camera, unless you want total anarchy among the young ‘uns…wait, that sounds like a BRILLIANT idea…can that happen anymore? Can youth revolts still happen on the air? Or will Dogtower just devour their hip, indifferent veggie audience?
Don’t get me wrong, though – the Dogtower LP (a self-titled one, it is) is quite a poppy punk, but in many guises. They strip it to Beat Happening basics for “Trinkets”, set it ablaze on “Fireworks”, and mix it up into a happy spiky sloppy milkshake for “Simulated Drinking”. Buzzcocks for breakfast, Germs for lunch, some pink flag for dessert. Supper, meh. Who has time to sit for that?
The most fascinating bits on the Dogtower menu, though, are the stuff that most artistes would call “bloopers” – the false start on “Pub” (über-ace track, by the way – bubbly, buoyant, and laced with petrol – “HOLD OUT YOUR WRIST, HE’LL X-RAY YOUR FACE”), the barely audible banter in the up-and-down, sprint-and-brake “Dogtower”. Well, and the line “I only want you for your cock” is golden songwriting, if ya ask me (“Cock”).
Anyway, what does it all add up to? All these mishaps and raunchy humor and incendiary vocals? Not polite society, that’s for sure. The kids of Dogtower (and they are kids, no matter what their actual age is – I say that with mounds of praise) want to muck up the crystal-preserved world of today’s wannabe garage rockers, channeling X-Ray Spex as their main muse but hardly the only one. Don’t bring ‘em home to yr mum. And never show these blokes a camera, unless you want total anarchy among the young ‘uns…wait, that sounds like a BRILLIANT idea…can that happen anymore? Can youth revolts still happen on the air? Or will Dogtower just devour their hip, indifferent veggie audience?
Exclamation! [mfin!58]
16 December, 2013
So how are those End of the Year lists coming along? I mused about Dandelion's best-ofs elsewhere on the site, but otherwise I doubt that I could compile a relevant or comprehensive ranking of 2013's SMAAAAASH hits. So whatevs. Let the hardcore record collectors and music archivists sort that out. I'm still looking, ears still open. Next year needs to hurry along. Dump this Christmas mush. Set your radar for these two bands that use and abuse the exclamation mark!
!mindparade - I could begin to describe !mindparade – but then, it’d be a
bit like pinning down mercury, or painting a sunset, or relating the patterns
in a kaleidoscope to a blind man. Everything
is Happening, their last LP, is a tilted world of dripping color, a pendulum
that swings in uneven strokes between raw and loopy. Tracks race between
dimensions, between dreams, burbling and sparkling and crackling. Just listen
to “Time”, and try to figure out the genre – maybe a lost Motown soul crusher,
that’s been warped over the years and squeezed through a psychedelic speaker?
Compare with “Why”, a staggering blast of saxes and cascading flutes that hint at something monumental.
If you really wanna jam someone’s radar, though, broadcast
“It Is Strange…” into airspace, and watch pilots careen off course as white noise
ambushes their ears. For a similar
shake-up experience on the dance floor, pipe “Age of the Disconnected Man” into
the speakers. Fun times should follow.
Should I draw some comparisons? MGMT comes to mind, particularly on “Gravitation” and “Better” – but then, !mindparade excel past that (especially on the latter – OH MY LORD THAT CHORUS), and it’s really beyond my power to say where else this cosmic power draws influence from, if not from their own divine meditations.
Should I draw some comparisons? MGMT comes to mind, particularly on “Gravitation” and “Better” – but then, !mindparade excel past that (especially on the latter – OH MY LORD THAT CHORUS), and it’s really beyond my power to say where else this cosmic power draws influence from, if not from their own divine meditations.
All I know is, !mindparade are a rare entity, and my ears and eyes are riveted. A few months ago, GoldFlakePaint unveiled Somehow (Parts I & II) – and UHHHHHHH. Let’s say this – Moody Blues + hip-hop. Hypnotizing. The groove slips into your head and pleads for infinity. A mystery floats in the chorus, a mystery that lingers after every listen. I’m dumb with awe and wonder. This is a single to get excited about. The next !mindparade album will pierce the stratosphere.
Love? Yes, love. Love to melt the snows, love to stoke the wood stove, love to warm a cup of tea.
Finnmark! is love. Not indie pop, although you could brand them that way. And yeah, they were on this this year’s Indietracks compilation. OK, fine, it’s indie pop. However, unlike those twee kids that trade voices and jump for glee, Finnmark! is one forlorn voice above the organ-y synth and bouncing bass. A post-punk-infected voice, you might add, but nahhhh, that’s just an uncanny resemblance.
We’re Not Köping is the first EP from Finnmark! on February Records, and it’s so lovely. An odd mismatch of cheer and brooding, the band celebrate simplicity yet play with convention, sometimes even teasing it and calling it funny names – but never in spite. The best mix-up is “Everybody’s Dying”, the happiest song you’ll ever hear about vehicular homicide.
But “Considering A Move To Sweden” is growing on me. Everything’s there – sad laments, wistful escapism, far-away vocals, spoken shuffling chorus, and a map of Sweden. Monochrome Set, maybe? Let’s all move to Sweden.
Love. I said it once, and I’ll say it again. Finnmark! is love. If you can’t catch it at once, then you must be a rock. Buy this EP (only two quid, you cheapskate) and swoon.
Finnmark! is love. Not indie pop, although you could brand them that way. And yeah, they were on this this year’s Indietracks compilation. OK, fine, it’s indie pop. However, unlike those twee kids that trade voices and jump for glee, Finnmark! is one forlorn voice above the organ-y synth and bouncing bass. A post-punk-infected voice, you might add, but nahhhh, that’s just an uncanny resemblance.
We’re Not Köping is the first EP from Finnmark! on February Records, and it’s so lovely. An odd mismatch of cheer and brooding, the band celebrate simplicity yet play with convention, sometimes even teasing it and calling it funny names – but never in spite. The best mix-up is “Everybody’s Dying”, the happiest song you’ll ever hear about vehicular homicide.
But “Considering A Move To Sweden” is growing on me. Everything’s there – sad laments, wistful escapism, far-away vocals, spoken shuffling chorus, and a map of Sweden. Monochrome Set, maybe? Let’s all move to Sweden.
Love. I said it once, and I’ll say it again. Finnmark! is love. If you can’t catch it at once, then you must be a rock. Buy this EP (only two quid, you cheapskate) and swoon.
Four to Watch. [HHB457]
28 November, 2013
So you know who HHBTM is by now, right? I'll recap for the newcomers, anyway - they're a record label based in Athens, who's gained traction in the indie world with radical misfits like Tunabunny, Muuy Biien, and Cars Can Be Blue. Well, next year looks even brighter for the home town heroes, because loads of new releases are simmering on the back burner (including, yes, the fourth Tunabunny LP - GET EXCITED).
Here's four newcomers to the roster - or relatively new, or at least only marginally on the roster at this point in time, but about to EXPLODE in a few months. Feast on this.
Here's four newcomers to the roster - or relatively new, or at least only marginally on the roster at this point in time, but about to EXPLODE in a few months. Feast on this.
Noon: 30 – What is this?! Violent, terse electropop from our beloved indie purveyors? Yes. Fuck yes. Fronted by some sultry chicks with guns in their hands and cash in their pockets. They’re out to murder someone – you, perhaps – and they’re now racing down a desert road, via black-and-white shots in a slightly-outdated-but-nevertheless-classy car. No laughs over the steering wheel, either – death presses close. “Gun” is serious, snarling business, a sexy dark snare that’ll bind you in place so Noon: 30 can splice you open.
American Culture – Just set and forget that drum machine. Lean back, hammer out some riffs, and reminisce. That’s the general idea behind this fantastic tune from American Culture, which defers quite bluntly to the 90s (even in the lyris – count how many of your fave bands are mentioned in the lyrics). “I Like American Culture” is simple, and very happily so – very happily, euphorically so. Here’s hoping these blokes can crank out more anthems as stupidly, sloppily great as this.
Skinny Girl Diet - Don’t mess with Skinny Girl Diet – they’re riot grrl assassins. Mention Hole around them, and they’ll blow your head off without batting an eye. Dude punks only wish they could be this suave. “DMT” is a single that could start fires on the streets, and rebellion among the dying few that still cling to the empty black promise of Savages’ “Husbands”. Riots spark in the verses. The lead singer stands a cool distance away from the violence. It’s something to salivate over. But the real violence breaks on “Homesick” – someone’s bound to die on this one. Sheer, unrelenting electric menace of black magic. Apparently Skinny Girl Diet are punk assassins, too.
Bam! Bam! – A little disheveled, a little misunderstood, but plenty loud and fuzzy. Bam! Bam! play in dark little side alleys, their friends’ creaky old flats, and anywhere else they can rouse the dust bunnies from the shadows. The stomping drums lead the giddy assault against cuddles in “Golden Haze 2”; from there, however, Bam! Bam! tone down to a rowdy indie pitch that’s still ragged at the edges, but warm and embracing at the center. The duet with Calvin Johnson (yes, THAT Calvin Johnson) in “Medicine” sounds very, very right. Hopefully a bright and messy future awaits these chicks.
Droooooooone. [WkMB56]
17 November, 2013
Has it really been that long? Sheesh. Well, after a criminal delay, I've cobbled out some reviews for you folks. If you've been a faithful listener of the radio show, though, these won't be anything new. (Or, perhaps, not TOO new.) But let's just say that these are long overdue. And, as the title implies, the drone prevails over all.
Winkie -
The color is fading fast from Athens. Several trees now wave
bare in the chilling winds; others droop with dull crimson and muddy brown
leaves. And the morning skies are gray. Oh, so gray.
This is the time of year for Winkie. Regular readers have met the midnight duo before, when I introduced their first single – well, the new LP is out. It’s called “One Day We Pretended to Be Ghosts”. I received it some months ago, while in the thrall of my studies – and, might I add, while the sun was still bright and the temperatures still comfy and warm. Back then, the whole thing seemed like some distant fuzz, some abyss that I could safely stare down and not even fathom the chance of being swallowed.
But not any more. Christ, not any more.
Death must feel like this. At least, death when it’s due, when you’ve reached a ripe old age. Cold, immense, but bliss beyond measure. A bliss more transcendent than sex. A slow but welcomed drowning into black oblivion.
Never mind the long, blatantly doom-laden titles. Listen instead to the mangled, warped distortion. It’s great. It’s so great. It’s the primal drone, stretched into a throbbing massage of miasma, mutilated . It is love, heavy and embracing, and it’s induced many a moan from me as it steadily, imperceptibly, then overwhelmingly smothers me. WINKIE shouldn’t need a fog machine when they play live, especially not for “My Eyes Are Closed When The Sun Comes Up” – between the icy synths and that savage drone, you can feel the mists closing in, enveloping everything. And, ohhhh, “The Line Up”. Ohhh, God. Those warbled sustains just kill me.
And OH MY BLOODY VALENTINE, “Sometimes”. It’s a track drawn from the ether, with ghostly guitars floating all around, while traces of bright synth accents stab through the fog. The pulsing bass that drives most of Winkie’s tracks fuels this one with a passion.
Now, not all of Winkie’s terrors assail you gently. “Illuminated” snarls with muscular brooding, pounding from all directions like a tune from Pornography. “Death At The Heart Of The Disco” also summons a thick, doom-laden beat – but ahhhh, now the fog descends upon us in double-folds, shifting now from silver to grey. This one’s a maze of smog, and if you’re not lost at first, you soon will be – and I tell you, it’s so lovely it hurts.
I can take or leave the lyrics – it’s the voice, the eerily pure and heavenly voice that floats gracefully over the blackening haze, that beckons like a siren to the weary Odysseus. Come, come hither. Come deeper into this maddening, razor-sharp fog, o listener. We know it’s a trick, we know that if we follow her, she will blacken out the sun and possibly even rob us of our life. But we follow, through the savage undulation of “The Safest Place Is Denial”, to the ominous and gloriously unsettling rattle of “Arrows” that ends the album, because we cannot grasp her, and because her traps have ensnared us utterly.
Winter will soon be here. Now’s the time to lose yourself in Winkie. Listen and buy their LP from their Bandcamp page.
This is the time of year for Winkie. Regular readers have met the midnight duo before, when I introduced their first single – well, the new LP is out. It’s called “One Day We Pretended to Be Ghosts”. I received it some months ago, while in the thrall of my studies – and, might I add, while the sun was still bright and the temperatures still comfy and warm. Back then, the whole thing seemed like some distant fuzz, some abyss that I could safely stare down and not even fathom the chance of being swallowed.
But not any more. Christ, not any more.
Death must feel like this. At least, death when it’s due, when you’ve reached a ripe old age. Cold, immense, but bliss beyond measure. A bliss more transcendent than sex. A slow but welcomed drowning into black oblivion.
Never mind the long, blatantly doom-laden titles. Listen instead to the mangled, warped distortion. It’s great. It’s so great. It’s the primal drone, stretched into a throbbing massage of miasma, mutilated . It is love, heavy and embracing, and it’s induced many a moan from me as it steadily, imperceptibly, then overwhelmingly smothers me. WINKIE shouldn’t need a fog machine when they play live, especially not for “My Eyes Are Closed When The Sun Comes Up” – between the icy synths and that savage drone, you can feel the mists closing in, enveloping everything. And, ohhhh, “The Line Up”. Ohhh, God. Those warbled sustains just kill me.
And OH MY BLOODY VALENTINE, “Sometimes”. It’s a track drawn from the ether, with ghostly guitars floating all around, while traces of bright synth accents stab through the fog. The pulsing bass that drives most of Winkie’s tracks fuels this one with a passion.
Now, not all of Winkie’s terrors assail you gently. “Illuminated” snarls with muscular brooding, pounding from all directions like a tune from Pornography. “Death At The Heart Of The Disco” also summons a thick, doom-laden beat – but ahhhh, now the fog descends upon us in double-folds, shifting now from silver to grey. This one’s a maze of smog, and if you’re not lost at first, you soon will be – and I tell you, it’s so lovely it hurts.
I can take or leave the lyrics – it’s the voice, the eerily pure and heavenly voice that floats gracefully over the blackening haze, that beckons like a siren to the weary Odysseus. Come, come hither. Come deeper into this maddening, razor-sharp fog, o listener. We know it’s a trick, we know that if we follow her, she will blacken out the sun and possibly even rob us of our life. But we follow, through the savage undulation of “The Safest Place Is Denial”, to the ominous and gloriously unsettling rattle of “Arrows” that ends the album, because we cannot grasp her, and because her traps have ensnared us utterly.
Winter will soon be here. Now’s the time to lose yourself in Winkie. Listen and buy their LP from their Bandcamp page.
Muuy Biien -
What?! I haven’t raved yet about Athens’ prime punk bank?
What a schmuck I’ve been!
Fortunately, little needs to be said. Anything much greater than 150 words would be unnecessary and totally lame.
So here’s the lowdown: Muuy Biien’s last LP, This Is What Your Mind Imagines, is a black-and-white kind of album. On the black side, they’ll smash your face in. Think the golden era of SST. Two-minute (or less) blasts of sheer nastiness. Frontman Josh Evens is no poser, either – he’s got the strut, the scream, the fuck-you charisma. And nothing is more quintessentially punk than lines like “I don’t like to deal with things/I just pretend they don’t exist” (“Something Rotten”) or, better still, “YOU’RE NOT FUCKING LISTENING” (“Forward Motion”).
Fortunately, little needs to be said. Anything much greater than 150 words would be unnecessary and totally lame.
So here’s the lowdown: Muuy Biien’s last LP, This Is What Your Mind Imagines, is a black-and-white kind of album. On the black side, they’ll smash your face in. Think the golden era of SST. Two-minute (or less) blasts of sheer nastiness. Frontman Josh Evens is no poser, either – he’s got the strut, the scream, the fuck-you charisma. And nothing is more quintessentially punk than lines like “I don’t like to deal with things/I just pretend they don’t exist” (“Something Rotten”) or, better still, “YOU’RE NOT FUCKING LISTENING” (“Forward Motion”).
On the white side, however, from out of the void, Muuy Biien create ambience. Humming drones, seas of hushed static, drifting echo. It pairs well with the edgier punk, really; indeed, it’s almost a different philosophy of punk, an anarchy of another sort, a rejection of the world created by quiet contemplation rather than rage.
Evans knows this. Muuy Biien’s latest EP, Withdrawn/I’ll Never Be The Same is that isolated punk, and the solace found from retreating inwards. It’s four tracks of absolute beauty, and it’s 100% free on Muuy Biien’s Bandcamp page. Of course, This Is What Your Mind Imagines is up there, too. And stay tuned, ‘cause their label HHBTM will be rolling out a new LP next year.
Evans knows this. Muuy Biien’s latest EP, Withdrawn/I’ll Never Be The Same is that isolated punk, and the solace found from retreating inwards. It’s four tracks of absolute beauty, and it’s 100% free on Muuy Biien’s Bandcamp page. Of course, This Is What Your Mind Imagines is up there, too. And stay tuned, ‘cause their label HHBTM will be rolling out a new LP next year.
More Athenites [TTAA55]
29 September, 2013
'Ello, folks. Grad school's kept me busy over the weeks, but I've still been listening out for local music. What I've culled here is only a taster for what's to come.
Timmy Tumble and the Tumblers - You can find EPs in the darndest places sometimes. I popped into Wuxtry’s one evening – as I often do on Thursday evenings – to ask about the unbelievable $3 sale on The New Sound of Numbers’ first LP (trust me, these folk will warrant a review of their own in due time). And, off-handedly, Mike asks if I wanted this lil’ Head Honey EP from Timmy Tumble and The Tumblers. Geez, what a name, I thought at the time. But, eh, free music. Sure.
Naturally, I forget about the slip of a CD for a few days, then stumble into it as I’m cleaning out my bookbag. But when I finally give it a spin – huh! How nice! “Wave of Her Own”, the opener, rocks in an old-fashioned way – clean, clear, and endearing from the get-go. And Timmy! He’s got it, man – the charisma, the passion, the chops. It just feels right – a cozy rock and roll haven without the punky anger, posing twats, or smug lo-fi artistes. The Tumblers are here to show us that rock before punk wasn’t a total waste of time – that maybe Boston could’ve had a soul, if they’d only knocked down their wall of sound and let the fuzz creep in a little more.
“Head Honey”, in particular, proves that rock bliss can coincide with the rough-and-tumble indies. Just soak in those gorgeous vocals, and that trippy guitar trickling down the track. Or the sweet “Dream On My Mind”, a power pop triumph laced with faint psychedelia that’s hidden away as a bonus track on the physical CD (which, heh heh, you can’t hear, actually. Which is a damn shame. Patience, grasshopper.) It’s all familiar, all too familiar, for an old veteran of AOR stations. But Head Honey ain’t classic rock, no sir. It’s Timmy’s rock. And he and his Tumblers rock righteously.
Do check out this nice, nice lil’ EP from Gypsy Farm below. If you dig it, head over to their Bandcamp page and snag it for $3.
Naturally, I forget about the slip of a CD for a few days, then stumble into it as I’m cleaning out my bookbag. But when I finally give it a spin – huh! How nice! “Wave of Her Own”, the opener, rocks in an old-fashioned way – clean, clear, and endearing from the get-go. And Timmy! He’s got it, man – the charisma, the passion, the chops. It just feels right – a cozy rock and roll haven without the punky anger, posing twats, or smug lo-fi artistes. The Tumblers are here to show us that rock before punk wasn’t a total waste of time – that maybe Boston could’ve had a soul, if they’d only knocked down their wall of sound and let the fuzz creep in a little more.
“Head Honey”, in particular, proves that rock bliss can coincide with the rough-and-tumble indies. Just soak in those gorgeous vocals, and that trippy guitar trickling down the track. Or the sweet “Dream On My Mind”, a power pop triumph laced with faint psychedelia that’s hidden away as a bonus track on the physical CD (which, heh heh, you can’t hear, actually. Which is a damn shame. Patience, grasshopper.) It’s all familiar, all too familiar, for an old veteran of AOR stations. But Head Honey ain’t classic rock, no sir. It’s Timmy’s rock. And he and his Tumblers rock righteously.
Do check out this nice, nice lil’ EP from Gypsy Farm below. If you dig it, head over to their Bandcamp page and snag it for $3.
Antlered Auntlord – Or Ant Lurid Ant Lard. Or Ant Lure Red Ant Lord. Or Aunt Read Antlered. Or…
This may be a trivial thing, to dither about all the different ways that Jesse Stinnard spells his band. But this singer/songwriter/producer/Tunabunny composes wildly varying tunes in the same curious and cheeky way that he toys with spelling. Antlered Auntlord’s Soundcloud page swerves from quirky drum machine incantations (“classic nu new uncomfortable bumblebees dub” – one of my faves, actually) to rambunctious indie pop (“Questions From Our Publicist”) to blazing, snarling destruction (“Sciatica” - also one of my faves). And somehow, this rag-tag bunch of tunes work – perhaps because, in some way, Antlered Auntlord are always off-kilter, no matter how straightforward the tune may seem (although it’s usually not).
I saw an Antlered Auntlord gig – with just three folks in the band - and was often inches away from being whacked in the head by Jessie’s guitar. He staggered all over the floor, leaned perilously against the mic stand, bounced here and there and back again as his animated drummer and laid-back bassist worked the tempo from breakneck to standstill. “This is a song about those who don’t like to wait,” Jessie announced once, before careening into a tune whose only lyrics were “I DON’T LIKE TO WAIT”. Brilliant show. Couldn’t have been more than twenty folks there (including two other Tunabunnies).
Yep. Antlered Auntlord are the best. Aside from Tunabunny, of course. They are cool dudes I wish I could chill with more. And, most unfortunately, they haven’t dropped any downloadable goodies yet. They do, at least, have this Soundcloud page chock-full of quality stuff, which you can sample below. (And, if you’re like me, can replay over and over again.) Keep yr eyes peeled on HHBTM, though, because a grumbly little bird’s told me that an LP is in the works for next year…
This may be a trivial thing, to dither about all the different ways that Jesse Stinnard spells his band. But this singer/songwriter/producer/Tunabunny composes wildly varying tunes in the same curious and cheeky way that he toys with spelling. Antlered Auntlord’s Soundcloud page swerves from quirky drum machine incantations (“classic nu new uncomfortable bumblebees dub” – one of my faves, actually) to rambunctious indie pop (“Questions From Our Publicist”) to blazing, snarling destruction (“Sciatica” - also one of my faves). And somehow, this rag-tag bunch of tunes work – perhaps because, in some way, Antlered Auntlord are always off-kilter, no matter how straightforward the tune may seem (although it’s usually not).
I saw an Antlered Auntlord gig – with just three folks in the band - and was often inches away from being whacked in the head by Jessie’s guitar. He staggered all over the floor, leaned perilously against the mic stand, bounced here and there and back again as his animated drummer and laid-back bassist worked the tempo from breakneck to standstill. “This is a song about those who don’t like to wait,” Jessie announced once, before careening into a tune whose only lyrics were “I DON’T LIKE TO WAIT”. Brilliant show. Couldn’t have been more than twenty folks there (including two other Tunabunnies).
Yep. Antlered Auntlord are the best. Aside from Tunabunny, of course. They are cool dudes I wish I could chill with more. And, most unfortunately, they haven’t dropped any downloadable goodies yet. They do, at least, have this Soundcloud page chock-full of quality stuff, which you can sample below. (And, if you’re like me, can replay over and over again.) Keep yr eyes peeled on HHBTM, though, because a grumbly little bird’s told me that an LP is in the works for next year…
WARNING: SYSTEM OVERLOAD [WSyO54]
29 August, 2013
OK, kids. Let’s cut to the chase. I’ve found bushels of loud, thrilling, and frightening music over the past few weeks. And it’s all awesome. Dig.
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Odonis Odonis – Hide the children – Odonis Odonis are sonic terrorists from Canada that scream and rail over demented and distorted riffs. And they’re a BLAST. Shimmy down in mad ecstasy to the cool groove and wild screams of “Better”; speed through the industrial quarter of town with “Intelligence” on a reckless night drive to nowhere; or just laugh with maniacal glee at the screeching madness that is “Flight Risk”. Savor it all on this “Better” EP, which is $5 (in Canadian moolah) on Odonis Odonis’s Bandcamp page.
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The Wides – Thunderous rockers from Nova Scotia. Their last EP, “Snell Hotel”, showcases their knack for belting out fiery, heavy-handed tunes that rock righteously. Tough to nail down a favorite – the bracing, fuel-injected force of “Horse & Saddle”, or the spiky power trip of “Stick Grenade”? Ahh, you decide. Snell Hotel's a pay-what-you-want download, and you can grab it below via their Bandcamp page.
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Ten Foot Nun – This’ll be one of those artists that you’ll either love to pieces or deject on first listen. “Patton-esque” is the only apt modifier I can think of for their totally free EP “Nightmare At The Shoe Museum” – it’s frankly NUTS. And yet, as silly as they may seem, these Croydon boys are madly talented. And yes, I did say “free”. Download below, but at your own risk – they say the shoes come alive when no one’s looking…
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Ipswich – What? More power? OK. You asked for it, bub. I give you this single from Ipswich, “Whitecore/Smoke Crack, Shake Babies”. If it’s dirty riffs, high volume, and black humor you seek, then this should bring ya one step closer to nirvana. “Whitecore” is just the warm-up – the gateway, if you will. It’s the B-side that’ll do you in – because that nice and hazy intro is oh-so-deceptive. Just wait. Oh – and did I mention that it’s free? Because it is. Get the hookup below.
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Winkie – Let’s talk post-punk for a sec. No, scratch that – let’s talk goth. Winkie are the real deal – they’re a couple from New York who specialize in haunting, ponderous tunes that suggest Swans, the Cure’s blacker days, Cocteau Twins’ macabre debut…yes, yes. Deliciously dark stuff with pulsing bass, minor keys, and the frigid fog of scathing guitars. Snap up their sole single, “My Eyes Are Closed When The Sun Comes Up”, as either a $2 download or a slick 7” (download code included) for $5. A little raven tells me that a LP is in the pipeline...
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Low-Brow and High Octane - Cars Can Be Blue [CCBB53]
12 August, 2013
OK, kids. I’m living in Athens now. I’ve been staggering around the sprawling campus, standing at bus stops on the vaguest hope that the bus will arrive on time, sitting in standstill traffic, and rushing to parking lots to avoid exorbitant fees. Perhaps you, as a seasoned city dweller, are too familiar with these irritations – but, as a lifelong denizen of a small town, I’m new to it all, and frankly I’m freaking out.
Cars Can Be Blue also reside in Athens. They’ve probably been through all this before, and many other crazy complications besides – but, instead of breaking down and wigging out (as I’ve done), they smack those issues in the face with their inexhaustible, punky pop. Or, in some cases, poppy punk. (They run both ways.) And, rather than sounding bitter or jaded, this latest LP, Trace The Tension, is honestly just ridiculously fun. With irresistible hooks, spiky riffs, and silly, punchy lyrics, CCBB manage to craft a thoroughly enjoyable album – that is, as long as you’re willing to tolerate their irrepressibly cheery, super-charged attitude.
And, let’s face it: even the most violent of Becky’s songs are undeniably hilarious. In “I Am A Slut”, Becky delivers lines like “Fuck me in the ass / Until I’m shitting blood” and “you can bust a nut / bust it in my butt” with such cheeky wit that one can’t help but chuckle. (By the way, if any of that scandalized you, you’d best stop reading right now. This album’s not for you.) Even more funny (and disturbing) is the skipping tune of “Off You Go”, in which Becky wishes the listener to commit suicide: “Do it with bullets or do it with knives / Take yourself out and improve all our lives”. And let’s not forget that great chorus “Put down that gun / my honey bun” on “Put Down That Gun”, naturally.
CCBB deal with angsty social situations (like “Banging My Head” and “On & On”) with sledgehammer precision, bashing out two-minute tunes that are instantly gratifying in their sudden but subtly controlled aggression. “Battleship”, for instance, rallies listeners on with the most excellent “Oh! Oh! Oh!” refrain and the delightful thudding drum break. But CCBB don’t just play the indie pop-punk schitck. “Title Track” doesn’t even need lyrics to rock the house; you’ll wish its blistering fury could last a few minutes more. Similarly, “You Should Be Begging” doesn’t need Becky, either – this rockin’ belter has all the attitude of the dirtiest garage tune. And “Monster” has all the cool, creepy swagger of the Cramps. Most surprising, however, is “Don’t Tell Me” – all the snarl and cynicism is swept away, and we hear a charming, a cappella tune that should have you singing merrily along in a few bars. That is, until the very furious end!
So. Should you buy this Trace the Tension LP? Well, that depends. If you’re too enmeshed in all the carefully apathetic, precisely groomed, and predictably ethereal acts bustling for your likes on Facebook, then probably not. However, if you’re lacking some light-hearted fun and beefy riffs in your library, do give CCBB a spin. The album’s out on September 24th, via HHBTM (the same bloke who brought you Tunabunny). You can pre-order it here on their online store - OR, if you're in the area, just stop by Wuxtry and ask.
Cars Can Be Blue also reside in Athens. They’ve probably been through all this before, and many other crazy complications besides – but, instead of breaking down and wigging out (as I’ve done), they smack those issues in the face with their inexhaustible, punky pop. Or, in some cases, poppy punk. (They run both ways.) And, rather than sounding bitter or jaded, this latest LP, Trace The Tension, is honestly just ridiculously fun. With irresistible hooks, spiky riffs, and silly, punchy lyrics, CCBB manage to craft a thoroughly enjoyable album – that is, as long as you’re willing to tolerate their irrepressibly cheery, super-charged attitude.
And, let’s face it: even the most violent of Becky’s songs are undeniably hilarious. In “I Am A Slut”, Becky delivers lines like “Fuck me in the ass / Until I’m shitting blood” and “you can bust a nut / bust it in my butt” with such cheeky wit that one can’t help but chuckle. (By the way, if any of that scandalized you, you’d best stop reading right now. This album’s not for you.) Even more funny (and disturbing) is the skipping tune of “Off You Go”, in which Becky wishes the listener to commit suicide: “Do it with bullets or do it with knives / Take yourself out and improve all our lives”. And let’s not forget that great chorus “Put down that gun / my honey bun” on “Put Down That Gun”, naturally.
CCBB deal with angsty social situations (like “Banging My Head” and “On & On”) with sledgehammer precision, bashing out two-minute tunes that are instantly gratifying in their sudden but subtly controlled aggression. “Battleship”, for instance, rallies listeners on with the most excellent “Oh! Oh! Oh!” refrain and the delightful thudding drum break. But CCBB don’t just play the indie pop-punk schitck. “Title Track” doesn’t even need lyrics to rock the house; you’ll wish its blistering fury could last a few minutes more. Similarly, “You Should Be Begging” doesn’t need Becky, either – this rockin’ belter has all the attitude of the dirtiest garage tune. And “Monster” has all the cool, creepy swagger of the Cramps. Most surprising, however, is “Don’t Tell Me” – all the snarl and cynicism is swept away, and we hear a charming, a cappella tune that should have you singing merrily along in a few bars. That is, until the very furious end!
So. Should you buy this Trace the Tension LP? Well, that depends. If you’re too enmeshed in all the carefully apathetic, precisely groomed, and predictably ethereal acts bustling for your likes on Facebook, then probably not. However, if you’re lacking some light-hearted fun and beefy riffs in your library, do give CCBB a spin. The album’s out on September 24th, via HHBTM (the same bloke who brought you Tunabunny). You can pre-order it here on their online store - OR, if you're in the area, just stop by Wuxtry and ask.
Get Disoriented! [MPGS52]
6 August 2013
So, as I mentioned earlier, I've been listening to The Waiting Room quite a bit lately. This week, unfortunately, has seen me in too many places and not enough time to sit down - but, alas, I have been paying attention. These two picks from Bandcamp both popped up in one show, and were too righteous to turn down. Dig:
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Mirror Parties – Kids. KIDS. I shouldn’t need to ramble on and on about these guys, but I probably will, because this single EP is too addicting. It’s called Bear Vomit – and yes, that sounds disgusting, but just taste that title track and you’ll be hooked at once. It’s that guitar, that crazy warped twang that drives the absolutely infectious hook into your skull - but it’s those vocals too, a curious drawl that could either inspire skins to crawl or hearts to melt, depending on your taste. And Mirror Parties serve up helping after helping of dissonant, woozy pop, like the darkly joyous “Cherry Pie”, the sinister “Bodies” (my personal favorite – the best cruising track EVER), or the murky yet rousing ”No Light”.
Throughout the first half of the album, however, undercurrents of hiss and unsettling noise flow between the tracks. These moments make perfect (non)sense on the cassette release – particularly in my car, where the tracks numbers aren’t displayed, and the discord bleeds seamlessly from one song to the next. Even though I knew better, I nevertheless felt ill at ease toward the end of the A-side on “Budd”, as if something were dissembling within my tape deck. And then “A Dog Returns To Its Vomit” popped up and dispels all fears – it’s so Joy Division-esque, you might be crying tears of joy. And then there’s the girl tracks. Mirror Parties assume a wholly different guise on “Jean” and “Where Is Judy?” – more minimal, more disturbing, more striking. The way the vocalist sings “let me love Jean” in the former is nearly heartbreaking, but the staggered piano suggests something amiss. Elsewhere, in the latter, only a swirling guitar and a ponderous bass supplement the nervous vocals – until the track opens into that wonderful, vindictive chorus. It’s absolutely cathartic, one of the greatest moments on the album. I don’t know much else about Mirror Parties, save for this EP. But it’s fantastic, and as infectious as the plague. Hear it below, then buy the sweet tunage on Bandcamp from Untied Trash Records via digital download or as a super-cheap cassette. |
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Gravel Samwidge – It’s easy to compare bands to the Fall, isn’t it? Perhaps. But Gravel Samwidge aren’t knock-offs – these blokes are nastier than that, a mixture of viscous word spewing, filthy massive bass, and disorderly guitars. Their latest EP, Home Brand, is a rather consistent slab of drugged swagger, from the snide “Waiting”, to the ferocious “The Family Stone”, the chaotic “Hole In My Head”, and the hammering “RTFM” – and, mind, consistency is good. Very good. “Sunday”, however, drags on an exceptionally dirge-esque tempo, which rends its 3’40” running time to stretch almost infinitely; however, the track remains as thick and imposing as the rest of the EP.
For a healthy dose of unfiltered nastiness, give Home Brand a spin. Gravel Samwidge have graciously released the EP as a pay-what-you-want download on Bandcamp. |
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Daddy Tank, Part 5 - The Dream [DTDs51]
31 July, 2013
Hold your breath, kids – we’re diving back down into Daddy Tank. In fact, you’d best strap on an oxygen tank, because today I’m delving into Dissolved. And I’m completely submerged. This is electronica, folks, but not of this world – the work of Dissolved employs sounds of surreal origins, decayed and warped synths salvaged from the depths of Atlantis, countered by precise beats. “Hypnotic” is an understatement, and “atmospheric” hardy conveys the power this stuff has over my mind – after listening and re-listening and re-listening again to the latest two Dissolved albums, I’ve convinced myself that I need his entire discography (which, by the by, totals to about 50 LPs/EPs).
Very early this year, Dissolved dropped his third album for Daddy Tank, Surge of the Lucid. And my word, what a trip it is. Throughout, I do feel like I’m navigating through one vivid, mighty dream – and not, mind you, the “dream” hackneyed in common speech. No, actual dreams, the ones that transport me through fantastic worlds that I cannot name, and compel me to do things that are otherwise impossible.
The first two minutes alone should plunge you deep, deep into this sunken realm – the low, swelling undulation in “Heart of the Well” conveys all the might and depth of the watery abyss. From here we launch into the album properly, with “Your Age in Shark Years”, a declarative tune that’s bathed in light yet crackling with unknown voices and thick flurries of beats. “Selmantrasm” dives deeper, a woozy force of wavering synths punctured with clinical rhythm, with a melody as memorable as it is ethereal.
But, ah, “Forgotten Processes”. Darkness – a dark room, actually. It’s the only track with “lyrics” on Surge of the Lucid, but fuuuuuuck are they lyrics. We learn of a dark room technician who becomes so engrossed in her job that she neglects everything else, including her own sanity, to conduct her experiments…and, in the process, we become engrossed ourselves in the murky, acidic beat. “My DNA is redeveloping to incorporate the pictures I am manipulating.” This mutation isn’t just happening to the protagonist of the song, y’know.
Time and life itself freeze in “Lenslock”, a suspended glaze of sound, harrowing in its sparse and strained sustains. You feel locked, indeed, in a chamber of glittering ice – which, upon exploration, you realize contains no exit. We return, however, to electric and melodic territory in “Stickleback Red”, a number that remains awash in a dream-like glow, but beeps and blips with bustling energy. “Machinery in Sea Water” is a more subdued hustle, a dim scene on the ocean floor seething with buzzes. But ohhhhh, “Ski Run In The Distance”. This one tricks into believing that we’ve finally found a place of respite, a moment of respite on a snowy clearing with breezy guitar twangs. Then the weight of the world descends upon us, in all its synthesized grandeur, and a hesitant beat trips behind. Steadily it grows, until a blizzard of activity piles around us.
The true journey begins, though, with “On Board The Deuterium Arc”. This 12-minute tour de force, driven by a mesmerizing hum, winds through starry synths, frantic beats, and chilling melodies, each falling and emerging in equal measure. Where that forced voice hails from, I cannot fathom – a lost ghoul stranded on the ship, perhaps, warning us of “drums, bass” and “the DJ” – but she is too late, her words are unheeded, and we proceed further and further into deeper, darker, and more troubled territory, until the whole track begins to unravel into oblivion.
Honestly, folks, the suggestive power of this album is staggering. If you haven’t heard any Dissolved before, now’s the time to begin – I guarantee you’ll be immersed in its subterranean depths. And if this review can’t convince you to give Surge of the Lucid a whirl, try Telemetry Embers first, an enigmatic EP available on the Free Music Archives. (That’s right – it’s FREE.) That’ll entrance ya. Once you’re sold, head over to Daddy Tank’s website to order Surge – the CD comes with this gorgeous holographic sticker (displayed here on my journal, which is now 10x more mysterious thanks to its presence).
Very early this year, Dissolved dropped his third album for Daddy Tank, Surge of the Lucid. And my word, what a trip it is. Throughout, I do feel like I’m navigating through one vivid, mighty dream – and not, mind you, the “dream” hackneyed in common speech. No, actual dreams, the ones that transport me through fantastic worlds that I cannot name, and compel me to do things that are otherwise impossible.
The first two minutes alone should plunge you deep, deep into this sunken realm – the low, swelling undulation in “Heart of the Well” conveys all the might and depth of the watery abyss. From here we launch into the album properly, with “Your Age in Shark Years”, a declarative tune that’s bathed in light yet crackling with unknown voices and thick flurries of beats. “Selmantrasm” dives deeper, a woozy force of wavering synths punctured with clinical rhythm, with a melody as memorable as it is ethereal.
But, ah, “Forgotten Processes”. Darkness – a dark room, actually. It’s the only track with “lyrics” on Surge of the Lucid, but fuuuuuuck are they lyrics. We learn of a dark room technician who becomes so engrossed in her job that she neglects everything else, including her own sanity, to conduct her experiments…and, in the process, we become engrossed ourselves in the murky, acidic beat. “My DNA is redeveloping to incorporate the pictures I am manipulating.” This mutation isn’t just happening to the protagonist of the song, y’know.
Time and life itself freeze in “Lenslock”, a suspended glaze of sound, harrowing in its sparse and strained sustains. You feel locked, indeed, in a chamber of glittering ice – which, upon exploration, you realize contains no exit. We return, however, to electric and melodic territory in “Stickleback Red”, a number that remains awash in a dream-like glow, but beeps and blips with bustling energy. “Machinery in Sea Water” is a more subdued hustle, a dim scene on the ocean floor seething with buzzes. But ohhhhh, “Ski Run In The Distance”. This one tricks into believing that we’ve finally found a place of respite, a moment of respite on a snowy clearing with breezy guitar twangs. Then the weight of the world descends upon us, in all its synthesized grandeur, and a hesitant beat trips behind. Steadily it grows, until a blizzard of activity piles around us.
The true journey begins, though, with “On Board The Deuterium Arc”. This 12-minute tour de force, driven by a mesmerizing hum, winds through starry synths, frantic beats, and chilling melodies, each falling and emerging in equal measure. Where that forced voice hails from, I cannot fathom – a lost ghoul stranded on the ship, perhaps, warning us of “drums, bass” and “the DJ” – but she is too late, her words are unheeded, and we proceed further and further into deeper, darker, and more troubled territory, until the whole track begins to unravel into oblivion.
Honestly, folks, the suggestive power of this album is staggering. If you haven’t heard any Dissolved before, now’s the time to begin – I guarantee you’ll be immersed in its subterranean depths. And if this review can’t convince you to give Surge of the Lucid a whirl, try Telemetry Embers first, an enigmatic EP available on the Free Music Archives. (That’s right – it’s FREE.) That’ll entrance ya. Once you’re sold, head over to Daddy Tank’s website to order Surge – the CD comes with this gorgeous holographic sticker (displayed here on my journal, which is now 10x more mysterious thanks to its presence).
Bristle and Drone [BAIs50]
21 July, 2013
The 50th post, eh? Huh. Well, I only have the usually offering - a pair of artists that share very little, if anything, in common. Both fantastic, of course.
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Banque Allemande - Why do we love noisy rock? I know why I do – because I’m
tired of groomed perfection, of the arena rock formulas that win over the
masses, of safe and predictable music. I want to be assaulted, battered, and
ripped apart – I want to feel, not
just hear. Violence is vitality – and when music assails you as a living
entity, you also feel the surge of being alive.
This is Banque Allemande, and this is what they do – searing,
heavy-handed, bristling, smack-in-the-face post-punk. Guitars rip through the
tunes, scattering shards of broken glass over thick yet nimble bass lines.
Imagine the outward aggression of Chrome, streamlined through the exuberance of
Pink Flag-era Wire, Swell Maps, and other more literate punks that flourished
in the late 70s.
“Suchmaschine” is one helluva opener. After a briefly ponderous intro, the tune smashes through your windscreen, overflowing with electric riffing and driven by a rapid-fire bass line. You will not ask why this bruiser must be 9 minutes long; the length feels right, for the violence feels great. “Scwarz Vor Schwarzer Wand” is more urgent and focused, though the track does break down into chaos at the conclusion; it’s also catchier, with its glorious howl of a chorus. After those two long stretches, we encounter a few bursts of energy. “Nicht Viel Nur Einsi Tausend” is even more adrenaline-fuelled than its predecessors, and arguably more punkish (arguably, I say, because I haven’t a clue about the lyrics). Then we stumble into the delightfully spiky bass line for “Warmes Wasser”, with its scathing guitars and hysterical vocals – if Banque Allemande were ones to release “singles”, they’d be well-advised to stake out this ‘un. In the last leg of the album, we return to full assault mode. “Schlaf An Einem Tag” is MASSIVE, a balls-out snarl of beastly bass shambling on a stomping one-two beat, that nevertheless marches to a rather endearing chorus. All the while, though, the guitar assails the listener with a miasma of discord – particularly in the outro, a solid minute of screeching, warbling feedback. “Hundert Jahre Berlin”, on the other hand, might be the most stirring tracks on the album – the verses remind one, for just a moment, of a more sensitive band, like perhaps The Wedding Present; the angular chorus, though, quickly jerks the track into a more sinister direction. In summary – a more seasoned and adept music commentator might be able to pin down at least four or five of Banque Allemande’s influences, but I honestly don’t care. What I’m hearing is stunning, searing noise, channeled acutely into distinct song structures that are as affecting as they are euphoric. They’ve released another LP prior to this one, and I don’t doubt I’ll be buying that one, too, by the year’s end. You can find both of ‘em, from S-s Records, on Midheaven. |
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isvisible – Remember that Spoilt Victorian Child album I raved about a while back? Well, that seasoned electronic engineer, Simon Pott, has returned with his new solo project isvisible – and, this year alone, he’s spun three LPs of loud, sprawling, buzzing compositions. The first two, marked by monochrome covers, contain more droning, experimental pieces; the third, with its colored design, contains somewhat more melodic numbers.
Between the first two albums, I’d say start with ii – it's somewhat more varied, and inevitably easier to dig into. “nine”, the opener, clicks off on an even clip and hums along on a razor-edged bass, as a jagged drone hovers menacingly over the entire track and creeps in and out of head-numbing levels of volume. The more austere “ten” is a more proper analog drone, that crackles with electricity and hums in confident antiquity; “eleven”, however, is infinitely more chilling, a series of sinister synthesized snarls transmitted into an echoing void. “twelve” has far less room to develop, but develop it does, from an isolated analog sustain to a pulsating piece marked out by what sounds like an off-kilter metronome. More intrigue and atmosphere haunts “thirteen”, as chirpy, futuristic sounds jump and blip around the hollow, reverberating drone. ii’s longest track, “fourteen”, is actually one of the most rhythmic, if one could count the bleeping motif in the center as a “beat”. But it does drone – on and on, for a solid 18 minutes or so, sliding and morphing through subtle variations, and gradually descending into darker, more barren soundscapes. Iii is certainly more “melodic” than isvisible’s previous two LPs, but only in a relative sense, as one can hear on “fifteen” – though we now hear a trickling tune over the humming analog, the track is still sublimely subdued and cyclical; indeed, the repetition of this pattern is quite serene, even against the moaning sounds swirling around it. “sixteen”, however, assumes a more lively groove, incorporating a splashy, punchy drum machine into the main synth line that chugs along. This track builds up rather handsomely, too, as other electric details, including wobbly celestial accompaniment, slip into the groove. Another curious jam, “seventeen”, pairs an ethereal mix of sounds with a seedy drum machine – and though this main section doesn’t waver much, the contrary nature of its components never ceases to baffle and intrigue. Elsewhere, “eighteen” brings back the visceral pulse of the analog, goaded on by a slick blipping motif and a tight, steady beat; it’s perhaps my favorite from iii, namely for its hypnotic rhythm. “nineteen”, however, disposes of the groove for a more minimal number that could’ve easily fit onto ii – over a faint whooshing of wind, a synth progresses slowly and shakily, as if edging across a narrow window sill; as the tune advance, the wind whips more audibly, enhancing the nerve-wracking atmosphere behind the synth’s slow crawl, until it bubbles into a swarm of spastic electric sound. Little else, however, can compare to the hallowed otherworldliness of the closer, “twenty-one”. From a quiet mumbling of echoing blooms a great ray of light, that awakens a chorus of divine sirens from their abandoned shrine to sing within the empty, forlorn chambers. The ultimate effect is so sublime, so sincerely beautiful, that it’s simply awe-inspiring. I’m reminded of OMD’s “Sealand” and its graceful mystique – but “twenty-one” is even purer than that, a simple piece of quiet, yet devout contemplation. Essentially, anyone with even a passing fascinating with archaic electronica should investivgate isvisible’s discography; a degree of patience, however, is necessary, even for iii, to fully appreciate the craft behind these albums. This is music for meditation, and solitary meditation at that, for either renewing focus to the task at hand or inviting sleep after a long and tiresome day. All of Simon’s work under the isvisible moniker is available on his Bandcamp page. |
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Free and Fantastic Albums [MBDY49]
14 July, 2013
It is, admittedly, rather sad that many very talented artists can't quite a turn a profit on their work. However, when some groups choose to give away their music for zilch - well, why refuse the offer? Today's pair of (long-winded - sorry!) recommendations commend two free, 80s-inspired albums. Read on for the goods:
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Motorama – This is, admittedly, a third-hand recommendation. Savages suggested this band to their followers on Facebook, and Botha Kruger of the Wrong Rock Show spun this for his listeners. So – as you might expect, Motorama are a post-punk band, this sort hailing from Russia. Now, like in many modern post-punk bands, the lead vocalist does certainly sound like he covets Ian Curtis; however, Joy Division sound-alikes they are not. In fact, Motoroma have graciously shunned the whole gloom-shrouded, dramatic shtick fronted by Interpol and Editors – no, I hear more Yeah Yeah Nohs or even Orange Juice in their lively pop structures, bright and melodic guitars, and scuzzy production. Oh, yes, the bass is thick, and the drums are crisp – but Motorama are much more buoyant than many of their contemporaries, and also notably more earnest, too. And, as you’ll find in this review, considerably more danceable.
Granted, when we first spin this record and hear the opening bass riff on “Northern Seaside”, we might indeed suspect this to be yet another post-punk number – yet, as the somewhat moody track unfolds, sweet guitars leap out from hiding and woo us with clean, sunny melodies. Then “Warm Eyelids” blows that ol’ Factory stereotype completely out of the water; the triumphant chorus, jovial riffs, and shuffling drums lend some tasty indie pop sugar – at least, until the beat rushes into a crazed, cymbal-fuelled double-time at around 3’02”. Genius. Elsewhere, there’s the wondrously spontaneous “Compass”, as joyous as any other indie pop number; “Wind In Her Hair” boasts some appropriately breezy riffing which reminds me a tad of Durutti Column. The achingly pretty title track sparkles with guitars and shuffles with bright ease, renders the verse “I am slow-slow-slowly dying” with some refreshing, albeit stately, cheer. Even more delightful, though, is the closer, “There’s No Hunters Here”, which cruises on a bass-driven pulse and boasts that marvelous cry in the chorus – “there’s no hunters HERE!” Throw in some electric washes of synths, and bliss couldn’t be closer at hand. Oh – I told you Motorama were danceable, right? Right – while most of these tracks bear punchy enough rhythms for any happy dancer, none are nearly as ecstatic as “Letter Home”. The bass and guitar sync up for a delightfully bouncy (albeit reserved) number that somehow evokes both the gravity of Joy Division and the exuberance of Josef K all at once. “Ghost”, on the other hand, is a dynamic, soaring number tinged with a heavenly glaze and restless energy that’s as vital as it is catchy. Ahh. What I love, love, LOVE about Motorama is that they seem to understand the multifaceted, smoky gem that post-punk truly was back in the 80s, and have brought out several of those elements without sounding too god-awfully derivative. No, Alps is ultimately a lighter shade of gray, and aims not to muse over despair, but to celebrate living within a more ambiguous world. The band has graciously posted this entire album up for free on their webpage – so go snap it up NOW. And if you REALLY love it, buy a physical copy, won't you? |
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BODYWORK – Stop me if you’ve heard this one – you stumble upon a single free track – from, say , Soundcloud – and you fall in love. It’s unbelievable how good this one offering is. You rotate it heavily for a few days, a few weeks perhaps – but, being a single track, you eventually neglect it, and lose it within your vast and ever-growing library.
That’s what happened to me and BODYWORK’S “Tame”. Good lord, what a track. Big, dramatic synths. Dreamy, breathless vocals. An edgy, screechy solo. Shimmering intrigue and echoing tropical haze. And that steamy flute-ish thing at the end! How on earth could one forget such cinematic electronica? Alas, I did, and for several months, too – until I stumbled upon an article entitled “Most Undrblogged Artists of the Year” (which, let’s admit, is a preposterous topic to claim knowledge of, but anywho). And who do you suppose was on that list? BODYWORK! With a link to a FREE album, The Grind. How could I resist? Fortunately, I’m happy to report that the whole damn LP is just as brilliant as that single. I’d venture to call it “intelligent dance music” – the production here is absolutely astonishing, merging seething analogs, exotic percussion, soulful vocals, and searing guitars together into one gorgeous, bubbling, vivid sound. Consider “Body Heat”, which opens with a rumbling tom beat and visceral, haunted droning from the guitar; all at once, the synth drops and a tinny can tinkers along, and the album’s glorious mantra floats in: “Are you tiiired of romance?” Oh, yes. This ain’t Romantic new wave. This is lust and passion, channeled by one super-savvy producer. Just hear the lush intrigue of “The Grind” – which, contrary to its name, sways with balmy xylophone beats and its oh-so-serene chorus. Or dig the dirty, squelching sax of “Cruel Fascination”, while the sultry track saunters on with handclaps and hollow embellishments. But, oh. “Speed Dial”. If I could be permitted to use the term “progressive electronica”, I’d use it here – if Genesis had truly adapted their challenging song structures for the new wave era, perhaps it’d sound like this. Leading in on a spiraling sax line, the song soon shifts with a drastic BLAM into a thumping, flute-laced melody graced with the singer’s mellifluous tenor. But THEN, after a quick reprise of the sax, we’re locked into a snaky guitar solo – and the saxes swarm in at full force, swirling and mingling prettily – and then this NASTY tangle of solos erupt. Good god, I’ve only described one song with an entire paragraph. You see? You see?! I don’t know what I love more – the crazy complexity of “Speed Dial”, or the slick groove of “Lift Up Your Love”. Part of me is reminded of The The, another of the Rapture – oh man, but who am I kidding? It’s a gorgeous number in its own right, and so, so infectious that, as I write this, I can barely refrain myself from my own seat. “Tap That” is no less delicious, a massive track that reprises The Grind’s indelible mantra from “Body Heat”. “Global Hypercolor” bears the instantly recognizable stamp of Orbital, and is indeed almost entirely instrumental, but fascinates in its own style with ultra-smooth saxes and a more leisurely, yet beguiling tempo. We close on the haunting “Hold Tight”, with its slow, distant rumble, ZTT-esque choirs, and worldly guitar embellishments; then, at 3’08”, epic synths aid the stomping beat, and one sexy sax swings in. And then MMM, those vocals. Redemptive. If this reads like one gushing rave, it’s because I’m absolutely obsessed with this album. For electro lovers, and those who yearn for a touch of the exotic, look no further: this IS euphoria. If haven’t experienced a steamy summer love affair yet (particularly a taboo one), this could be the closest alternative. And, like the Motorama track above, it’s 100% free on BODYWORK’s Bandcamp page. Joy. |
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Daddy Tank, Part 4 - The Overkill [DTBW48]
10 July, 2013
Just when I thought I’d pinned down the overall vibe of Daddy Tank Records, this punishing cassette plops into my lap (or, at least, a digital copy – the actual cassette should land in the post next week, I hope). Fans of the Melvins, other sludge behemoths, and oppressive noise in general, roll up for Pure Will – it’s only four tracks, but still plows through over half an hour of raw, abrasive, ear-crushing savagery. The lyrics, shouted in grating, furious spurts, are indecipherable, and ergo irrelevant.
Now, for much of the EP, Backwards lash out with unrelenting, slow-burning rage. The opener, “Bowed”, however, stalks onward in a perpetual crawl, smothering the listener slowly to death with one balls-out bass line and bellowed, stretched-out vocals. Above this, moaning guitars waft about like a swarm of flies over carrion, descending at around 7’49” for a languid, unsettling solo. “Junky’s Kiss”, on the other hand, is far more dynamic – after its frantic, desperate death throes, the track dies prematurely, then rises from the grave with a skin-crawling, bass-heavy sulk and pins you down against the cold dirt ground.
Side B is no less brutal than its predecessor, but this time throws a squealing, anarchic sax into the mix. “Matador”, which features some relatively dexterous drums, is studded with freaked-out moments of lunacy from the brassy instrument. Near the midway point of the track, the vocalist and the saxophonist lock themselves in mortal combat; the latter combatant, clearly overwhelmed by the indomitable pipes of the former, chooses instead to run madly around the room, seeking desperately for an escape route and finding none.
The closer, though, is inevitably my favorite. And it’s a mouthful, too – “Quick Me The Grease Of The Knife”. What knife, you ask? Why, the one that Backwards are about to slaughter you with, of course. This time, the killer riff advances in an even, steady pace – a groove, one could even say - and the saxophonist charges into the bloody fray like he owns this number. And the raging vocalist actually flows with the groove this time, and it gels gloriously. The intensity thickens at 5’06” with a hastened, beefier beat, which plows on until another INSANE sax solo infiltrates the track and decimates all who oppose it.
To conclude – for everyone who’s ready to assassinate the sleek and dreamy poster boys of today’s musical soundscape, this one’s for you. Loud, nasty, and evil to the core, Backwards will seize you in a chokehold and slowly (but surely) wrench the last breath from your pathetic body. And pain is good for you, kids. Hear "Quick Me" and buy the cassette here from Daddy Tank’s website.
Now, for much of the EP, Backwards lash out with unrelenting, slow-burning rage. The opener, “Bowed”, however, stalks onward in a perpetual crawl, smothering the listener slowly to death with one balls-out bass line and bellowed, stretched-out vocals. Above this, moaning guitars waft about like a swarm of flies over carrion, descending at around 7’49” for a languid, unsettling solo. “Junky’s Kiss”, on the other hand, is far more dynamic – after its frantic, desperate death throes, the track dies prematurely, then rises from the grave with a skin-crawling, bass-heavy sulk and pins you down against the cold dirt ground.
Side B is no less brutal than its predecessor, but this time throws a squealing, anarchic sax into the mix. “Matador”, which features some relatively dexterous drums, is studded with freaked-out moments of lunacy from the brassy instrument. Near the midway point of the track, the vocalist and the saxophonist lock themselves in mortal combat; the latter combatant, clearly overwhelmed by the indomitable pipes of the former, chooses instead to run madly around the room, seeking desperately for an escape route and finding none.
The closer, though, is inevitably my favorite. And it’s a mouthful, too – “Quick Me The Grease Of The Knife”. What knife, you ask? Why, the one that Backwards are about to slaughter you with, of course. This time, the killer riff advances in an even, steady pace – a groove, one could even say - and the saxophonist charges into the bloody fray like he owns this number. And the raging vocalist actually flows with the groove this time, and it gels gloriously. The intensity thickens at 5’06” with a hastened, beefier beat, which plows on until another INSANE sax solo infiltrates the track and decimates all who oppose it.
To conclude – for everyone who’s ready to assassinate the sleek and dreamy poster boys of today’s musical soundscape, this one’s for you. Loud, nasty, and evil to the core, Backwards will seize you in a chokehold and slowly (but surely) wrench the last breath from your pathetic body. And pain is good for you, kids. Hear "Quick Me" and buy the cassette here from Daddy Tank’s website.
Word of Mouth [WoMo47]
3 July, 2013
There's only thread stitching these three groups together (aside from my unrelenting approval, of course): each one of these was recommended directly to me by someone else. Otherwise, they sound nothing alike, and hail from three separate countries. Dontcha love an eclectic bunch? Anywho, here goes:
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UN – If Tingle in the Netherlands tickled your fancy last week, then prepare for your little world to be rocked by UN. They’re another duo of cool cats that dabble in electronica, but they’re decisively groovier, with infectious handclaps, stomping drums from Jen Reimer, and even the occasional cowbell. Kara Keith’s hollow, echoey vocals reach out from across the void to the dance floor, matching the heady and frenetic beats with just the right icy ardor. As far as I can tell, UN has released just one album so far –the UN Titled Album, as they’ve dubbed it – and, by my standards, it’s a knock-out.
The LP starts in the best way possible, with the belter “Go! Seeker”. Carried by a low, dirty buzz, the tune showcases Kara’s dynamic vocals, as she shifts between alluring yet mysterious verses and the bold, commanding shout of the chorus. “Wicked Child” boasts more synth action, with the ever-oscillating, meaty pattern underneath and classic, futuristic tones dancing on top. Elsewhere, however, there’s the hypnotic chant of “Take A Little Light”, driven mostly by some crunchy percussion and Kara’s vocals, which swarm about here like a cloud of wayward spirits. Have I mentioned, however, how utterly danceable this album is? By far, the most euphoric of the groovier tracks is “Amoeba”, which is in itself a constantly shifting, spooky tune carried by the nastiest bass crawl and snappy claps. However, “Sex Vampire” is inevitably the more club-ready jam, with its rubbery synths, dexterous cowbell and disco beat (not to mention that uber-catchy refrain – “Follow the feeling!”). The following track, “Crawling”, is also a stud for the dance floor, as Jen lays down fat beats under a sludgy synth. Meanwhile, “If You’re Rich You Find Love” finds UN in a funky, dubby lounge in the cosmos, where listeners are induced to a trance by Kara’s ever-mesmerizing delivery. The last two tracks on the LP are shorter than most, but don’t skimp out on the groove. “FeverFire” is another sizzlin’, stomping hit, with its tom-heavy beat; “Love Is A Ghost”, on the other hand, is the album’s most energetic track, as the synths and drums pulse together in a steady but evenly paced jog to the finish. Verdict? Give this band a listen, I say. UN Titled Album is available as a digital download on UN’s Bandcamp page for ten bucks. |
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Thumpermonkey – I AM NOT WORTHY. Seriously, I’m not. Because these dudes are quite possibly the most crushingly amazing rock band I’ve heard in a long, long time. Heavy progressive, man. Think early Genesis (the vocalist even sounds a tad like Peter Gabriel), but with beefier and more angular riffs, more explosive vocals (Mike Patton would be proud) and even more baffling twists and turns. I bow low. I bow very low. Sleep Furiously, their last LP, is simply a masterpiece.
Where do I begin? With “Direct”, perhaps? Good lord, what a track – opens on a furious stomping, then invites in one, two, THREE dueling guitars before launching into some MASSIVE riffing – and then, we reach a sort of break, with one restrained solo, before approaching a light, floating coda of handclaps, dexterously strummed acoustic guitars, and some actually lovely vocals. Yes, just this one track has more starts and stops and shifts and glorious highs than many albums could ever hope to contain. “Defecit” is no less astounding, a shattering array of sharp and jagged guitars ripping between alternating voices, that descends into a calm, serene ending. “Pigheart” doesn’t even need the 6+ minute length of those previous two tracks to blow you away; between the nimble verses, the meaty chorus, and the harmonious bridge, this is an absolutely golden number, as dynamic and rich as many songs twice its running time. And “Sleeve”? Its transformation from a crawling, slightly sinister intro to a beastly chorus to blissful bridge is nothing short of astounding. (And let’s not forget that CRAZY solo thing at 3’27”.) But UHHH. “Wheezyboy”. This is Thumpermonkey’s calling card, their ultimate single. It begins with a wrenching, jerky riff, then EXPLODES into a chorus that will bring you to your knees. Angst. Beauty. Devastation. And mmmmm, what stellar vocals. It’s all right here, and it’s all undeniably awe-inspiring. (If you don’t believe me, enmesh yourself in this shockingly violent, wildly imaginative video for “Wheezyboy” – I was begging for mercy at one point!) And then, out of nowhere, there’s the gorgeous acoustic number of “The Rhetorician”, which showcases the singer’s more tender side. That, too, however, progresses to a more vigorous section, but ultimately remains breathtaking. “Own”, too, is an intriguing outlier, a number with a clear and fluid guitar and more sweet, nearly falsetto vocals. Soothing, and still incredibly fascinating. The track that follows, “Toxcatl”, picks up on this gentle, downtempo vibe, but rings with a shade of slow jangle and swells to a moving climax. Perhaps most stunning of all, however, is the deceptively simple 2 minute closer, “Quiet Earth”, a chiming, slightly simmering melody with no lyrics at all – only pleasant, harmonious “doo-doo-doo”s sending off the tumultuous album to a bright and halcyon conclusion. SO. Do I really need to type anything more? No. Although, to be honest, on my second listen I was somewhat let down by the lack of combustible energy toward the second half of the LP – but, then again, if Thumpermonkey were any MORE dynamic, they’d probably implode all our brains with their bare hands. Fact. Anywho, do give this beast Sleep Furiously a stream on their Bandcamp page – and buy it as a digital or physical release. (A little bird tells me that some wicked t-shirts are also for sale…!) |
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My Personal Murderer – I received a simple message on last.fm today: “We are sorry for bothering you, but won’t you give us a little chance to steal your heart?” Well, how do you turn down THAT offer, fair reader? So I listened in – to My Personal Murderer, and their last LP from nearly two years back, a seven-track affair called Sisters Loving Brothers. And I’ll tell you this – they hit me at just the right time. Something about the Wolfsheim-ish gloom, the moody guitars, anguished vocals, and nuanced electronica strikes just the right chord with me. Any more polished, and I probably would’ve said no; but the drums are really quite engaging, the synths intriguing but never intrusive, and the melodies honestly affecting. Furthermore, none of the labels listed at the bottom of the page – post-punk, shoegaze, post-rock – don’t really fit. I do endorse this.
We begin with the title track, a haunted opening that soon pulses with a tight, tripping beat and gives way to the wistful, aching vocals. Verses swirl and swell with swooshing spirits, light distortion and panging synths. Ah, but “She’s Dead” is certainly more synthpop-inspired, albeit in a more deliberately darker vein, with its archaic electronica and sultry, snarling riff. The hushed ending to this one is rather impressive. Even icier, however, is the following track, “Vitreous Paramour”, with its icy synth glazes and brief glimpses into echoing voids. And then MPM prove themselves capable of a quieter, less contrived form of melancholy, on “Danger Dancer”. It’s a minimal, and surprisingly organic affair, with merely acoustic guitar and piano in stark, simplistic turns. There are precious gaps, moments where you hear the fingers slide across the fret boards. It’s earnestly quite touching. “Witchfriend”, on the other hand, lends some unexpected edginess to the EP, with razor-sharp guitars bucking against the cold synth sustain. MPM continue to impress with the brooding groove of “He’ll”. Against a hip and snappy beat, the eldritch vocals (often with gravelly accompaniment) croon on, with guitars alternating between chilling cascades and angsty riffing, while a lone synth beams out a warped solo. Good, good, good. And yet, none of the above tracks could prepare us for the contemplative conclusion, “Planet Earth”, devastatingly beautiful in its seamless integration of shuffling percussion, harrowing vocals, mellow acoustics, and righteous guitar. Ahh, to conclude. MPM are certainly a complex lil’ band, and have managed to convey several shades of black emotion through Sisters Loving Brother. Recognizing that, however, does require a few spins, and some room for those tracks to breath. Hold them in the light, though, and you’ll find each one is rich in detail, finely crafted and attuned to sway your heart in some way. And, oh, has my heart been swayed. Give My Personal Murder a chance to woo you – stream Sisters Loving Brothers on their Bandcamp page. |
Tingle in the Where? [TITN46]
26 June, 2013
Kids, I love synths. And I love absurdist nonsense. So no artist this year tickles my guilty fancy more than the scandalously titled synthpop duo, Tingle in the Netherlands. Sleazy? Yes. Naughty? Absolutely. Pseudo-futuristic? To the utmost. The outdated synths and very obvious (and very danceable) drum machines of Owen J. collide with the ludicrous and deviously demented words of Helen T, to hilarious effect. To put it bluntly, I’m in love with these guys, and particularly their debut LP, Why Can’t You Write Something Nice For A Change?
This week’s playlist featured their fantastic “Prostitute’s Handbag”, a free single with such golden lines as . “A Forest of Cocks” features Owen’s scholarly voice reciting a seemingly high-blow poem spiked with lewd imagery. Next, there’s the delightfully dark “Astronaut Love Triangle”, with its heavy, heavy synths and ridiculous, sci-fi inspired drama. “The Housewife’s Lament” is an even sillier narrative of a bizarre love affair - that chorus of “shagging the milkman / shagging him good”, delivered in serious chillwave style, never fails to crack me up. Yes…these romance-gone-wrong tunes are just too rich. Best example – “I Lost My Heart To A Starship Cleaner”. This one oozes with so much electronic darkness – Click Click comes to mind – that it’s brilliantly sarcastic.
On first listen, TITN might sound rather singular, but those throbbing synths do tackle a fair variety of electronic styles. They tackle disco-ready techno on “She’s No Lady” (which, yes, concerns a transvestite), bouncy synthpop on the title track, and heady EDM on the pulsing closer, “365” – which, upon reflection, may indeed be the most artistic track on the album, with its cool, collected synth solos and lingering, mysterious sustains.
Helen penned most of the outrageous lyrics on the LP, but “Mammals”, a disturbing catalogue of facts on various occupations (“the prime minister produces one pint of saliva a day…fashion designers will risk their lives to protect their young…monarchs frequently change sex during adolescence”), was actually Owen’s brainchild. And it’s just as engrossing – if not more so – than some of Helen’s wilder narratives. And, of course, the combination of bleak and icy synths make this fantastically horrific. And, just to prove that they could, TITN threw in one mostly instrumental track, “Girlie Disco One”, which pulses and throbs with enough vigor that it stands perfectly fine without any garnish of lyrics – Helen’s intriguing “oohs” suffice nicely.
Man, I love TITN. Perhaps that’s because I admire the old electronic masters – “Organisation”-era OMD, Human League without the chicks, John Foxx, and so forth – but also because these two harness all that dark 80s flair and then proceed to skew it even further into their own distinctive project. Go stream this sucker on their Bandcamp page and drop ‘em a few quid for the download (or a few more for the CD) – you won’t regret it, I swear.
This week’s playlist featured their fantastic “Prostitute’s Handbag”, a free single with such golden lines as . “A Forest of Cocks” features Owen’s scholarly voice reciting a seemingly high-blow poem spiked with lewd imagery. Next, there’s the delightfully dark “Astronaut Love Triangle”, with its heavy, heavy synths and ridiculous, sci-fi inspired drama. “The Housewife’s Lament” is an even sillier narrative of a bizarre love affair - that chorus of “shagging the milkman / shagging him good”, delivered in serious chillwave style, never fails to crack me up. Yes…these romance-gone-wrong tunes are just too rich. Best example – “I Lost My Heart To A Starship Cleaner”. This one oozes with so much electronic darkness – Click Click comes to mind – that it’s brilliantly sarcastic.
On first listen, TITN might sound rather singular, but those throbbing synths do tackle a fair variety of electronic styles. They tackle disco-ready techno on “She’s No Lady” (which, yes, concerns a transvestite), bouncy synthpop on the title track, and heady EDM on the pulsing closer, “365” – which, upon reflection, may indeed be the most artistic track on the album, with its cool, collected synth solos and lingering, mysterious sustains.
Helen penned most of the outrageous lyrics on the LP, but “Mammals”, a disturbing catalogue of facts on various occupations (“the prime minister produces one pint of saliva a day…fashion designers will risk their lives to protect their young…monarchs frequently change sex during adolescence”), was actually Owen’s brainchild. And it’s just as engrossing – if not more so – than some of Helen’s wilder narratives. And, of course, the combination of bleak and icy synths make this fantastically horrific. And, just to prove that they could, TITN threw in one mostly instrumental track, “Girlie Disco One”, which pulses and throbs with enough vigor that it stands perfectly fine without any garnish of lyrics – Helen’s intriguing “oohs” suffice nicely.
Man, I love TITN. Perhaps that’s because I admire the old electronic masters – “Organisation”-era OMD, Human League without the chicks, John Foxx, and so forth – but also because these two harness all that dark 80s flair and then proceed to skew it even further into their own distinctive project. Go stream this sucker on their Bandcamp page and drop ‘em a few quid for the download (or a few more for the CD) – you won’t regret it, I swear.
The Indie Haul - On Indietracks 2013 [IT1345]
26 June, 2013
Ah, yes. So there's this huge Indietracks festival in the UK, which starts this year on 26 July and carries on for three days. And, to commemorate this great gathering, the blokes that organize the festival build an extensive (and inexpensive!) compilation that covers all the artists in the lineup. Last year I plugged the Indietracks comp with much enthusiasm, and I’ll plug this one just as vigorously. Mind, as you might expect from a massive collection of indie artists, not every artist is noteworthy – it IS saturated in pop, after all – but I did stumble upon more than a few exciting acts.
Of course, Tunabunny’s appearance in this album pleases me to no end – and I’m also happy to report that their labelmates, Cars Can Be Blue, offer some of the most vigorous pop in the set. However, if you ask me, the best damn track here – without contest – is Fever Dream’s “Glue”. Cancel the pajama party for this one – this is post-punk of the brooding yet noisy variety, with cosmic levels of meaty guitar grounded by a pulsing bass line. The tempo change halfway through sends this to the stratosphere.
You can also expect some solid hits from a handful of indie vets. The delightful bis return with the infectious, Rapture-esque anthem “The Rulers and the States”; the beloved Scots from The Wake hand in a blissful track with a mellow bass line called “Stockport”; The Lovely Eggs contribute their belter “Food”, which placed in last year’s Festive 50 on Dandelion. The Wave Pictures are here, too, but the slow, all-too-Darren-Hayman-like “I Love You” didn’t impress me much. Fear of Men, on the other hand, graced college radios earlier this year with the wistful “Mosaic”, and it still sounds beautiful and warm on this comp.
Other notable upcomers? The Understudies really knocked me out with the viola-tinted “Jackie” – it’s more mature and earnest than much of the other tracks on here, and the grumbling guitar solo is certainly astonishing. Also, since I am indeed a sucker for electropop, The Ballet’s lush “Is Anybody Out There?” was also a treat (albeit a sugary one) – but not nearly as exciting as the quirky techno-disco of Woog Riot’s devious “Astronaut”. Sing it with me – “How’d you make love with an astro-nawt…” I also dig the massive “Sycamore” from Martha, with its brazen power chords and the effortless rhythm shift. Jupiter in Jars present the curious “Always Thought”, an intimate little ensemble of fiddles, ukulele, and flute. Finally, the McTells earn a enthusiastic thumbs-up from me for their “Secret Wish”, a raucous and lo-fi number that evokes the spirit of Swell Maps, but dissolved into a garage rock format.
As for the rest, you can expect varying shades of indie pop and twee, which can be genuinely charming. Indeed, there are really only two tracks on this entire compilation that I absolutely could not bear to listen to: “Let’s Go Surfing” by Helen Love and “Summer, You and Me” by When Nalda Became Punk (probably doesn’t help either track that they’re back-to-back, either). Of all the bright and bubblegum tunes, these two push that pop factor to an extreme that’s simply obnoxious for me. I mean, “Let’s Go Surfing” wouldn’t be out of place on a “Now That’s What I Call Music” compilation, for crying out loud. But, alas. 45 out of 47 is still an A in my book.
So, to conclude – this year’s comp is a good ‘un. Maaaaybe better than last year. Although, let’s face it – 2012 featured Veronica Falls, Mikrofisch, Echo Lake, Trembling Blue Stars, the Jasmine Minks, White Town, and even the Monochrome Set. Tough acts to follow. Still, for just two quid (or a little more, if you so desire), you get 47 tracks, of which only two are duds, and which include some actual gems. And, furthermore, all proceeds go toward the Midland Railway Trust, the hosts of the festival. Go for it, I say - jump on the Bandcamp page and give it a whirl. And attend the big show for me, if you can.
Of course, Tunabunny’s appearance in this album pleases me to no end – and I’m also happy to report that their labelmates, Cars Can Be Blue, offer some of the most vigorous pop in the set. However, if you ask me, the best damn track here – without contest – is Fever Dream’s “Glue”. Cancel the pajama party for this one – this is post-punk of the brooding yet noisy variety, with cosmic levels of meaty guitar grounded by a pulsing bass line. The tempo change halfway through sends this to the stratosphere.
You can also expect some solid hits from a handful of indie vets. The delightful bis return with the infectious, Rapture-esque anthem “The Rulers and the States”; the beloved Scots from The Wake hand in a blissful track with a mellow bass line called “Stockport”; The Lovely Eggs contribute their belter “Food”, which placed in last year’s Festive 50 on Dandelion. The Wave Pictures are here, too, but the slow, all-too-Darren-Hayman-like “I Love You” didn’t impress me much. Fear of Men, on the other hand, graced college radios earlier this year with the wistful “Mosaic”, and it still sounds beautiful and warm on this comp.
Other notable upcomers? The Understudies really knocked me out with the viola-tinted “Jackie” – it’s more mature and earnest than much of the other tracks on here, and the grumbling guitar solo is certainly astonishing. Also, since I am indeed a sucker for electropop, The Ballet’s lush “Is Anybody Out There?” was also a treat (albeit a sugary one) – but not nearly as exciting as the quirky techno-disco of Woog Riot’s devious “Astronaut”. Sing it with me – “How’d you make love with an astro-nawt…” I also dig the massive “Sycamore” from Martha, with its brazen power chords and the effortless rhythm shift. Jupiter in Jars present the curious “Always Thought”, an intimate little ensemble of fiddles, ukulele, and flute. Finally, the McTells earn a enthusiastic thumbs-up from me for their “Secret Wish”, a raucous and lo-fi number that evokes the spirit of Swell Maps, but dissolved into a garage rock format.
As for the rest, you can expect varying shades of indie pop and twee, which can be genuinely charming. Indeed, there are really only two tracks on this entire compilation that I absolutely could not bear to listen to: “Let’s Go Surfing” by Helen Love and “Summer, You and Me” by When Nalda Became Punk (probably doesn’t help either track that they’re back-to-back, either). Of all the bright and bubblegum tunes, these two push that pop factor to an extreme that’s simply obnoxious for me. I mean, “Let’s Go Surfing” wouldn’t be out of place on a “Now That’s What I Call Music” compilation, for crying out loud. But, alas. 45 out of 47 is still an A in my book.
So, to conclude – this year’s comp is a good ‘un. Maaaaybe better than last year. Although, let’s face it – 2012 featured Veronica Falls, Mikrofisch, Echo Lake, Trembling Blue Stars, the Jasmine Minks, White Town, and even the Monochrome Set. Tough acts to follow. Still, for just two quid (or a little more, if you so desire), you get 47 tracks, of which only two are duds, and which include some actual gems. And, furthermore, all proceeds go toward the Midland Railway Trust, the hosts of the festival. Go for it, I say - jump on the Bandcamp page and give it a whirl. And attend the big show for me, if you can.
Daddy Tank, Part 3 - The Trance [DTHF44]
23 June, 2013
Time for another dip into the Daddy Tank, kids. And today, we’re slipping down the deep end, into the single release from duo Hangin Freud, Sunken. Ay – this is dark stuff, folks. Vocalist Paula Borges is the central enigma of the act, as her dejected, strained vocals seem disturbingly natural; meanwhile, Jonathan Crane provides minimal, organic accompaniment on guitars, pianos, and other unknown sounds. Together, the two craft a bleak, nocturnal world, of no cosmic or hellish dimension, but so hauntingly close that you may feel slightly paranoid long after the music fades.
As I said before, Sunken is ominous. Just listen to the terrifying title track that kicks off the album – the electric guitar strikes jagged chords, as Laura tells the morbid tale of a drowning woman in a suitably drear fashion. “Truce”, too, advances forth with a sinister riff, and Paula’s calm but woeful vocals, paired with her ghostly cries and eerie hums, are riveting enough to lull you into a trance. (I certainly was.)
Still, as with Pang’s The Garden of Menace, the spaces and crevices of Sunken are as haunting and awe-inspiring as its content. “Medusa” is a eerily sparse acoustic tune, laced with ambiguous whooshes and mechanical static – but then the song is consumed entirely by a 40-second ambient section, of deep reverberating hums and a relentless swooshing, immersive enough to engulf the listener into its bleak emptiness. Another stark track, “Keep It”, is driven only by a steady tom beat and a slow snap, as organ synths hang overhead and a guitar creeps in and out. Behind, you can hear the electric snapping of an archaic recording device, which swells and oozes into the track, and sparks of static suggest that this very track is decaying before our eyes, fading out into oblivion.
The acoustic piano also adds to this desolate world on several occasions. In “Speak in Tongues”, its dream-like progression stands alone besides Paula, rendering a surreal but uncomfortably close feel to the track. That discomfort is soon amplified by the unintelligible electric voices that begin to infest the fringes of the track, as well the icy glaze of synths and the ponderous strings on the bridge. The poignant, sorrowful chords on “We Are Not” ring throughout the chamber, as strange creaks like pulleys or ancient wagons clink in the background. These chords often spiral into demented descents, until eventually a second piano hammers violently over the first. “Wasted”, on the other hand, swirls with spirits of droning echoes and strings, and the piano plucks staggered, drooping notes within.
“Swamp”, the album’s “single” (it was, after all, released as a free download on Daddy Tank’s Bandcamp page), is perhaps the most accessible track on the album, but no less haunting. Borne by a lonesome guitar strum, this droning tune is spiked by loud handclaps and a repetitive electric strum, rendering this one as almost meditative (for those that meditate to noise, anyway). The closer “In The City”, on the other hand, opens on an unsettling string of echoing, disjointed guitar, before settling on one despondent strum and a distant, single drum; the vague ringing in the distance, however, does not fade, and the song crawls on warily through Paula’s bewitching choruses to a quiet resolution.
With a total running time of 29 minutes, Sunken is shockingly short for an LP – shockingly, I say, because these brief tracks are so wholly immersive, so murkily atmospheric, that one feels time dissipate and scatter away. Daddy Tank is still rocking their Summer Algorithm sale, so now’s the best time to sink into Hangin Freud – buy it here as either a CD or cassette (or both – why not?) and receive one extra album in return. Win.
As I said before, Sunken is ominous. Just listen to the terrifying title track that kicks off the album – the electric guitar strikes jagged chords, as Laura tells the morbid tale of a drowning woman in a suitably drear fashion. “Truce”, too, advances forth with a sinister riff, and Paula’s calm but woeful vocals, paired with her ghostly cries and eerie hums, are riveting enough to lull you into a trance. (I certainly was.)
Still, as with Pang’s The Garden of Menace, the spaces and crevices of Sunken are as haunting and awe-inspiring as its content. “Medusa” is a eerily sparse acoustic tune, laced with ambiguous whooshes and mechanical static – but then the song is consumed entirely by a 40-second ambient section, of deep reverberating hums and a relentless swooshing, immersive enough to engulf the listener into its bleak emptiness. Another stark track, “Keep It”, is driven only by a steady tom beat and a slow snap, as organ synths hang overhead and a guitar creeps in and out. Behind, you can hear the electric snapping of an archaic recording device, which swells and oozes into the track, and sparks of static suggest that this very track is decaying before our eyes, fading out into oblivion.
The acoustic piano also adds to this desolate world on several occasions. In “Speak in Tongues”, its dream-like progression stands alone besides Paula, rendering a surreal but uncomfortably close feel to the track. That discomfort is soon amplified by the unintelligible electric voices that begin to infest the fringes of the track, as well the icy glaze of synths and the ponderous strings on the bridge. The poignant, sorrowful chords on “We Are Not” ring throughout the chamber, as strange creaks like pulleys or ancient wagons clink in the background. These chords often spiral into demented descents, until eventually a second piano hammers violently over the first. “Wasted”, on the other hand, swirls with spirits of droning echoes and strings, and the piano plucks staggered, drooping notes within.
“Swamp”, the album’s “single” (it was, after all, released as a free download on Daddy Tank’s Bandcamp page), is perhaps the most accessible track on the album, but no less haunting. Borne by a lonesome guitar strum, this droning tune is spiked by loud handclaps and a repetitive electric strum, rendering this one as almost meditative (for those that meditate to noise, anyway). The closer “In The City”, on the other hand, opens on an unsettling string of echoing, disjointed guitar, before settling on one despondent strum and a distant, single drum; the vague ringing in the distance, however, does not fade, and the song crawls on warily through Paula’s bewitching choruses to a quiet resolution.
With a total running time of 29 minutes, Sunken is shockingly short for an LP – shockingly, I say, because these brief tracks are so wholly immersive, so murkily atmospheric, that one feels time dissipate and scatter away. Daddy Tank is still rocking their Summer Algorithm sale, so now’s the best time to sink into Hangin Freud – buy it here as either a CD or cassette (or both – why not?) and receive one extra album in return. Win.
Scenery From Scratch - Jikan Ga Nai [JkGN43]
17 June, 2013
Strange are these times, where many new bands can be reduced to comparisons of groups from yesteryears: the Smith Westerns = T. Rex, Tame Impala = Cream, CHVRCHES = Depeche Mode, and so forth. I do wonder sometimes if it’s the musicians or the journalists that lack imagination…regardless, I’d be hard-pressed to match this EP from Jikan Ga Nai to any particular artist. It’s a two-man team, this project - and both individuals, French freewheeler Pain Noir and Scotsman Harold Nono of Bunny & the Electric Horsemen, have both honed their engineering chops in other recording projects. As Jikan Ga Nai - or “there’s not enough time” in Japanese - these crafty musicians have designed a curious EP, humorously titled “Plenty Time”, that explores specific moments of time through eclectic arrangements of electric gadgets.
The very titles themselves suggest scenes, not melodies. “When We Lie Down We Take The Penguins Home” is indeed a chilly number, in which chopped-up guitar solos tune in and out over a tinny synth. “Of Course We Weren’t Always Superstars” is a track of clashing opposites – while the bustling drum machine plugs along with the bouncing blips, streaks of celestial sound and a pristine choir hover overhead. And “The Man Who Tells the Trains”, the closer, pitches the listener into the black of night, with its stark piano chords and fat bass synths; skittering beeps and alien guitars creep on our nerves, lending a shade of paranoia to our nocturnal stroll.
Ah, but the most intriguing scene unfolds in the evening, or the third track – “Legend Days” opens with the hum of a vacuum cleaner, followed by a series of clanks that suggests the locking up of a shop at the end of the day. That’s my take, anyway – but the soft acoustic strum and the mellow analog melody do lend to a moment of repose. After a brief pause, the tune returns with a steady pulse and a distant, soothing choir; then the glorious electric guitar kicks in with a stream of arpeggios, gracing the track with such verve and movement as to suggest something spectacular about this particular return from work. Yes – “Legend Days” is perhaps my favorite off the LP, namely because its shifting structure and ambiguous ambient sounds inspire the listener to invent some original narrative to explain it all.
Indeed, Jikan Ga Nai have contrived a rare work here with this EP. Rather than merely borrowing certain styles, these two have tinkered with an array of tools to create settings and moods. If you’d care to hear (and buy!) “Plenty Time” for yourself, just hop over to this Bandcamp page, manned by their label Bearsuit Records.
The very titles themselves suggest scenes, not melodies. “When We Lie Down We Take The Penguins Home” is indeed a chilly number, in which chopped-up guitar solos tune in and out over a tinny synth. “Of Course We Weren’t Always Superstars” is a track of clashing opposites – while the bustling drum machine plugs along with the bouncing blips, streaks of celestial sound and a pristine choir hover overhead. And “The Man Who Tells the Trains”, the closer, pitches the listener into the black of night, with its stark piano chords and fat bass synths; skittering beeps and alien guitars creep on our nerves, lending a shade of paranoia to our nocturnal stroll.
Ah, but the most intriguing scene unfolds in the evening, or the third track – “Legend Days” opens with the hum of a vacuum cleaner, followed by a series of clanks that suggests the locking up of a shop at the end of the day. That’s my take, anyway – but the soft acoustic strum and the mellow analog melody do lend to a moment of repose. After a brief pause, the tune returns with a steady pulse and a distant, soothing choir; then the glorious electric guitar kicks in with a stream of arpeggios, gracing the track with such verve and movement as to suggest something spectacular about this particular return from work. Yes – “Legend Days” is perhaps my favorite off the LP, namely because its shifting structure and ambiguous ambient sounds inspire the listener to invent some original narrative to explain it all.
Indeed, Jikan Ga Nai have contrived a rare work here with this EP. Rather than merely borrowing certain styles, these two have tinkered with an array of tools to create settings and moods. If you’d care to hear (and buy!) “Plenty Time” for yourself, just hop over to this Bandcamp page, manned by their label Bearsuit Records.
The Craft Of DIY - Paul Carr [CDIY42]
13 June, 2013
Paul Carr – A true DIY artist – in multiple senses of the word - based in London. He’s studied painting at the Slade School of Fine Arts, collaborated with authors, musicians, and actors, and written his own short stories and publications. So, yes, he’s somewhat of a renaissance man. And his music reflects his introspective creations quite nicely, with abstract spoken-word narratives, home-crafted instruments, barebones percussion, acoustic guitar, and other eclectic elements. Thus far, Carr has released two CD-Rs - and The Soul Bellows – and now has a (relatively) new EP, The History of Aviation, out on cassette. Like much of his previous recordings, it’s a curious, lonesome outing, to a quiet yet off-kilter world salvaged from the past.
Each tune offers only a passing glimpse (roughly 2-4 minutes) into this constructed realm – but that one glance is telling. The EP’s opener, “I don’t like reversible jackets”, marches in to the beat of its own rattling drum, as Carr plays a sharp, snappy melodica. The track that follows, “Bruce’s Babes”, is perhaps the most melodic, and also the best showcase of Carr’s writing and songcraft. A eerie synth sound flows behind an oddly strummed guitar, while Carr speaks and sings in an alluring fashion. “Ian Breakwell” slides in on a sleazy groove, one that might be expected in a hip, jazzy night club – yet, the wandering keyboard in this track, which stumbles off-tempo at times, dispels that vibe completely. Add the odd, warbling synth loop and Carr’s sleepy account, and the tune can easily disorient the listener to the point where up is down and down is up.
The most abstract of these travelogues, however, is clearly the title track. Two sets of lyrics – one detailing individual pieces of architecture, the other cataloguing types of food – mesh together, over a steady drum machine, a clattering metal sound, and a tinny bell. It’s quirky, but entrancing nevertheless – plus, with the two field recordings at the opposite ends of the track, the listener does sense (or I do, anyway) that all these disparate elements fit within an actual environment, as alien as it may seem.
Two of the tracks – “Currys” and “News 24” – are instrumental. The brief, skittering “Currys” lumbers into life like a toy robot with a leaping chime sound, while “News 24” floats in with some mildly ominous keyboards (about as ominous, perhaps, as they might have been in an old black-and-white film). Perhaps these should “bridge together” the three lyrical songs that they separate; however, the segments do not gel together, no more than jagged rocks would stack up in a pile. But, ay, that eclecticism is the EP’s specialty.
Paul Carr’s tiny, intriguing world is a fascinating place to visit – certainly NOT your run-of-the-mill bedroom project. Stream and order the inventive History here.
Each tune offers only a passing glimpse (roughly 2-4 minutes) into this constructed realm – but that one glance is telling. The EP’s opener, “I don’t like reversible jackets”, marches in to the beat of its own rattling drum, as Carr plays a sharp, snappy melodica. The track that follows, “Bruce’s Babes”, is perhaps the most melodic, and also the best showcase of Carr’s writing and songcraft. A eerie synth sound flows behind an oddly strummed guitar, while Carr speaks and sings in an alluring fashion. “Ian Breakwell” slides in on a sleazy groove, one that might be expected in a hip, jazzy night club – yet, the wandering keyboard in this track, which stumbles off-tempo at times, dispels that vibe completely. Add the odd, warbling synth loop and Carr’s sleepy account, and the tune can easily disorient the listener to the point where up is down and down is up.
The most abstract of these travelogues, however, is clearly the title track. Two sets of lyrics – one detailing individual pieces of architecture, the other cataloguing types of food – mesh together, over a steady drum machine, a clattering metal sound, and a tinny bell. It’s quirky, but entrancing nevertheless – plus, with the two field recordings at the opposite ends of the track, the listener does sense (or I do, anyway) that all these disparate elements fit within an actual environment, as alien as it may seem.
Two of the tracks – “Currys” and “News 24” – are instrumental. The brief, skittering “Currys” lumbers into life like a toy robot with a leaping chime sound, while “News 24” floats in with some mildly ominous keyboards (about as ominous, perhaps, as they might have been in an old black-and-white film). Perhaps these should “bridge together” the three lyrical songs that they separate; however, the segments do not gel together, no more than jagged rocks would stack up in a pile. But, ay, that eclecticism is the EP’s specialty.
Paul Carr’s tiny, intriguing world is a fascinating place to visit – certainly NOT your run-of-the-mill bedroom project. Stream and order the inventive History here.
The Pre-Program Blitz - Part 2 [PPB241]
10 June, 2013
Three more artists? You got it, bub. Here's some of the noisier cuts from the next radio show, including two standouts from a compilation that you should own by now. Oh, and these are all pay-what-you-wills from Bandcamp, so...you're welcome.
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Marblemouth – So, I suspect you’ve bought Audio Antihero’s latest comp by now, right? If not, get it here, you lazy bum; if so, you’ll recall that a quiet-spoken bloke known as Brendan “Marblemouth” Mattox contributed a beautiful, meditative track called “The Lake Song”, where layers of echoing, droning, and swirling guitars drifted atop one another and built into a great, churning sea of sound before shifting to a wall of bristling fuzz. Indeed, apart from Cloud’s “A Song Of What Stays”, it could very well be the loveliest track on the comp.
Well, I was completely enamored with it (still am), so I downloaded the Nocturnes EP. And I was not disappointed – in fact, I found that Cloud and Marblemouth had joined forces on this release, with the former handling rhythm and production. Mattox comes in on “Dear Doe Eyes” with a whisper, on a very sleepy, slowcore strum and beat – until some very glorious slabs of fuzz burst in. Beautiful. “In The Dark”, however, materializes into a much more sinister number, as ponderous plucking leads to a dramatic, pulsing riff. No audible lyrics this time, either – well, barely audible. Mattox mutters underneath the mix – and you can hear him in the quiet standoffs, mumbling about nightmares, but he’s soon engulfed by the torrent of intensity that follows. After all those massive masterpieces, however, the closer is a quiet moment titled “Home, Alone”. After burying himself for so long in swaths of noise, Mattox emerges at last, to wish us all good night while he aches for the companion no longer by his side. On the surface, it sounds like a charming send-off, but those lyrics touch on a quiet depression that you might know all too well (I know I do). It’s a sad goodbye, but the perfect closing note for the EP. In summary – Nocturnes is a wonderful, majestic release. Here you will find serenity in noise, vigor in slowcore, and power in quiet moments. Download the EP at Marblemouth’s Bandcamp site – and, while you’re there, check out his new track, too - it's a churning, vast solo effort aptly titled "The Great Wide Ocean". |
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Reykjavictim – Dual techno producer and alternative rock star based in Shanghai. Yup, Adam McRae is a true one-man-band, capable of slamming some serious riffs and providing the slick synth details, oftentimes within the same track. I recently downloaded this LP of his from last year, which I admit I cannot print here since I lack any finesse with Chinese symbols.
To be a one-man-band, Reykjavictim exhibits an array of influences. The opener, “Mediocre Superstar”, is itself a wild card of a track, that opens with bubbling synths, some vicious strumming, and superb vocals that alternate between Chinese and English; “Feng Huang Qin”, on the other hand, is a moment of serenity, with oriental strings plucked brightly over a strained buzz. It blends seamlessly, however, into “He Shi” and its steady, electric pulse. “Dian Dong Dong Wu” and “Zhuan” are more straightforward techno tracks, with the former as a stealthy, shuffling tune, and the latter a sultry number with a urban beat, kickin’ cymbals, and some ominous synth work. And yet, after all that seamless integration of rock and techno, Reykjavictim ends with some pure stoner bliss on “Beumont”, with its stupidly thick riffs and punky mantra (“It’s got everything you need, but nothing you want, in Beumont”). The clean production has been stripped away, leaving this one rough and ragged – but, really, that’s EXACTLY how this one should feel! Yup, I do highly commend this one. How this guy is so criminally underplayed is beyond me, because he’s got a rare knack for crafting a varied and thrilling LP. Download his [Chinese symbols] album, for whatever price you wish, on his Bandcamp page. |
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PRINCESS – If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, then you would’ve probably gathered by now that I love noise. (See BRUTES, Micachu and the Shapes, or even Marblemouth above for vindication.) And PRINCESS satisfies my cravings for discord. I discovered the dude (yes, dude) on Audio Antihero’s latest comp (which you’ve downloaded by now, I assume?) via “Junk Mail”, a slow-crawler that screeched from the abyss with some deliciously hideous distortion. At the time, however, the only other tunes I could dig up were two singles on PRINCESS’s Bandcamp page.
Now, be assured: both singles are sublimely noisy. “Tortured Wings” delivered the menacing vibe that I’d been seeking, serving up a grungy slab of beastly guitar. “Square”, on the hand, is a brighter, more vigorous racket, graced with these gorgeous, distant “ooooh”s, that sounds more like the sunny realm of Souvlaki than the bowels of In Utero. Not a bad thing, I assure you – in fact, it’s golden - but not exactly the PRINCESS I was hunting for. Wrong castle, you could say. However, just today, the dudes dropped this Black Cat EP on their Bandcamp site – and my appetite has been slaked. It’s wicked. Ten minutes of bliss ensue from the one-two punch of the creeping “I Look Around” and the mind-bending swaths of fuzzy distortion on “Come And Go”. Ohh, but then there’s “Fall Slow”, a poppy, MBV-esque number with a stratospheric solo. Also nice. But the clincher for this EP is clearly the closer, the 8+ minute groove of “Excuse The Voice”. Sliding in on a shuffling beat and a beefy bass pulse, this track mystifies at first – then the monstrous wave of guitar screeches in, but pulls back, leaving a echoing void behind. As the groove chugs on, the distorted wave trickles back in, regaining strength ever so gradually, until it completely EXPLODES at 5’48”. EUPHORIA. Like all our other releases today, Black Cat is also a pay-what-you-want, so snap it up here. PRINCESS will not disappoint. |
The Pre-Program Blitz - Part 1 [PPB140]
7 June, 2013
So, a new show's coming up soon. And I do mean soon - hopefully within the week. However, this time I'll be presenting several new discoveries, which I haven't covered yet over here, so...voila. As usual, today's three selections bear no connection to each other - different genres, different sources, different labels, and so forth. Dig:
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Mark Wynn – Folks, I am in love with a mumbler of song and spell. Mark Wynn of York is a songwriter of the post-modern variety, the sort that embraces the mundane and the absurd in equal turns. In his signature monotone he delivers train-of-thought narratives over jovial guitar accompaniment.
Social Situations, his last “full-length” (in quotes, because all 12 songs are barely two minutes long), is a delightful ramble, full of memorable lyrics, often self-depreciating and bristling with sarcastic wit. In these rollicking jaunts, Wynn discloses episodes of wandering around record stores, strolling down city streets, and observing others. Over-wrought clichés, silly pop references, and parenthetical asides are all jumbled together, delivered with mock smugness and irreverent abandon. If I wanted to be critical, I could point out that Social Situations is extremely homogenous – indeed, “Bukowski” and “I’m Lou Reed x6” share practically the exact same melody – but I’d rather not be. Besides, one could level the same complaint at Leonard Cohen’s debut album, but that doesn’t hurt the man’s rep any, right? Right. You can dig into Social Situations – as well as a bevy of other name-your-price releases – on Mark Wynn’s Bandcamp page. |
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Orca Team – Imagine, for just a moment, if a trio of heartbroken, surf rockin’ souls from the 60s were granted a 30-minute recording session in your basement at around 3 AM. Now, just substitute the ordinary bassist with a crackin’ good one from a post-punk band, and you might have Orca Team, a three-piece outfit originally from Portland, OR. Not too long ago, I bought their first major LP, Restraint, on vinyl - and, I'll admit, I've grown fonder of it with each listen.
Mind, like the aforementioned Social Situations, Restraint is also a very homogenous record – each track is roughly two minutes long, and sounds like perfectly bright, buoyant pop, but conveys a tale of anguish and woe. Still, I could easily pluck out some highlights – like the urgent chorus and dexterous drums on “If…”, the irresistibly catchy “Michael” (which, yes, is a plea of desperation from a gay dude’s perspective - OOH), and the dramatic tension and gorgeous vocals of “Strains”. All in all, Orca Team are worth investigating. For a sample, you could stream their contribution on Indietracks’ 2012 comp (“Resolutions”)…OR, simply wait for my next radio broadcast, which will feature one of those highlights. And if you’re enamored with what you hear, you can order Restraint from their label, HHBTM, here. |
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David Cronenberg’s Wife – If, like me, you thrived on the eclectic and demented racket of Paul Hawkins & The(e) Awkward Silences, then here’s another cackling assembly for your perusal. David Cronenberg’s Wife, a London-based quartet fronted by the devious Tom Mayne, play a wicked brand of lo-fi rock n’ roll that wrangles together rough-and-ready riffs, gothic horror, and perverted humor. Their last LP, “Don’t Wait To Be Hunted To Hide” (from the tail end of last year), delivers equal measures of gleeful menace and disturbed sweetness, with screeching organs and crashing drum one minute, and gently caressed fiddles the next.
Consider, for instance, “Man At The Back Of The Woods”, a hammering, frenetic number that accelerates into Birthday Party-esque levels of chaos. Directly after that barn-burner comes the sinister “Love Is A Headless Dog”, which ratchets down the tempo with a prowling guitar and opens with this chilling verse from Mayne: “I hung a headless dog by your window, / and stabbed a note through its eyes”. Or, in another surprising sequence, DCW jump from the snarling murder anthem of “Spiked” to the ballad of “Such a Sweet Boy”, where a lightly played harpsichord trips along to a girl’s casually-sung tale of a romance with a one-armed man. The most startling tune on the album, however, would clearly be “For Laura Kingsman” – though sweet and folksy on the surface, and laced with a honeyed fiddle, the lyrics tell of a miserable bachelor who falls in love with a 15-year old girl. Its tenderness, in between the crazed, rollicking tale of “The Pied Piper of Maidenhead” and the bluesy riot of “Lonleyman”, is rather offsetting, and indeed downright uncomfortable – but, ah, that is DCW’s charm. Really, if you’re sick of dreamy, pristine tunes from the other ether, or craving some juicy, provocative narratives instead of mere hallowed voices, Don’t Wait should be a welcome smack in the face. For a quick sample of DCW’s sweeter side, you can stream/buy “Drawn Again” (and the rest of Audio Antihero’s comp, while you’re at it); otherwise, order Don’t Wait at Blang Records’ online store. (You can also read some other, more competent reviews here, which should seal the deal. Just keep scrolling...) |
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Daddy Tank, Part 2 - Hip-Hop, Redeemed [DTSS39]
3 June, 2013
Today, folks, we're plugging Daddy Tank's Social Studies. And no, we’re not talking about that gushy American indie band, either. THIS Social Studies is a project to expand the horizons of underground hip-hop, fronted by MC Zano Bathroom. And this one LP that they’ve released on Daddy Tank, Proxemics…man, it’s one loaded album. Most of the tracks – referred to only as “assignments” – shift restlessly from one section into another, segued by thought-provoking samples in between. Synthesized details abound everywhere alongside Zano’s expressive, ingenious lyrics, whose flow is frankly DOPE.
What I love best about Zeno, though – apart from his delivery, of course – is his knack for weaving together brilliant rhymes and cooking up witty words. “Assignment 2” is absolutely flawless in this aspect, with lines like “obscenster, hophipster” and “unorthadoctor, afro-insurgent” over some wicked live drumming – but, EVEN BETTER is the second half, where Zano borrows the intro to the Cure’s “Play For Today” and delivers a seamless rap. MMM.
Even the shortest track on the album, “Assignment Five”, traverses a wide swath of styles - opening on a futuristic synth riff and a striking conversation on how “electrical goodies” are integral to music these days, the tune flits between samples before landing abruptly on a slow jam graced with a distant, stately horn. The longer tracks, like “Assignment Six”, are odysseys in thought and rhythm that never, ever grow stale. Here we flit between pondering the importance of having a point of view, to Zano’s irreverent rhymes bordered by percolating electric spurts, to an old country sample – and that’s only the first five minutes! And where to begin on that massive expedition, “Assignment Seven”, which floats from a down-tempo bump (with memorable critiques on the hip artist and the hipster consumer) to a dubby jam that surges into a driving rap via a blipping computer switchboard? It’s all just glorious.
Really, if you’ve lamented a lack of “quality” hip-hop in your life, give Proxemics a spin, and travel across time and space in style. Unfortunately, the LP itself is not on sale, but you're welcome to snag a free download of “Assignment Two” on Daddy Tank’s Bandcamp site – and hey, if you order another album from Kim this summer (like that Pang LP I endorsed last month) you’ll get a bonus for free, so maybe you’ll get lucky. Or, y'know, just ask him. He MIGHT oblige!
What I love best about Zeno, though – apart from his delivery, of course – is his knack for weaving together brilliant rhymes and cooking up witty words. “Assignment 2” is absolutely flawless in this aspect, with lines like “obscenster, hophipster” and “unorthadoctor, afro-insurgent” over some wicked live drumming – but, EVEN BETTER is the second half, where Zano borrows the intro to the Cure’s “Play For Today” and delivers a seamless rap. MMM.
Even the shortest track on the album, “Assignment Five”, traverses a wide swath of styles - opening on a futuristic synth riff and a striking conversation on how “electrical goodies” are integral to music these days, the tune flits between samples before landing abruptly on a slow jam graced with a distant, stately horn. The longer tracks, like “Assignment Six”, are odysseys in thought and rhythm that never, ever grow stale. Here we flit between pondering the importance of having a point of view, to Zano’s irreverent rhymes bordered by percolating electric spurts, to an old country sample – and that’s only the first five minutes! And where to begin on that massive expedition, “Assignment Seven”, which floats from a down-tempo bump (with memorable critiques on the hip artist and the hipster consumer) to a dubby jam that surges into a driving rap via a blipping computer switchboard? It’s all just glorious.
Really, if you’ve lamented a lack of “quality” hip-hop in your life, give Proxemics a spin, and travel across time and space in style. Unfortunately, the LP itself is not on sale, but you're welcome to snag a free download of “Assignment Two” on Daddy Tank’s Bandcamp site – and hey, if you order another album from Kim this summer (like that Pang LP I endorsed last month) you’ll get a bonus for free, so maybe you’ll get lucky. Or, y'know, just ask him. He MIGHT oblige!
(Sound)Clouds over London [HDMW38]
29 May, 2013
Folks, it’s time to shed your cynical, post-post-everything expectations and step outside into the soft morning light. Although we’ll be spatially remaining in London for today’s article, the music treads far from the ultra-modern, urban landscape. Read on, and take a breath of fresh air with these artists:
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Helena Dukic – A nymph of London with an enchanted voice. After a lifetime of performing classical piano, Helena began secretly penning “pop” songs while studying music at Cambridge University. I say “pop”, because these light-hearted, deceptively simple tunes are far more charming and whimsical than the average indie pop outfit. Around her polished piano playing and angelic voice, Helena scores quirky melodies with eclectic instrumentation, such as violins and xylophones, that complements the innocent love songs and fairy tale lyrics.
Though Helena has only seven songs to her name, one can already hear how inventive her songwriting has become. The strings in the endearingly tragic “Magic Toy Shop” blossom with grandeur, while the plucked strings and bells in “Little Girl” create a kookily sinister vibe. Helena’s most recent composition, “Come Along” (which, by the by, is on Audio Antihero’s latest and greatest compilation), is also her most fleshed-out tune, a vibrant concoction of driving drums, dramatic strings, and enigmatic french horn, licked with gleeful xylophones. On “Raindrops” and “Reverse”, however, Helena foregoes her signature whimsy for more elegant piano ballads. The latter, in particular, is especially impressive for its sweet, subtle violin accompaniment, and sudden jerky interludes. Many of Helena’s works are available for download on her Soundcloud page. You can also expect to hear her on Mark Whitby’s shows in the coming months, so keep your ears peeled. |
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Monkton Wyld – A man, a passion, and the timeless, rustic beauty of his earnest folk outfit. London-bound L.J.A Brown plays guitar, his accomplished pal Anna Ryan adds touches of harmonium, mellophone, xylophone, and other percussion, and the two together invent lively, yet intimate music, resplendent with both members’ lovely vocals.
The “Silver Trumpet” set, in itself, is a rich collection of tunes from a quiet, simpler yesteryear. It kick off on a joyous note, with the bright and rambling “Old Money New Money”; the following two tracks are more solemn in nature, but nevertheless shine with Brown’s nuanced, fluid picking. He muses solo on a relationship that could never be on “Hate Your Jazz”, while “Circuitous” is a heart-rending duet between Brown and Ryan. But the final track – my favorite, “Pick Up The Windows” – is a sublime, effervescent number, that bubbles with xylophone and skips along in mesmerizing 3/4 time before concluding on some wild, enthusiastic riffing. Outside the “Silver Trumpet” set, Monkton Wyld has also recorded “Sunday Psalms”, another xylophone-kissed, skipping number with some of Brown’s most fantastic vocals. At the moment, you can only hear Monkton Wyld’s recordings on their Soundcloud page; nearly all of their works, however, can be downloaded gratis. |
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Daddy Tank, Part 1 - The Cavern [DTPg37]
20 May, 2013
Ah, Pang - those spelunkers into the deepest labyrinths of the electronic soundscape. Their sole LP, Garden of Menace, does not offer any melody, verse, refrain, or any sort of song at all, but instead immerses the listener in a vast, cavernous atmosphere, illuminated with glitchy, crackling sounds. Ay. This release is so engrossing, that my head did wander...
The listener plummets into this murky realm through “Plains”, a track of seething winds that blow steadily louder as you freefall. Once you’ve landed, you emerge in the bustling “Lost Pictures”, where alien insects forms shuffle to clipped beeps and echoed beats, and a surge of running water rushes past (a river, perhaps). Next, you wander into the icy “The Watcher”, where strange clatters, a sludgy beat, and distant thuds will certainly impress you with the unsettling feeling that you may not be alone in this bleak cavern.
Another turn, and your foot slips on a brittle edge into “Hollows”, a deep, pitch-black abyss; you clutch at the edge, but stare terrified at the gaping void for two minutes before hauling yourself up and moving on. Crystals shimmer in the hall of “Purlon”, but the air is thick with static clouds that press heavily upon you. This hall stretches on and on, but at last you duck into a passage - however, the two chambers that await you, “Butterfly Bondage” and “Senova”, offer no relief. In the first, you encounter a maze of sinister machines, that click and hum with electric sounds as they monitor your every move; in the second, a barrage of pulsing waves assault you, sending you hurtling even further down the cavern’s bowels.
When you finally awaken from the fall, you find yourself inexplicably bathed in light within “Violent End For A Lost Friend”, and repose for a moment. At last, you venture onward into the narrow, harrowing crawl that is “Dead Monism”, a tortuous passage of sputtering and lashing beats, sudden turns, hidden traps, and hostile creatures that you wander within for hours (OK, 12 minutes). At last, you encounter an exit – but your stomach lurches when you stumble into yet another bleak, murky, and utterly empty chamber, and you slowly collapse on the floor. Just before you pass out, however, a stream of muffled, jumbled voices bursts forth, filling the void with the last sounds of humanity you’ll ever hear before it abruptly shuts off…
Such is the harrowing, subterranean journey of Garden of Menace. Of course, you’re free to interpret the work however you choose, but you’ll agree that any listener could lose themselves in Pang’s aural dungeon. To experience this labyrinth for yourself, order it off of Daddy Tank’s site here.
The listener plummets into this murky realm through “Plains”, a track of seething winds that blow steadily louder as you freefall. Once you’ve landed, you emerge in the bustling “Lost Pictures”, where alien insects forms shuffle to clipped beeps and echoed beats, and a surge of running water rushes past (a river, perhaps). Next, you wander into the icy “The Watcher”, where strange clatters, a sludgy beat, and distant thuds will certainly impress you with the unsettling feeling that you may not be alone in this bleak cavern.
Another turn, and your foot slips on a brittle edge into “Hollows”, a deep, pitch-black abyss; you clutch at the edge, but stare terrified at the gaping void for two minutes before hauling yourself up and moving on. Crystals shimmer in the hall of “Purlon”, but the air is thick with static clouds that press heavily upon you. This hall stretches on and on, but at last you duck into a passage - however, the two chambers that await you, “Butterfly Bondage” and “Senova”, offer no relief. In the first, you encounter a maze of sinister machines, that click and hum with electric sounds as they monitor your every move; in the second, a barrage of pulsing waves assault you, sending you hurtling even further down the cavern’s bowels.
When you finally awaken from the fall, you find yourself inexplicably bathed in light within “Violent End For A Lost Friend”, and repose for a moment. At last, you venture onward into the narrow, harrowing crawl that is “Dead Monism”, a tortuous passage of sputtering and lashing beats, sudden turns, hidden traps, and hostile creatures that you wander within for hours (OK, 12 minutes). At last, you encounter an exit – but your stomach lurches when you stumble into yet another bleak, murky, and utterly empty chamber, and you slowly collapse on the floor. Just before you pass out, however, a stream of muffled, jumbled voices bursts forth, filling the void with the last sounds of humanity you’ll ever hear before it abruptly shuts off…
Such is the harrowing, subterranean journey of Garden of Menace. Of course, you’re free to interpret the work however you choose, but you’ll agree that any listener could lose themselves in Pang’s aural dungeon. To experience this labyrinth for yourself, order it off of Daddy Tank’s site here.
Dandelion Exclusives (DnEx36)
Posted: 5 May, 2013
In this lonely phase of my life, little else is more exciting than the first day of each month, when Dandelion Radio delivers a fresh batch of programs (or is that programmes?!). All this week, I've been glued to my computer, imbibing as much new tunage as I possibly can - and I've found some sweet stuff exclusive to Dandelion, all priced at even sweeter bargains. Snap up these stellar releases from their respective Bandcamp pages:
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The Carbon Manual – What happens when you merge a drum machine, a synth, and some mental free verse poetry? Why, nothing other than the inimitable Carbon Manual, a trio from Bristol that recently gathered at Rocker’s pad to unravel cerebral yarns for one astonishing session. From the void comes the wry voice of Jeremy Gluck, his delivery seemingly impromptu over the pre-programmed beat, alongside sharp guitar lines and a liquid bass. What follows is mind-bending.
These spoken word pieces wax over abstract imagery and phrases, often meandering in no particular hurry. “Undarkened She Shines” merges a brooding progression with flickering light from the guitar; meanwhile, Gluck pursues the theoretical, waxes philosophical, and eventually disregards it all on the sublime “That I Would Arrive At Your Door”. This is one of the most remarkable vocal performances, I believe, balancing calm reasoning with frustrated apathy. “Ice Sleep” channels a psychedelic sound to ponder about life, death, and poetry; the bass undulates menacingly under the unworldly “And In That Dream” (which also features a lone theramin!). The closer, however, is the most mind-numbing number, particularly with its astral guitar solo. This session only lasts six tracks, but it’s a reality-altering experience not to be missed. Download the Carbon Manual session from Local Underground’s Bandcamp page for a mere two quid (or more, if so desire) – all proceeds go toward the care and maintenance of Dandelion Radio. |
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derTANZ – YEAAAAH. What we have here, folks, is monstrous, dirty, ruthless rock from Hungary. Kaktusz, their latest release, is a BEAST of an album, one that could rightly be regarded “gothic” in its capacity to alarm, captivate, and possibly even terrify the senses. With the opener “A Statue”, derTANZ grips their grimy claws upon you and drag you steadily to the gaping abyss.
Behind the most nihilistic track title, “Over Your Cities Grass Will Grow”, lies a lumbering guitar of stupefying thickness, which revs momentarily into a frenzy at around 2’24”. And I frickin’ LOVE this dude’s deep, harrowing vocals here. Crazy to believe that this is the same singer behind the cataclysmic screeches on “Terror Mirror Terror”, a heavy-handed number with a throbbing bass that lurches into a shambolic, start-stop ritual. Suddenly, derTANZ switch gears on “Estimado Carlos”, to a more subtle, yet no less sinister, crawl. We return to their proper demented fervor, though, on “The Trap”, with its driving bass line, demonic vocals, and diffusive guitar. Elsewhere, there’s the epic of the album, “The Garden”, which builds gradually with its snaky bass from a haunting dirge into a ravaging, snarling fiend. Perhaps even more haunting, however, is the stark “Sinking Into The Floor”, a solo paean from the vocalist often accompanied by little more than a throb and the distant, swirling scratch of guitar strings. Finally, in the massive closer “Shaved Lights”, chaos reigns supreme as feedback screams over a suspended cymbal, and stalks into a diabolical finale. Periodically, the album is interrupted by chaotic interludes: the first consisting of spiky guitar shrapnel, (“2659”), the second of blistering drums and jarring electric noise (“2660”), and the third a shambling number surprisingly supplemented with lyrics (“2699”). These disturbing bits lend to the album’s unsettling nature, as bizarre experiments concocted alongside the longer crawls of the titled tracks. In short, if you’ve been craving a real Stygian delight, you can’t pass up Kaktusz. And you have no excuse, either, since this doozy of an album is only one buck on derTANZ’s Bandcamp page. |
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Council Tax Band – Swell blokes who rock righteously. Thus far, they’ve only released three tunes, but they are mighty bold tunes, with an irresistibly cheeky humor and enormous potential. Of especial note is the abrasive 1’36” “Mentioning No Names” (heard it five times this week now – still so fresh!), but the closer “Happy New Year” is quite impressive in its own manner, and a most appropriate send-off for this punchy EP.
Pay what you wish for it on Council Tax Band’s Bandcamp page here – or, alternatively, you could just lock your hypothetical dial in to Dandelion Radio, since Rocker, Mark Whitby, and Marcelle all feature at least one tune on their respective shows. |
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So Last Year, At Bandcamp...[BC1235]
Posted: 30 April, 2013
Three threads weave this cluster of diverse artists together: 1) they're all available on Bandcamp, 2) the feature albums were all released in the summer of '12, and 3) each band has only released the slim handful of tracks that this article reviews. Sheer coincidence, I swear. I just picked these fellows out because they were all obscure and brilliant.
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Brutes – Flesh-rending noise. Screeching, grating guitars, paired with thick drums and a disturbingly distorted voice that resembles nothing human. Yes, it’s loud. Yes, it’s disorienting. Yes, it’s frickin’ almighty. On their Punishment EP, the opener “This is Good For You” rips your eardrums immediately with Brutes’ distinctively harsh guitars; the massive “Mandible Claw” opens first with a dramatic intro (featuring some distant metallic clanking – a warning alarm) before blasting into a ravaging groove. MMM.
For an all-out assault against your sanity, however, seek out the free download for the “Orders/Valley Pigs” single. Even more aggressive than Punishment, these two tracks alone could decimate entire armies with its relentless battery of anarchy. Finally, if you haven’t been slaughtered yet, then the “Dead Weight” single should be the finishing blow. It’s free, and it’s one concise minute of glorious obliteration. Brutes offer all this aural destruction for zilch on their Bandcamp page, although you can (and should!) drop ‘em a few quid for Punishment. |
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Faerground Accidents – An eclectic group that merges the fey eroticism of Pulp with the solid chops of a machismo rock band. They’re a five-piece out of Manchester, and at the moment they’ve only one 4-track EP from last to their name, Strange Ways – but, oh, what an EP.
The opener, “Hormones”, is their calling card, with its angular riff and the oh-so-Cocker-esque vocals crooning that existential question, “Am I just a bunch of hormones?” Edge into the second track, however, and the beastly duo of drummer and axe man really grind into high gear behind the frontman’s most disturbing tale of “violence and boredom” in “Woeful Small Town”. And have I mentioned their wicked warped synths? Side B tones it down a notch, but only in tempo. Take the twisted ballad “Alicia” - underneath its superb, fluid riffing and silky vocals lies a chilling tale of sexual assault (“I’ll make this a night I’ll never forget”). And then there’s the wonderful closer “Please Stay”, featuring the most breathtaking vocals on the album alongside a thick dollop of electric fuzz. Yes, it’s a short record – just over 20 minutes, to be exact – but in that space, Faerground Accidents have managed to forge a distinctive style that’s both enigmatic and direct. And, quite frankly, that I can’t get enough of! You can buy Strange Ways on Faerground Accident's Bandcamp page as a digital download for £3, OR you can buy a lovely CD with crimson red smoochers stenciled on for £4 (plus shipping and handling, of course). |
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Balancer – I promised to feature more Twitter followers, so here we have this Boston-based, vibrant band that has captivated me with sound and vision on their latest release (i.e dropped last year), House In The Clouds. Lush, lush, stuff: bright, very Phoenix-esque vocals, clean guitar lines, bouncing analog synths, all properly introduced in the lovely opener “Wouldn’t It Be Nice (To Stay Outside)”. Come the second track, and Balancer’s uncanny feel for strong hooks and slick drumming begin to shine through. And let’s not overlook that fantastic guitar duet towards the end…!
Ohhh, but the true beauty of this album – the sort that its heavenly cover portrays – shimmers on the second half. Behold “Coconut Skin” with its sparkling piano, cymbal finesse, and guitars playing like flickers of light as the vocalist belts his heart out. Or the lyrical genius of “Zombie Apocalypse Manual: Chapter 1” (and that wonderfully lilting chorus, “Just get them in the heaaaaaaad!”). It is, quite honestly, the most glorious track about zombies that I’ve ever heard – the sort that earnestly portrays the sorrow, anxiety, and immensity of surviving among the undead. The album ends brilliantly, too, with the elegant and minimal “In The Highlands”. Driven by the drummer’s refined cymbal work and stuttered beat, and underscored by subtle organ chords, the track builds slowly into a stirring crescendo as multiple voices join for the chorus. Ay, folks. I was mightily surprised by House in the Clouds, and I strongly urge you to give this one a spin. Order it on Balancer’s Bandcamp page – you COULD pay whatever you desire for the digital download, but why on earth would you do so when you can purchase the CD and a gorgeous, gorgeous poster of the album's cover art for 8 bucks? Jump on it, folks! I will, come my next paycheck. |
Discoveries From A Record Store [RSDD34]
Posted: 23 April 2013
As you all probably know, last Saturday was Record Store Day. So what did I do? Visited a record store, of course! Specifically, my destination was Wuxtry Records, Athens' legendary establishment in the heart of downtown. There, I caroused about the bins, and took copious notes of attractive vinyls - but, at last, my heart was sold on two compilations, from A Certain Ratio and James Chance, that rested securely behind a glass counter. As the humble clerk bustled to fetch my requests, he proffered two new releases to me - and, since the dude had such a swell taste, I took him up on the offer. The first two reviews below are those two releases. The third is from a band that tagged onto my Twitter feed - bit like the requests John Peel received in the post, isn't it? That being said, I need to rifle through all my followers again...
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Micachu and the Shapes – a professionally trained dabbler in raucous noise. Micachu, a singer/songwriter/producer/jack-of-all-trades musician who hails from England, has been bashing out music for some time now, but just put out this glorious mess of an LP, Never, last year. It’s a melodic racket, full of sounds that might be familiar, but seem slightly skewed, a little rough, a touch more wobbly.
The album bursts forth with the gleefully warped “Easy”, which introduces Micachu’s somewhat androgynous, almost Liz Fraser-esque vocals (circa Garlands, and with a much more limited register) and the clattering percussion that lends such charm to the whole of the LP. If you’re not awash with delight in the first thirty seconds, then you should put down this album right now. Several of these tracks have such an immediate appeal, that they sound like alternative standards already – the hip yet ragged “Slick”, for instance, the frenetic title track, and the perky “You Know”. Never, however, shifts gears quite often: “OK” bears a psychedelic strain with clanging drums; “Low Dogg”, on the other hand, fuses an industrial edge with a nearly hip-hop beat. And then there’s “Fall”, the longest track on the album (at just over four minutes), a rather free-flowing and minimal number that often features little more than some rudimentary strumming and a dribbling drum roll, and ends with a haunting violin that peels away nearly as abruptly as it entered. Follow this with the freaked-out 50s doo-wop of “Nothing” – good lord. It’s just astonishing. In short, if you seek a touch of whacked-out artistry, you ought to hunt down this album. Now, I found Never at my local respectable record store - but it’s a Rough Trade release, so you can also order it here. Also available via mass-streaming services like Spotify - but then you won’t catch a glimpse of the curiously pixelated house interior within the lyric booklet… |
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Tunabunny – Before we even begin, let us applaud Tunabunny for possessing the most baffling band name on Soundscape thus far. What on earth is a Tunabunny, you ask? Enter two chicks and two dudes from my neck of the woods – Athens, GA! They’ve been described as “powerpop” and “experimental” in the same breath, which is fair enough a description.
They rock solid, from the starting gate of Genius Fatigue – just dig that opener, “Duchess For Nothing”, with its slammin’ drum solos and the girls’ off-kilter and passionate vocals. Then, in a 180 twist, “Serpents & Light” is a sweet lil’ number, a blend of friendly riffs and tender harmonies. Then Tunabunny flip again, to build up the cerebral chant of “You Do What You Want” alongside a rip-roaring guitar solo. Most surprising, however, is the stark “Airplanes in Echelon”, where an undulating wave of guitar noise overlays a simple acoustic strum as one of the girls sings a most lovely tune. Listening to Tunabunny, it’s a little tricky to pin down one exact reference point. The clerk I spoke to, though, described it as a “mash-up of Wire’s Pink Flag and 154”, and that’s not too far off from my impression. Then again, you tune in to “Form A Line”’s motoric rhythm, and you hear a bit of krautrock; on the sleepy “Wrong Kind of Attention”, you sense a bit of the New York underground creeping in. (However, hear the track through, and you’ll hear a bit of Georgia bleeding through. Fauna, that is.) Either way you slice it, Tunabunny constantly fascinate and enthrall the listener with their wide range of indie style. Really, dudes, if you can get your mitts on this lil’ album – and indeed, it IS little, since it’s just a slick paper sleeve – you’d best do so. You can order this and Tunabunny's other two releases on their label's website (HHBTM); you can also look up Genius Fatigue on Spotify. |
Mutineers – Indie rock band out of Manchester with storytelling sensibility. At once, their frontman’s vocals remind me instantly of Edwyn Collin’s earnest and wide-eyed approach, or Lloyd Cole’s intimate style; the band, however, are bright and slick, anthemic and pop-ready. Guitars are clear and predictable, the drums steady and even more predictable, but the touches of keyboards that light up across this debut album, Friends, Lovers, Rivals, add refreshing sparkle.
“Infidelity”, the opener, launches forth with a slick, danceable groove and full, moving synths, merging oh-so-well with the soulful lyrics. “One Last Chance” follows in the same vein, but also features an (admittedly!) catchy chorus. Other tracks, like “Apologies”, are pleasant examples of rock ballads that the Strokes have probably tried countless times before, yet never with such approachable lyrics.
In essence, though the Mutineers’ sound is nothing new, their lack of snotty pretentiousness is very, very soothing. At the moment, Friends, Lovers, Rivals is chiefly a digital release, so find it on Spotify or grab it on iTunes.
“Infidelity”, the opener, launches forth with a slick, danceable groove and full, moving synths, merging oh-so-well with the soulful lyrics. “One Last Chance” follows in the same vein, but also features an (admittedly!) catchy chorus. Other tracks, like “Apologies”, are pleasant examples of rock ballads that the Strokes have probably tried countless times before, yet never with such approachable lyrics.
In essence, though the Mutineers’ sound is nothing new, their lack of snotty pretentiousness is very, very soothing. At the moment, Friends, Lovers, Rivals is chiefly a digital release, so find it on Spotify or grab it on iTunes.
International Edition [IdEd33]
Posted: 16 April, 2013
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Alex Canasta – Folks, this is not normally the kind of artist I endorse – the female singer/songwriter type, with a particularly vulnerable and prominent vocalist. Yet, something’s struck me about Alex Canasta, a.k.a Line Marianne and her band from Denmark. Something sweet and intimate, and more musically inclined than the regular soft rock riff-raff that pervades radio these days. Their latest album, Safe Inside, is certainly a pop endeavor, but with more care and nuance on each track than usual. It does not rock, and it’s certainly not edgy, experimental, or genre-bending – but it is rather lovely.
Warmth pervades the album, like in the friendly organs on “Absence” and the radiant chords underneath “Cry Another Day”. Yet, subtle layers of synths and violins weave through “Got It Coming” for a spellbinding effect; the stark “Let It Out” builds gracefully and peaks with a skillful flourish of strings. “Ten Thousand Steps” boasts the most bumpin’ beat on the album, and marks a return to the album’s sunny demeanor. However, the closer, “Hits Me Hard”, brings it down to a soft shade of blue. Alas – and I do hate to say this about any album – Safe Inside’s most memorable track is quite possibly its opener, the title track, and also its most dynamic one: it opens with a spindling acoustic riff, and opens up into a driving number pulsing with piano and drums, shimmering with synths, and glowing with Line’s lovely vocals. Personally, I wouldn’t be too surprised if this track cropped up on Dandelion’s Festive 50 list. Really, I’m a bit surprised that Alex Canasta aren’t more popular than they currently are. Given their sensible pop aesthetic, they ought to be enjoying airplay on contemporary radio stations everywhere – yet, such is the lot of an independent, Danish band. A shame, really. At the moment, I’m unable to find any physical release of Safe Inside – you can find it, though, on iTunes and Spotify. Or, if you’re lucky, you may be able to win a copy from Andy Morrison’s show… |
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Michael Tarbox – Rock n’ roll purist with grit and heart from Boston. You may have heard of him as frontman for the Tarbox Ramblers; and while he's still actively touring with those folk, he’s also stepped out into a solo career. His most recent release, Works and Days, is a rather straightforward, no-frills affair, shifting between no-holds-barred, rough-and-tumble rock with raw electric guitar and mellow acoustic ballads. No surprises here – each track flows in predictable four-bar patterns. ‘Tis solid, and maybe a slight old-fashioned, but certainly only better for its sincerity and simplicity.
The album kicks off, however, with a sultry and bluesy number, “I Believe In You”; it livens up quickly, however, with the blustery “Hey Mr. Starlight” – indeed, if Tarbox pulled a single off this album, he’d probably choose this one. “Capricorn”, a 90-second masterpiece, touts a gunslingin’ riff and a curiously light-hearted bridge. The jiving rock vibe persists with “Jack Flood”, a rather lyrical number not too removed from the previous track. One of the best tracks on Works and Days, predictably, is “The Tower of Works and Days”: it’s a charming number, an acoustic one with a meandering stand-up bass, and Tarbox seems to be channeling Lou Reed in his vocals. Quite nice, really. In fact, I’d venture to say that the acoustic songs on this album are the real standouts, such as the lively “When The Fire’s Out” (very fine pickin’ here) and the bittersweet closer “Heathen Heart”. Ah, that closer. You hear the echo? Great touch. Adds a sense of loneliness, some desperation unfiltered. Works and Days is a speedy album – half the tracks don’t even exceed three minutes – yet it leaves a firm impression. If the AOR stations on the airwaves around this country weren’t so stingy about their “classic” setlists, they might welcome Tarbox into their canon, since he’s so faithfully retained to the spirit of rock and roll. At any rate, you can catch Works and Days on Tarbox’s Bandcamp page – it’s $7 for the digital download. |
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Mumiy Troll – Russia’s biggest and most promising rock band today. They’ve been on the scene for a while – lead singer Ilya Lagutenko, in particular, is a seasoned hand at solo projects and electronic endeavors – but they released a new album last year (on my birthday, no less!), Vladivostok, which has been causing quite the buzz on The Wrong Rock Show.
Mumiy Troll is an energetic and sunny lot, big believers in sterling guitar solos and hip beats; coupled with Ilya’s fey and breathless (yet distinctly Russian) vocals, the band sound not too far removed from that glorious Britpop explosion of the early 90s. You can even hear a bit of the crisp, disco-esque beat that Pulp touted so well on “Love Contraband”, a glorious number with some vibrant riffing. “Vladivostok Vacation” is another sweet and rockin’ tune, perhaps the most anthemic one on the album (but of course – it’s practically the title track, after all). Ahhh, but “Hey Tovarish!” has been lighting up the interwebs for a while, and for good reason – there’s this sinuous bass line that creeps in, and the most fabulous chorus that just belts out the bright synths and features zealous flourishes of sax. Add Ilya’s sensuous line –mmm. It’s euphoria. But just as buzzworthy is “Nothing Promised”, a husky, sultry number with a gun-slinging guitar – though I SWEAR, Mumiy Troll must’ve been listening to The Bolshoi’s “Sunday Morning”, because the chord structure and that lightly played, faintly haunting piano part sounds awfully familiar. Might be why I’m so dreadfully fond of this track, myself. A personal favorite of mine, however, is certainly “Sorry Tiger” – and certainly a guilty pleasure, no doubt, to hear Ilya purr and pronounce “tiger” so sensuously. Still, it’s a groovy, danceable tune, the most synth-laden track on the album, with a guitar line that swirls around a vigorous chant – yeah, there’s plenty to love about this one. “Lightning” is also a slick and groovy little tune of a similar vibe. I’ll admit – though “Hey Tovarish!” won me over many plays ago, I’m really warming up to Vladivostok as a whole the second time around. It’s a blast of an album, and a delight for anyone (like me) who could fall fervently in love with any man’s uniquely lush vocals. At present, however, it’s only available in digital form for us Western folk, via Spotify, iTunes, or Amazon (and other major digital distributors too, I imagine). |
BONUS: MRR-ADM – DRUMS. Honestly, I know nothing about this band, save that their drummer is DA MAN. The meat of each track is in the wicked, wicked beat – everything else accompanies. And all I’ve got of this ecstasy is this Soundcloud set, which is frankly the most dope sequence of tracks I’ve heard yet on Soundcloud (especially the uber-funky “B1”, and the incredibly sinister “B2”). There’s also this “5ive” number floating around on YouTube, which actually features lyrics (drums still own it, though). If you’re craving drums, then hit this UP. Now. And if you’re out there, MRR-ADM – I need more. Name your price.
Brand Spankin' New! [BSpw32]
Posted: 16 April, 2013
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With this blog, I've often been slow to jump on the proverbial bandwagon - but not today! No, sir, the albums featured in today's article were all released in the last two months. And they're all radical, dudes. Check them out...
Tartufi – Before I begin, I’m throwing this out here: every damn track from their latest LP, These Factory Days, could be a contender for Dandelion’s Festive 50. In my humble opinion, of course. Who are these guys, though? Tartufi are a band out of San Francisco that can channel the forces of nature through their instruments. Their music is a grandiose, climatic form of hard-edged rock, that bristles with spiky guitars and bass lines, yet is drenched in harmonious vocals. Precision and beauty merge together seamlessly. Nothing conventional about their song structure, either; none of Tartufi’s songs really come to a chorus, or even regular verses; instead, each tune rushes forward, into dynamic jams and new movements. Just listen to the wondrous, 7-minute “Underwater”, a spirited journey driven by galloping snares and tinted with bittersweet violins. Or Rocker’s pick, “Seldom”, which opens with a very heavy metal-esque bass line, yet features such lovely and mystic vocals. A beautiful outlier, “Glass Eyes”, leans more towards the folk-ish nature that the vocals elsewhere suggest. It’s a largely acoustic track, with the sweetest violin accompaniment – but with some sweet electric guitar solos towards the end, too, as the track flourishes into its full glory. Picking the standout from These Factory Days is no easy feat, when every track swells into euphoric highs and defies expectations. However, if I could dare choose one, I might settle on “The Furnace of Fortune”, which rests briefly in an enchanted verse concerning the title before plunging onward in epic, progressive metal style. Glorious. Please, please buy this album from Tartufi’s Bandcamp page. The digital download is $7, but the band also offers a gorgeous CD for $10 (well, $12 when you count tax) that offers a bonus track. Definitely jumping on that myself once I collect my next check. |
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David Tantamount – Absurd yet rockin’ singer/songwriter. Methinks fans of John Maus and Ariel Pink will get a kick of this dude – he’s got a fantastic voice, that ranges from a low croon to a derisive snarl. Behind him is the rawest electric guitar bashing through chords, with some minimal, even quirky synth bits.
Y’know, my writing professor once told me that rock n’ roll songwriters can’t be poets – but Tantamount IS a poet, if ya ask me. Rather than telling a cohesive story, he harnesses clever word plays and strings together mellifluous syllables – “choke that tramp that’s trav’ling out“, “gangsters ganging in the night“, “spin the entire tire”– to create utter nonsense. When do tennis shoes float, anyway? Since when do blueberries ride javelins, or strawberries fly dragons (“Hurtling Javelins”)? And what on earth is an “ivory burn”? Beats me. But I’m entranced. Even the singular “Love Doesn’t Allow Me To Lie” – where the title is the only lyric – sounds fantastic through Tantamount’s crazy range and the massive power riffs. One of my favorite lines, though: “I tried to live the dream – to microwave two popcorn bags at once” (“You Didn’t Keep a Diary”). By the way, I mentioned “Spin The Entire Tire”? That one ROCKS. Hard. Not that other ones don’t, though, because “Exercise is Intimate”, which chugs like a machine and features some wicked vocal acrobatics, is also quite awesome. And let’s not forget “Hourglass Math” (what does that even mean?), with its killer riffing and smashing drums. Yeah, I love this dude already, even if both his albums sound fairly homogenous. He’s got such a cult-ish charm. And y’know the best part about David Tantamount? His entire discography is free on his Bandcamp page! Although, Mr. Tantamount, if you’re reading this, know that I’d gladly send some cash your way – I feel so criminal for downloading your work for zilch! |
Disparate Grooves [DspG31]
Posted: 28 March, 2013
Today's article features two highly danceable bands that share little else in common. They aren't even from the same side of the Atlantic!
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Wild Cub – Slick, exuberant, funky, and yet ethereal…this is the two-man dream team of Keegan DeWit and Jeremy Bullock, from Nashville. Though their debut LP, Youth, is bright and decisively 80-ish (you can’t miss the air drums on “Wishing Well”), it's got one big, thumping soul, with thick beats, crisp riffs, and sublimely seductive vocals.
There’s so much to love in this album, that it’s difficult to single out a few highlights. It opens with the soaring and shuffling “Shapeless”, then veers into the charming, upbeat likes of “Colours”. “Straight No Turns”, on the other hand, is supremely soulful, with its suspended synth chords, slick riffing, and so smooth vocals. Not every track was made for the dance floor, however – Youth has its share of more mellow numbers, too. The most notable example is “Drive”, which features a very Hook-like bass line and distant, floating riffs. Although the lead vocals are humbly somber, the rest of the band sings joyfully in the background; it’s a striking, yet soothing, combination. Youth also ends on a serene note with “Windows”, a heavenly fluttering of noise that triumphantly blossoms into yet another groovy beat. By and large, however, my favorite track is the first that caught my attention on the radio. “Summer Fires/Hidden Spells” kicks off with a driving bass line stripped from “Billy Jean”, features a gloriously infectious chorus, and continues to build and morph as new parts fade and return. It’s a dancer’s ecstasy, I tell ya. Trust me. In short, friends, I can’t get enough of this album. I am irreversibly hooked. So hop over to Wild Cub’s Bandcamp page now and give this Youth a whirl. It’s available in both digital and CD formats (both for a price, of course). |
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T.O.Y.S – Infectious indie pop trio from London and Leeds. No riffing about from these dudes, though – there’s not a single six-string among them. Instead, T.O.Y.S use one beastly bass and a kinky synth to forge their punchy melodies. I do love the acerbic, very post-punky vocals, too. They’ve only released one EP so far, but it’s a solid debut that begs for a follow-up.
The EP opens in top form with “Poland”, a somewhat wistful track that nevertheless pulses with its mega-charged bass. “Love Hurts” – probably my favorite – seethes with so much bass power that you can hear it squawk with feedback in the opening, and jives with the most indelible chorus. “Uptight” races out so strongly that it never needs vocals; yet, when the singer finally pipes in, the tune grows even more sinister (and awesome). If you downloaded last year’s Indietracks, compilation, then you’ll recognize “Fun Time For The Love Shy”, the bouncy, catchy tune with the rollicking synth solo – it’s actually one of the tamer numbers on the EP. It’s followed by “When I Was A T.O.Y”, an angular number with a rather enigmatic verse - “When I was a toy/I used to play with you/And I’d be overjoyed.” I still can’t tell if it’s an earnest admission or some sort of cynical voyeurism – the menacing bass and the light-hearted synth line accommodate both interpretations. “Doll” wraps up the EP on another wistful note, but with some far-out keyboard lines that sound at times like harmonious fire alarms. (That sounds bad, but it’s actually very awesome, I assure you.) T.O.Y.S’ self-titled EP is a pay-what-you-want digital release, available here on their Bandcamp site. Update: Dandelion Radio recently released a 4-track session with T.O.Y.S, recorded at DJ Rocker's place. More bass-rocking goodness - and all proceeds go straight to the station! Digital download only, though. |
Cross Referencing [XRef30]
Posted: 21 March 2013
So, while I was away, I've been listening to some new shows via Mixcloud. Neil Debham (of Broken Shoulder) turned me on to the wonderfully eclectic Crow Versus Crow, while an offhand tweet from Rough Trade led me to their weekly Counter-Culture program. From these stellar shows - and, as usual, from Dandelion Radio - come today's diverse selection.
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Laurence Made Me Cry – the brainchild of Jo Whitby, Welsh songstress and producer. Her first LP, Diary of Me, is what one might consider “folktronica”, that curious combination of heartfelt songwriting fused with electronic touches. In this album, though, these dashes of synth – where they occur – serve only to supplement, even enhance, the magic already present in Whitby’s earnest, unadorned voice. Her wide-eyed wonder – most present in her precious single, “Between Destinations” – is absolutely refreshing: “Is it only me / that wonders through the window / just how magical this world can be?”
Besides, hardly every track is tinged with keyboards; “All That Patience Brings”, the opener, features crisp and trickling acoustic guitars, and the serene “Last To Know” glows with beautiful backing vocals and is underscored by a simple piano line. Where it does occur, though, the electronic aspect of Laurence lends intriguing texture and atmosphere, without stealing the spotlight. “Paper Chains” is a fantastic example – an odd static sound provides an irregular beat that grows and drives the chorus, yet does not obscure the lovely guitar pickin’ underneath. And there’s the surprising “Blentot a Moi”, sung in French and accented by playful trumpets. Yet the most impressive track, at least to me, must be “The Intelligent Mr. Toad”, a swirling and uplifting tune interlaced with a babbling stream of analog sound. Diary of Me is available on Laurence’s Bandcamp page as both a pay-what-you-want digital download and (what I’m saving my monies for) a £9 digipak. |
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Helicopter Quartet - Trailblazers of the soundscape into unknown realms of your brain. Oh, yeah. This is experimental, all right, but don’t think for a moment that Helicopter Quartet’s self-titled EP is merely “ambient”. Hell, no. “Frida” starts innocently enough – until 50 seconds in, when a burst of electric violin shatters the calm. Seconds later, however, a waltz of sweet fiddles emerges from the wreckage. This is what Helicopter Quartet excels in: shattering expectations, abandoning form, and shifting moods swiftly and violently.
For the most part, though, this EP does create an atmosphere – tense, alien, remote, and far below the surface of the planet. For nearly four minutes, the violin in “Afternoon Nightmare” whines and hums a singular note, while an eerie echoing sound peals out from a deep abyss. As the tune progresses, a quiet acoustic strum yields to a mammoth electric beast, and a shrill sound trills out with increasing agony. Sounds like the perfect soundtrack for a chilling Lovecraft tale, no? These, and two other mind-displacing tracks, can be found on Helicopter Quartet’s Bandcamp page. It’s yet another pay-what-you-want EP – but a quality headtrip like this is worth more than a few quid! |
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Parquet Courts – After hearing these dudes on heavy rotation for about nearly two weeks on my local radio station – and THEN hearing them yet again on Rough Trade’s Counter-Culture program – I realized that a write-up was inevitable. Parquet Courts is a slice of Americana DIY, drawn from the likes of the Minutemen, Camper Van Beethoven, and Sonic Youth. Tight beats, irreverent vocals, and mischievous riffs dominate their first proper LP, Light Up Gold. A solid release, I guarantee ya – its devil-may-care energy is crazily addictive.
All throughout, Parquet Courts delivers strong, memorable melodies, supplemented by brilliantly lazy observations and satire. From the get-go, “Master of My Craft” sets the mood, with its deliberately recalcitrant “Fuh-get about it!”s. “Stoned and Starving”, a rambunctious track about, well, being stoned and starving, already sounds like a bona fide classic. “Light Up Gold II” and “Disney P.T” are also hilariously rambunctious. Elsewhere, though, there’s the more low-key “N Dakota”, a rumbling satire of the pastoral state. “No Ideas” is another slow highlight, with a ridiculous contrast between the wistful verses and the jerky chorus. The true standout of the album, however, may indeed be the closer “Picture of Health”, with its heavy-handed riffing and longing vocals. Having listened to this album yet again, I think I understand why Parquet Courts has enjoyed so much attention – it harkens back to a simpler rock ethos, the ol' "slacker" mentality which seems to have receded in the indie soundscape. Hop over to their Bandcamp page and see what you think; if you love it, buy the digital download for $9. If you REALLY love it, hunt down the CD release - it's been selling like hotcakes at respectable record label stores everywhere. |
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Pins, Dreams, and Milk [PDMk29]
Posted: 13 March 2013
Oy, is that a horrid title or what? Sorry. But it does illustrate the sheer diversity of today's crop of artists. We have something for everyone today, so let's just dive right in...
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Long Hat Pins – One-man producer of curious and experimental post-punk. Confessing a love for such dissonant artists as 23 Skidoo, The Monochrome Set, and Sonic Youth, Long Hat Pins strike a balance between introspection and temerity. In the EP Luminous, he fuses pulsing guitar lines with sparse beats, expressive vocals with sampled dialogue. Strongly evokes the likes of For Against, Crispy Ambulance, and Opposition, but hacks out his own path with piercing electric stabs.
“The sound of Summer, in the rain” is the odd dub track, with the signature echoed snare and meandering bass; yet, the guitars that sneak throughout the track, like irregular shafts of light, add intrigue. “Mugging salmon” is another fascinating track, with some wonderfully quiet and pondering vocals, that mixes clean acoustic guitar lines with thick electric smears. The EP ends strongly on “Ayramba”, a shuffling track dense with ominous buzzes and throbbing guitars. Long Hat Pins’ “Luminous” is available via Bandcamp at a name-your-price rate. |
Young Dreams – Oh. My. God. This artist wasn’t originally on my roster, but after stumbling upon them on the radio, I had to rave. Young Dreams are a Norwegian band that crafts lush, imaginative soundscapes with heavenly vocals and harmonies, flutes, harps, and violins, and vigorous and snappy synth lines.
Young Dreams’ first LP, Between Places, is beyond “dreamy” – it’s more lucid than that, far more colorful and vivid than the faded dreams of our adulthood. “Fog of War”, their first single, has all the drama, glory, and suspense of a major motion film; the bright and summery “First Days of Something” shimmers and shines with activity and detail, yet ends on an intriguing viola air. As bright, pure, and poppy as these tracks may be, they’re also elaborate – take “Through the Turnstiles”, which shifts from an acapella intro to the adventurous melody to a moody, suspended finish. It’s nothing but sheer, unadulterated bliss, I assure you.
You can listen to Young Dreams via Spotify, or find out more about the band via their web page.
Young Dreams’ first LP, Between Places, is beyond “dreamy” – it’s more lucid than that, far more colorful and vivid than the faded dreams of our adulthood. “Fog of War”, their first single, has all the drama, glory, and suspense of a major motion film; the bright and summery “First Days of Something” shimmers and shines with activity and detail, yet ends on an intriguing viola air. As bright, pure, and poppy as these tracks may be, they’re also elaborate – take “Through the Turnstiles”, which shifts from an acapella intro to the adventurous melody to a moody, suspended finish. It’s nothing but sheer, unadulterated bliss, I assure you.
You can listen to Young Dreams via Spotify, or find out more about the band via their web page.
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Churn Milk Joan – Drugged-out, wobbling, and (indeed!) churning sonic experiments from Colin Robinson and Richard Knutson. Proper jams, of the 7 to 8-minute variety, immediately entrancing and arresting. At once on 8 Black Postcards, with opener “Fell Through The Sky”, you’re launched into this intoxicating, funked-up beat, and driven through such wandering and wicked jams that you’ll find yourself disoriented in no time. What is this madness – a dubby krautrock, or funk distorted by analog? You’ll be in for another loop with “The Letter”, which shuffles to a hip-hopping back beat yet features some fluttering guitar work. (And is it just me, or does Richard sound a tad like Peter Murphy? Could be me.)
My favorite, though, is probably the somewhat more menacing (and certainly more meandering) “Boom Dipper Stick”, which features another alluring beat and noodling bass and guitar lines deftly interlacing each other. Good lord, it’s heady. Without a doubt, Churn Milk Joan is another band to watch. Chillax to 8 Black Postcards on their Bandcamp site, and buy it there for whatever you’re willing to pay (and I’d pay something, if I were you!). Update: Churn Milk Joan's last release, Without A Horse, featured in our last "Album of the Week". Not quite as heady as 8 Black Postcards, but certainly more intriguing. Download that, too, for whatever price you desire (just not for free!). |
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Maximum Volume - A Loaded Rock Rec [MXRR28]
Posted: 1 March 2013
Time to ring in a new month - with a blast of pure, unadulterated rock action. Here is a heaping helping of garage rock joy, with a side of maddening exhilaration.
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Jeffery Drag Records – Now, I know – the proper exposé for a record label should include a handful of full album reviews, and not this brief on a teaser. Yet the JDR Winter Mixtape that was released back in December is still making its rounds on the airwaves, and crystallizes quite definitively what Jeffery Drag’s all about.
So, what’s in the mix? It’s loud, proud, 60s-inspired garage rock, baby, starting with the rambunctious “Mama Said” from Bad Cop. It’s a fairly accurate indicator what awaits the listener – also Ghost Dance’s “Nasty Nuevo” shortly blows the roof off that 60s veneer with scorching lo-fi madness. It’s complemented perfectly by the sinister “Cool” by Talk Box Rodeo, which also blasts into the stratosphere with its dirty, dirty riff. The talk of the town, though – and, inevitably, one of my favorites – is certainly Useless Eaters’ “Addicted To The Blade”, an infectiously rockin’ track with echoey vocals and fabulously retro guitar tones. Furthermore, about half of the song is one glorious solo. Sweeeeet, right? You might presume, then, from the first four tracks that the rest would be as riotous, but not quite. Elsewhere on the mixtape, Promised Land’s “F*** Cancer” evokes a more folk-tinged sound, reminiscent of Crosby, Stills, and Nash’s more electric numbers. It’s a warm, mellow tune that’s still rock solid. Another cool outlier is Magic Milk’s “Coconut Dreams”, which chugs on like an acid-infused fusion of garage rock and krautrock; after that, “Psychic Pain” is a lovely, hook-crossed number that channels a touch of the Animals. “Boom Boom” and “Bodysnatchers, Pt. II”, however, round out the album with golden garage rock (the former evoking the Animals even more with a retro organ line). In short, anyone who pines for the carefree and joyous rock of the 60s should download this mixtape. After all, it’s completely free on Jeffery Drag Record’s Bandcamp page. |
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Future of the Left – Explosive, punchy rock from Cardiff; boisterous, brazen, and highly addictive. Their last album from June, The Plot Against Common Sense, runs the gamut of rock’s edgier side, ranging from the ridiculously ballsy “Sheena Is A T-Shirt Salesman”, to the quirky “Cosmo’s Ladder”, to the rather pleasantly pop-suited “Goals In Slow Motion”. Though not exactly a punk band, Future of the Left maintain the irreverence and anarchic attitude of the best of ‘em throughout the album, ensuring a most entertaining listen. One noteworthy exception, though, to Future of the Left’s gun-blazing style is the somewhat more cerebral “The City of Exploding Children”, which traipses about with a chorus sung in rounds.
The richest lyrics – glorious as most of them are – are in “Sorry Dad, I Was Late For The Riots”, an irony-laden track contrasting the rebellious punks of yesteryear with today’s apathetic youth. Ambitious, perhaps. But my favorite track boasts the most ludicrous and hilarious lyrics on the album, “Robocop 4: Fuck Off Robocop”, a blistering satire on Hollywood’s tiresome tendency to make one too many sequels. (“If Michael Bay wants a bigger house, let’s help him!”) Like most well-crafted albums, The Plot ends on its strongest note – Future of the Left soars to astral awesomeness on the closer “Notes On Achieving Orbit”. The chorus is MASSIVE – and be sure to stick around for the little Cramps-esque hidden track at the end! The whole album is available to stream through this Spin article; once you’re sold, pop over to their shop to buy the CD for £10. |
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Nuclear Aminals – We return to the garage for our last feature – but not the same garage from JDR. Oh, no. Nuclear Aminals (and yes, I’m spelling that correctly) play a woozier, more bitter form of lo-fi rock, melding 60s aesthetics with 90s grunge. Their latest release from November, Start From An End, is a fairly homogenous record, but none the worse for its consistently on-par tunes. “Comeuppance” is a definite highlight, though, with its prowling bass, faint organ lines creeping from above, and a smashing, Nirvana-esque conclusion. The title track, too, is not one to miss, with its dirty, mammoth riffs, or “Red Rag”, a broody track brightened by glorious surf guitar solos.
For a mind-numbingly good time, blast this album from your computer off of Nuclear Aminals’ Bandcamp page. From there, of course, you can also purchase the digital release for $10.
For a mind-numbingly good time, blast this album from your computer off of Nuclear Aminals’ Bandcamp page. From there, of course, you can also purchase the digital release for $10.
EPs Galore! [EPsG27]
Posted: 19 Feb 2013
Today’s post is an EP feature – five tracks each from two bands whose names both (by sheer coincidence, I swear) start with the letter “B”. Plus, two EPs from some sensational performers from Derby. Ready?
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Bad Thoughts – Sounds like the perfect name for a punk band – in fact, one already exists – but the Melbourne-based Bad Thoughts specialize in the electronic arts. Their first EP, Easy Roller, is purely instrumental; dreamy, floating synths are wed with more urgent oscillations and light melodies for an overall crisp but enigmatic ambience. The droning “ahh”s and “ohh“s on “Limit Free” enhance the mystery, and invoke the sense of wandering into a temple during a club night; the “oooh” vocals on “Wild Colour” continue that expedition into the sacred ground’s deeper chambers, where even the DJ cannot follow.
Bad Thoughts amplify their spaced-out sound on the “Remember/Surrender” single. They trade in a few synths for some fuzzy, washed-out guitars, and add deep, echoed vocals to their other astral choir. But, ohhh, the B-side – Surrender is a lovely, forlorn track, with the most wonderfully fluid riff undulating underneath the haze. One bright little synth line that chimes in sounds like a relic torn from an 80s ballad, shining through crumbling ruins. Both the Easy Roller EP and the "Remember/Surrender" single are totally free on Bad Thoughts' Bandcamp site, so snap 'em up now. Update: A proper LP from Bad Thoughts is finally out now, featuring mostly new cosmic wonders alongside a handful of old favorites. Not exactly free anymore, but well worth a purchase. |
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Black Light Dinner Party – Before we even begin – isn’t that a fantastic name? Certainly caught my attention when I first heard them announced on the radio. Turns out that BLDP are an electropop group, that mesh contemporary vocals with crisp, pulsing synths. So far, they’ve released one EP, imaginatively titled B.L.D.P. “Older Together” sets the glorious standard - especially at 3’25”, when the riff kicks in. Yes, BLDP shamelessly embraces pop structures and vocals, but envelops them in beautiful sound. My absolute favorite, though, remains that first track I heard on the radio, “Leave It All”, a lush track with plenty of muscle, trickling with almost harp-like sounds, that bursts into an amazing chorus. BLDP tone it down a bit with the more minimal “Length of Lace”, then end the EP with the slick but chilling “Small Boxes”, which features some trippy guitar effects. Really, these dudes sound like they’re gunning for their place in the spotlight – and I’d be rooting for ‘em all the way. Keep it up, BLDP!
B.L.D.P is out exclusively on iTunes, and it’s only three bucks for the five tracks. Go dig it.
B.L.D.P is out exclusively on iTunes, and it’s only three bucks for the five tracks. Go dig it.
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Hallouminati – Now THIS, ladies and gents, is by far the most original band I’ve uncovered so far. Imagine, if you will, a fusion of gypsy fiddlin’ with madcap ska, performed with an irreverent punk attitude – the result is Hallouminati, a high-flying and fun-loving troupe with two EPs to their name. Barnstormers like “Sing For The Unknown” and ”You Promised Me Moussaka” gleefully dip into punk and ska, respectively, while showcasing the trombone, trumpet and violin. “Life! Death! Prizes!” departs from the manic format, however, and injects some Arabian flare to sulking, hard-edged rock. Hallouminati return to their gypsy hijinks on the closer, “Babyminxy”, which is loaded with plenty of acrobatic violin solos.
The second EP, Merchants of Disorder, is just as delightful. Most stellar is “Markos’ Nightmare”, a chill reggae jam that bursts into skankin’ form after four minutes, features some wicked flute solos, and also showcases the fabulous Emilios Georgiou-Pavli as a guest vocalist. Equally glorious, though, is the slammin’ closer, “Sasha”. Both EPs are worth £2.50 and are available on Hallouminati’s Bandcamp page. If possible, though, you must catch them live – I heard them first through some live sessions on Dandelion Radio, and they were having a blast. Pavil is a total phenom. Fortunately, Hallouminati are on the go this March; you can check the tour dates on their Bandcamp page, too. |
Being, Doing, and Passers-By [BDPB26]
Posted: 10 Feb, 2013
For the record, that's one of the most meaningless titles I've conceived yet. Because, once again, I've culled together two bands that really have no relation to each other. So, let's get right to it, shall we?
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The Sinatra Test – experiments in electronic composition, spoken word, and nostalgia reconstruction. Featuring breezy accordions, classy pianos, and cool retro samples, The Sinatra Test’s Do Be Do creates a curious tango dance hall suspended in time. “Evil Genius Experiement 2”, for instance, is centered around what must be a cluster of lines from some Frankenstein movie (likely the original) and a very raw-sounding, albeit silly, chorus about someone’s evil plan (love the bit about the “jazz-punk band).
That’s a bit of an outlier, though. More typical is the groovy tango, “El Tango de Naranja”, which boasts slick stand-up bass, some sweet piano solos, and that funky accordion. Original lyrics don’t happen often, but there are two spoken word tracks, the metropolitan pastiche “Gimmie That Hat Back” and the enigmatic “Zombie Sundae”, the latter of which contains a cornucopia of textures: thumping drums and sputtering snares, sporadic slide guitar, a artificially deep voice paired with soothing female backing vocals, and an understated sax solo wandering about…good lord, what a fascinating track. Go check that one out if you’re in doubt about giving this album a spin. In short – and in my humble opinion, of course - The Sinatra Test is certainly among the little group of indie bands that have actually crafted a distinct, classy sound of their own, one which I can distinguish and say, “Oy! That’s very Sinatra Test-esque.” Dig it on their Bandcamp page, and/or buy the digital release for £4.99 (or $7.88 in American moolah). |
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Kam Kama – Woozy, angsty post-punk. Funny, though – you’ll see some rave reviews that liken this Indiana-based band to “Echo and the Bunnymen, the Cure, and Joy Division”, but methinks they’re a bit off the mark. Still, rather than the sedentary brooding inherent to some later post-punk bands, Kam Kama are bristling with energy; “Means”, the standout on their The Tiled House EP, rushes head-on with swirling guitars, a stampede of drumming, and vocalist Scott Ferguson’s anguished cries. “The Living”, which follows, surges forward even more ferociously in a fantastic maelstrom of sound.
Yes, the vocals really are refreshingly different – no Ian Curtis imitation here! And the thick bass sound often expected in post-punk isn’t normally present on The Tiled House, save for on “Shaky Convalescent”, where the bassline is featured prominently. No, the dual guitar attack shines through the most, exchanging liquid riffs between each other, especially towards the end of closer “San Miguel”. As tight as Kam Kama’s sound is on The Tiled House, though, it’s even tighter on their latest single, “Passer-By/Joseph Stride”. The bass is beefier, the production is crisper, and the band has refined its headlong charge. The B-side is absolutely remarkable – it’s a slower piece than most, but probably the most sinister one to date. Together, The Tiled House EP and the “Passer By” single cost just $5 as digital releases on Kam Kama’s Bandcamp page. If plastic’s your fancy, however, there’s also some lovely vinyl up for sale, including some limited white vinyl for The Tiled House. Oooh. |
Bandcamp Gems [BCGm25]
Posted: 4 Feb, 2013
Once again, I’ve found two entirely unrelated bands for your listening pleasure. Heads up, though – while I don’t normally lay down arbitrary ratings on these reviews, I can say with confidence this time that the latter album is better than the former one. But there’s a time and place for every kind of music, so…
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The Citradels – Looks like a typo, sounds like psychedelia. But not the raucous, garage sort – much of Psychotic Syndrone is the slow, droning, metaphysical variety, especially the opener “On Then Out”. Vocals sound as if they were recorded deep in a cavern, and tend to lack much expression (think Crystal Stilts). Not a deplorable thing – certainly evokes the spiritual, psyched-out effect that the Citradels are hoping to achieve – but does get mildly tiresome after eight tracks without variation. While the vocals remain constant, the style and instrumentation do shift, from the mellowed jam of “She’s Gone” to “Not Today”, which features a very 60s-esque organ synth. The Citradels do, at times, evoke Americana garage rock, but always with their ethereal vocals and ambling tempos. The band’s probably at their mystical best, however, when summoning Indian (i.e from India) vibes on tracks like “Jantar Mantar”, where sitars twang sweetly and hand drums bubble and rattle. Mysterious pipes and flutes blare at regular intervals, and the omnipresent drone lingers serenely in the background. Now THAT’S psychedelia you can meditate to.
The two worlds of drug-induced, Americana psych rock and Indian harmony mesh wonderfully on “Here to Know”, which I might peg out as the star track. Yeah...yeah, I will. If you need to sample just one tune, sample that one. Because the union of sitar bliss and rockin’ power is just divine. And then the Citradels surprised me with “Illuminous” – it’s a very Spiritualized track, a bright tune but with this glorious, shoegaze-worthy distortion shading the whole song. There’s something else to “Dreamt So Long”, where a golden harmonica from a distant time hums out and yet another 60s organ plays a lovely descending line. The melody in the vocals sounds SO familiar – low and sweet, swung in a wistful way…where’s that from? I don’t know, but it’s so nice and easy – the kind of song you’d spin while lying in a hammock on a comfy Sunday evening. The last highlight from this album is its outlier – “Deadly Nightshade”, an edgier track that most, with muscled-out guitars and vocals with some pep to ‘em! Sometimes I hear a touch of Jim Morrison, other times a dash of Alan Vega. Cool, right? Psychotic Syndrone is available for whatever price you wish to pay on the Citradel’s Bandcamp site. |
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Flies On You – Now, let’s fast forward a few decades, shall we? Flies On You are a self-proclaimed “DIY post-punk duo” from Leeds, but certainly not the sullen type. Irreverent, inventive, and just so much FUN, Nothing To Write Home About is a 18-track marathon of demented, greasy, brazen goodness, that alters drastically at almost every turn. “Shipmanesque” is, quite simply, badass, a rapid-fire assault of bass and guitar; yet the next track, “The Sink”, opens and progresses rather chillingly. Still, the overall aesthetic of the album is definitely more punkish than post-punkish – just significantly more imaginative and unpredictable in both content and style.
This whole album is frickin’ brilliant, but one of my favorites is “Schmutziger Hund”, a tune with a perky riff where the vocals slip seamlessly into German. Either that, or “Slashing It Down”, an angular piece with the most glorious guitar riffs. Though Flies On You often balance the line between punk and post-punk, they pay homage to their punk roots with “You’re Shite”…although you’d probably expect that from a track called “You’re Shite”, wouldn’t ya? But then maybe you wouldn’t expect these bad boys to take up dub, but they actually make a twisted stab at it with, well, “Dub Cities”, that employs the appropriate drum echoes and syncopated bass, but also features some curious female vocals, too. One of the oddest tracks on this album, though, (and there are several oddballs) is “Yeah, Wild I Know, But Nonetheless”, which proffers a conspiracy theory concerning John Lennon over a hyperactive house/electro beat. Yeah. It IS wild. I could go on and on with a myriad raving adjectives, but I’d rather you listen and be in rapture yourself. Hop over to Flies On You’s Bandcamp site and please, please purchase Nothing to Write. I know I will. Soon. As in, as soon as I have my regular computer back. |
The Audio Antihero Article [AAHA24]
Posted: 29 Jan, 2013
Earlier I told you that I purchased a special package from Audio Antihero that included two LPs and 1 bonus EP. Well, due to a request of mine, I netted TWO EPs in addition to the much-anticipated albums. Therefore, this special feature focuses on three artists from AAH: the Fighting Kites, Broken Shoulder, and Benjamin Shaw. Since that last one might require the most difficult review I’ve written yet, I’ll start with the first two:
Fighting Kites – Clean and tight-knit jam band. Difficult to say much about these guys, since I’ve got only four track from ‘em, off the Split EP. But they’ve got a bright sound, and a fantastic drummer. The ways that the two guitarists interact with each other is just delightful. However…
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Broken Shoulder - An introspective dabbler of noise. After being sidelined from the Fighting Kites due to a – big surprise – broken shoulder, Neil Debham began to develop his own project, one without the polish and warmth provided by his mates. As a result, he’s recorded some fine messes of experimental guitar sound, often very minimal and stark.
“Organomegaly”, for instance, is little more than a drone of buzz, that builds ever so gradually as a lone guitar wanders in a corner and, somewhere, a faint sound like a xylophone tinkles underneath. As the track progresses, the fuzz continues to swell, until it pulses and finally fades away. Quiet strumming often serves as the most identifiable “melody” in each track, if it exists at all; most tracks, however, are built on patterns of chaotic and stable parts. In “Morning is Broken”, for instance, Neil seems to be doodling on a synth the entire time; even though that section sounds random, bass lines pulse and guitars hum around it. In “Chocolate One Room Disco”, a steady and deliberate bassline guides the listener through alternating chords of synths and feedback; when it finally drops away, however, those hums seem just as natural and orderly. In summary, though Broken Shoulder deals in fragments and experiments, the overall effect is rarely ever frantic, overbearing, or jarring; indeed, the buzzes and hums of Neil’s tracks are usually quite meditative, and feel more organic than contrived. You can find Broken Shoulder in a thick handful of EPs on Audio Antihero, like his debut, the Split, and some graciously free live sessions on Barely Out Records. |
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Benjamin Shaw: So, as I mentioned above, that package from AAH contained two LPs - the Nosferatu D2 album that I reviewed, and Benjamin Shaw's There's Always Hope, There's Always Cabernet. And before I really dive into the latter, I'll say this: Shaw is an illustrator, and he's compiled a fascinating lyric booklet. Lyrics are written (yes, written, not printed to look like writing) in a tiny, cramped handwriting, and curious sketches line the pages - an old man tying a woman to the railroad tracks for "Home", a man flying out a broken window into a wallpaper sky for "Interview", a stairwell with two people lying facedown at the bottom on "The Birds Chirp And The Sun Shines" (more on THAT one presently). Some sullen undercurrent runs through these illustrations, but the sorrow that each suggests is only abstract - until we spin the album.
There's Always Hope is a slow play. Not because it's bad - not in the least! Shaw just sings in a drawn-out way, quietly, in a rather limited register. "How To Test The Depth Of A Well" is the brightest and most lush number on the album, with its sweet flute swells and shuffling snare, and therefore rather misleading. Much of the album is quite stark - on "Interview", for instance, a single ukulele strums away while Shaw muses about the upcoming job interview for a dreary office position. Lyrics are self-defacing, and reveal an aching dread of the mundane. "The Birds Chirp And The Sun Shines", an ironic title, is a lovely acoustic number with a burst of off-kilter fiddle and moseying electric guitar, that bemoans the humdrum of a settled family life. Shaw weds simple beauty and profound sorrow so, so well. The most breathtaking track, however, is clearly "Somewhere Over the M6". Starting with an electronic loop and a sustained choir, the song steadily grows with guitars, bass, and various chirping sounds until it positively blossoms with sound at around 5'20". Absolutely spectacular. However, I'll tell you straight: this is a difficult album. By the time I reached "Hulk" (or "The Ballad of Dr. Banner", according to the lyric booklet), I felt drained. But, folks, you must hear this, even if you must stream it. There is something most profound here, which I can barely touch on in my humble writings. As before, you can order it or stream it on Audio Antihero's Bandcamp page. |
Background Sound - Two Angles To Electronics [BkSn23]
Posted: 26 January, 2013
This next feature will discuss two electronic artists that sound nothing alike, yet share a common aversion of melodies and verses. And, unlike most of the bands on Soundscape, these two might sound vaguely familiar!
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Christ. - No, that's not a religious reference - that's just a shortening of Christopher H., the famed electronic/ambient artist who collaborated with Boards of Canada until 1995. He also recorded a live session for John Peel, and was even asked for an encore afterwards (making Christ. the second artist ever to have been granted that honor).
Last October, Christ. released Cathexis: The Motion Picture Soundtrack; as the name implies, it's the music for a movie produced by Swedish/Japanese director Stefan Larsson. And first - well, just look at this cover. Fascinating, isn't it? Yet what is it, really - A green chain? A mutant form of snake? A complex coil of wire? The music evokes the same sense of mystery - particularly on the first few tracks, which are linked smoothly together by a robotic conversation in Japanese. 'Tis a very BoC-esque album, indeed, that waxes and wanes in its energy, from the fragile and isolated "Ingrid Cold" to the hum and vibe of "Zeroth Law". So much detail in these tracks, too - though they sound like loops, each song evolves, quietly and steadily, as new sounds slip into the mix. And while this might sound oxymoronic, "Cathexis" does indeed possess a very organic sound; for there are few drum machines, no flashy effects or snappy samples. Along with "Zeroth Law", the most memorable track for Cathexis is "Twynned", an ethereal and echoed track with a heartbeat bass that seems to float in a vast, empty space far away from any known reality. It embodies the rather remote, cold nature of the entire album, created by the sustained synths seem to linger throughout. The sounds that grow from that atmosphere - distant thunder crackling in "Singular", faint breathing in "Indrid Cold", and the occasional pulse - seem to stem from an alien landscape devoid of most life. In short, if you're into ambience, you MUST dig into Cathexis. You can stream it for free through the link above courtesy of Parallax Records, and from there you can buy either a digital or physical release. About 21 bucks for the latter, due to international shipping fees (lucky Brits), but the insert for the CD must be absolutely gorgeous if it matches that wonderful cover. |
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melee beats - French house/electro producer who's been on the scene since 2005. Now, the dude does have a new album out, available on his home page, and I'll certainly dig into it in time; tonight, however, I want to discuss his free download release from 2010, V.
Like Cathexis above, V is a repetitive album. Tracks are built around several loops - a funky bassline at the bottom, a soulful sample, a pulse. These patterns are then manipulated throughout the course of the track: take "Vectors (Someone Like You)", where the beat is dropped and added twice, vocals are thrown into mono, and the bass fades in and out. In lieu of lyrics, samples are looped, treated, and arranged to create pop structures ("Violet" uses only three different lines throughout the entire track; another track, "Valerie" is crafted out of looped choirs). Beats, by the way, on this album, are excellent - like on "Vialator" which comes thumping in with some wickedly treated vocals, or on "Vii", which boasts a killer distorted riff and glorious songstresses. Overall, V often aims to invoke a retro, funky style, aided by the bumpin' bass, florishes of violins, the stylishly dated vocals, and frequent fades from stereo to mono to stereo again. Only one track, "Volume" employs fresh vocals - and, though that one lyric does sound quite jarringly modern, it's overshadowed quickly by the fantastic, rave-ready synths. In spite of being so techno, however, it segues smoothly back into another funky number, "Valley Girl", with its very retro riffs and athletic bassline. It may take a few listens to appreciate the technical skill that melee beats has applied to V. I know I wasn't really enthused with this album at first, since it did just sound redundant on the surface. But melee beats's strength isn't melody or lyrics - it's production. And, yeah, beats. Find it for free on the link above. |
More Rock For Free! [RkFr22]
Posted: 16 Jan, 2013
This evening, I'm presenting two guitar-focused artists that cost zilch for you. Not profound or tragic by any means this time - just some pure sonic exploration this time. Check 'em:
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Electroshock Therapy: Haven't you been loving the neo-psychedelia that I've found for ya in this blog? Here's some more spaced-out rockers for you, then. At the outset of their self-titled EP (i.e, "Hey Little Girl") Electroshock Therapy sound like devotees to the mid-60s, blues-tinged style popularized by Ten Years After. However, by “Psychadelicacy”, this band’s psychedelic sound blossoms with sitars, free-form guitar jamming, and a strolling bassline, all of which sound more Britpop-esque than anything else. Indeed, after the opener, E-Therapy takes a decisively 90s approach to the drug-addled 60s, with its crisp production, upbeat tempos, and modern guitar effects. Solid release, really, at an unbeatable name-your-own price.
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Fastlane Frank: Amateur UK producer - known as "Leonod" on last.fm - who tinkers with heavy guitars. With little more than a pair of guitars and a slammin' beat, this dude dabbles with all sorts of sonic experiments on Tophats and Capes, lending to some sweet surprises, like the twist ending on "Greenpigs Patchwork Pipes" . An outlier, "Pencil Neck Moth", tones down the strings at first, with what sounds like distorted acoustics - until the electric guitar cuts back in like a buzzsaw, and later echoes out to a fade. And then there's just that MASSIVE sound in "Venus Floptrap", followed by some wicked guitar jams. Completely instrumental, totally rockin'. Download one song at a time for free on last.fm - and complement Leonod for the sweet tunes!
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Private Records - Two Albums That Almost Didn't Happen [PvRc21]
Posted: 14 Jan, 2013
Tonight's two bands are rather reclusive folk. In spite of their introverted natures, however, they've both garnered some serious critical attention lately.
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Nosferatu D2: Folks, if you haven't checked out Audio Antihero by now, you're missing out on a modern phenomenon. Fortunately, label owner Jamie is promoting a huge sale this January on just about every release in his catalogue - including a package deal on AAH's two most valued LPs, Nosteratu D2's We're Gonna Walk Around This City With Our Headphones On To Block Out The Noise (phew) and Benjamin Shaw's There's Always Hope, There's Always Cabernet, with one random EP thrown in for good measure (and, fingers crossed, another badge). Having sampled both artists' work via the charity singles, I bit the bullet and clenched the deal for myself, which comes to $20 for us Americans due to shipping. Fortunately, I wouldn't have to wait two weeks to hear Nosferatu D2 - the purchase came with an immediate download of We're Gonna Walk.
A bit of background about this band - Nosferatu D2 came together in south London and recorded this single album in 2008 before disbanding. But Jamie, an enthusiastic fan from the same hometown, founded his own music label solely to release that single album a year later. The result was, as far as underground sensations go, a smash hit. (For more on Nosferatu D2 and the rise of Audio Antihero, check out this spot from TheWorld.org.) When I first attempted to listen in on We're Gonna Walk, I couldn't take it. Mind, I had a bit of a headache at the time, but "Broken Tamagotchi", the opener, wasn't merely loud - it was tense, pounding, urgently bitter. Too overwhelming for a chick under the weather. I had to shelf it for a later date. Later, in better health, I returned to We're Gonna Walk. That overbearing weight that shut me down before doesn't fade away - sorrow, weariness, and outright anger permeate the album. But the musicianship is incredibly tight: the drummer, in particular, pounds the kick with a motor-driven right foot, and commands each song with his own nimble improvs. Basslines are thick, pulsing, and ominous, while the guitar strums angular chords that splinter and stutter. And, my God, Ben Parker. The vocals leap from skeptic mumbles into tortured cries and desperate ravings, often at neck-breaking speed. (Case in point - "Colonel Parker", a track about the singer's own insecurities about playing the frontman.) This, and his introverted, self-deprecating lyrics, invoke an omnipresent bleakness that feels too visceral to be contrived. Bottom line: if you're into the alternative scene at all, then you can't miss this album. Stream and buy it here. |
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Drop Out Venus: A reclusive trio of "rocked and rolled kids" (so their bio claims) that recently gathered the courage to release their secretive recordings. Intimacy is certainly central to their debut, Be Brave - but don't get too cozy with those hazy, harmonious female vocals. There's always something vicious underneath.
That wicked power is most present on "The Correct Moment of Desperation", where heavy-handed guitars roar and wail. But Drop Out Venus is most compelling at being sinister - especially on the standout track, "Marry Me". Over an accordion drone, a low piano line repeats a simple tune, while a higher line hits some nerve-wracking notes. Above all, the girls chant a foreboding hymn that would make any groom's blood run cold. Plenty of highlights on this album, though - like the minimal and woozy dirge "Vampire", in which a world-weary vampire begs to die; or "Lady Lazarus", an aptly tense tribute to Sylvia Plath's poem on suicide. The closer, "Piano Improvisation Number 2", is the most sparse (and haunting) track on the album, with little more than that meandering piano and the girls' droning vocals. Truly hypnotic, really - especially since that piano sounds ancient... You can stream and order Be Brave on Drop Out Venus's bandcamp site, or you could check it out on Spotify. They've also been featured quite frequently on Dandelion Radio - no doubt that many DJs there will keeping tabs on their next album, too. |
Rough v. Slick [InDm20]
Posted: 5 Jan, 2013
Today I'm featuring two artists, of lesser and greater obscurity. Couldn't be more diverse in sound, either.
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Interlard - Listener beware: Interlard is NOISE. Fuzzy, buzzing, groaning, screeching noise. Melody? Hooks? Lyrics? Pshhh. Tracks can be redundant at times, but certainly not without surprises. If you're going to dip into their latest release, Meanwhile, brace yourself for "Tear Smell" - it opens with a soft, almost Boards of Canada-ish intro, mysterious and unassuming, then explodes into fuzzy oblivion at 1'29", and sustains that aural destruction for 10 minutes before transitioning back into the opening number - but not without some unsettling sounds on top (including the desperate sob at the very end). Then there's the great behemoth of "S & M & A" (don't ask), that lumbers about with fat fuzz, and is spiked by manic and incomprehensible (at least, to me) punk-like screams. Basically, most Interlard tracks thrive on recurring patterns of noise, although one standout track, "Pest Control", could loosely be described as a "feedback jam", built over a bass hum. This is "experimental" in its rawest form. You've been warned. Pay as much or as little as you'd like for Meanwhile, and prepare for SOUND.
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Dementio13 - And now, a complete 180 from basement-lo-fi to the slick and masterful electronica of Dementio13. I've recently listened to El Lizzitzky, and I'm thoroughly impressed. Right at the get-go, he aims to kill with "Sameness", a brilliant showcase of his myriad tricks and effects (especially at 4'09" - prepare for your mind to be blown). But then there's "Phallanx" afterwards, which tones down the synth wizardry and offers some lovely strumming and a warm, melodic bass line - a totally different vibe, and yet no less effective. Then it's another switch-up for a real knockout, "A Faster Product", a true masterpiece of synth engineering. Really, no track on this album lacks in genuine aural artistry, and each one possesses its own distinct character and genius - although, if I had to pick one standout, I'd certainly suggest "Minus", with its wonderfully distant vocals and oh-so-crisp synths. You've just GOT to hear this in headphones - you'll hear the sound dancing all around your earlobes. Like Meanwhile above, El Lizzitzky is a name-your-price album, although it's definitely worth more than zilch!
Update: Dementio13 has actually released a steady stream of LPs throughout the years - including this year's latest marvel, The Last Test. If you enjoyed El Lizzitzky, then you'll totally flip for this one. |
Red v. Blue [RvBV19]
Posted: 2 Jan, 2013
No, this is not a match-up between two old-school Pokémon Trainers; my two features for today are Red Cosmos and His Electro Blue Voice. And, since the former has generated quite some buzz with lately, let's start with the latter.
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His Electro Blue Voice - Ohhhh, yes. Post-punk that embraces its "punk" antecedents. Loud, raw, and menacing, with meaty and melodic basslines. (See, in particular, Fog.) His Electro Blue Voice splits one EP with Nuit Noire, a rather minimal and spaced-out band (no bass at all) that offer two worthy tracks. As HEBV progress, they stretch their tracks out a bit more, experimenting with sounds and effects. (Best of this variety - "Worm" on the Wolf/Worm EP, which drives with a motorik beat, yet squirms and crawls with a chainsaw guitar and mysterious squeakings of unknown origin.) The major flaws on HEBV's Bandcamp page, however, are their relatively steep prices - "Duuuug", for instance, only contains two 2-minute tracks, yet costs $4! So, just do what I did - stream for free, and kindly ask HEBV to consider more reasonable package deals. Maybe, with enough demand, they might listen to us. ; )
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Red Cosmos - Now, on the main headliner. Where jaded critics more experienced than I could easily name three or four bands quite similar to HEBV above, there's something decisively distinctive about Red Cosmos, the solo project of Kim Tortoise. One tag on their Bandcamp page dubs him as "choraldelica", and perhaps that pinpoints his particular peculiarity: the lovely and majestic integration of choral passages and other sampled sounds into dreampop, psychedelia, and even vigorously electronic pieces. Equally distinctive, though, is Kim's own high-strung, gracefully androgynous vocals. "I Am The Local DJ", #16 on this year's Festive 50, is perhaps the grandest, albeit the most boisterous, example of these choral tracks in action, and features an excellent sample of Andy Morrison from Dandelion Radio. Really, there's quite a few great samples on this album - like the gentle crying at the end of "Cross Your Heart And Hope To Die".
If there's one track on here that baffles me, however, it's "Do Geese See God?", an eerily light and bouncy track peppered with mysterious cries and cheery goodbyes, washed occasionally in bright yet cold synths. Although, the more I write about it, the more fondly I listen to it... And then there's that sound in "The Song Has Changed". What is it? Some vaguely oriental sound, blaring out in twisted, squawking glory...oh, man. It's such a wonderful sound, in such a wonderful song, with a beautiful ending. Mmm. Really, I could go on, into the noble grandeur of "England's Glory", or the haunting chilliness of "Nothing Is Happening" (which really wouldn't have been too out of place in, say, the Metroid Prime series). But you must experience this album for yourself. Because it's a FREE download, right here - although, if you really love it, you ought to buy the $10 CD package (as I inevitably will - for I definitely am a fan of small, shiny, round things). |
Delayed Reaction - Ben Landis [DRBL18]
Posted: 28 Dec, 2012
My original intention was to feature three recent bands in this article. However, the hour grows late, and this write-up stretched out longer than I thought it would. So, here's my piece on Ben Landis:
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A few (or many?) months back, I noted a quirky-looking album that some other artist had recommended: "Adventures In Pixels, by Ben Landis: An Illustrated Album of Chiptune Music." As an avid old-school gamer myself, I was naturally intrigued; however, for some reason or another, I shelved it in my favorites to return to later. A few weeks later, however, who should begin following me on Twitter but - Ben Landis! Thus, under the circumstances, I felt compelled to download Adventures in Pixels at once. A quality buy for 5 bucks - anyone with fond memories of old NES tunage should certainly snap this up at once.
Even if you're not, though, no worries - check it out anyway. It's not entirely chip-based, anyway - punchy drums (which I assume are automated) often drive the chirpy melodies, and other instruments add almost a 32-bit flavor at times (especially the lovely acoustic, violin-drenched High Stakes, and the driving Final Words that follows). The album tells the story - both via the music and the thumbnails of each mp3 - of Matt, a brave young soul whose chickens are woefully abducted by the cruel King Aquabak and his horde of savage dinosaurs. In the spirit of the medium, tracks are usually brief, with names that suggest where each tune fits within the comic, such as "Mountain", "Castle", or, my favorite, "The Scripted Battle". As a gamer/listener, it's so rewarding to dig into these tunes and just feel how well those tunes fall into their designated places. Perhaps the only downside to Adventures in Pixels is that, where actual video game music generally loops until the player advances to another level, Landis actually wrote in endings for all his tracks. And, while this works for the shorter tunes (i.e anything under two minutes) and "End Credits For An 8-Bit RPG", the longer tracks that would have been level tunes seem to end rather abruptly. That's only a slight misgiving, however. As an added bonus, two fabulous "live" tracks are added to the end of the album, orchestrated versions of "Matt's Theme" and, my personal favorite among the other chiptunes, "Frontier". Oh, man. "Frontier (Live)" is breathtaking. That track alone is worth $5. |
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Two Awesome Alter Egos [AltE17]
Posted: 19 Dec, 2012
Some of the artists that I've covered in this blog have recorded material under other aliases. This article presents two examples: Chasms' side project, Lonesome Mercury, and The Martial Arts member Paul Kelly's "other band", How To Swim.
Lonesome Mercury - When winter sets in on the Isle of Man, the Chasms must abandon the sacred barn where they usually record their shamanic compositions. Never ones to be idle, however, Simon Pott and Mike Seed simply relocated to a sheltered garage and invented something different. Fusing their mutual love for raw 60s garage rock and suave Northern Soul, they crafted a gritty yet glorious new sound dubbed "Dirty Northern Garage" - which, coincidently, is also the title of their debut. It's not entirely removed from their Chasm output: there's the basement-fidelity production, and Pott's signature shambling beat. But then Seed actually sings, and quite fairly; melodies actually exist, and quite rollicking ones, too, if only for 2 minutes at a time. In a nutshell, Dirty Northern Garage is a blast, and well worth a listen; like all of the Chasms' output, it's free to download.
EDIT: This album has been removed. Shame.
EDIT: This album has been removed. Shame.
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How To Swim - Self-proclaimed "orchestral pop" - "orchestral", in the sense that a motley assortment of instruments have been assembled; "pop", in the cheeky, somewhat pretentious, yet always infectious style. The aptly titled opener of Retina, "Diego Whirlwind", best characterizes the overall carnivalesque that dominates that album, respited for a moment by the lovely "False" and the kitschy- eerie "The Ghastly Ones". Elsewhere, wild and unpredictable turns abound, especially in "Genesis P and Me", that defy simple pop structures. Retina's not a free download - it's priced at £4.44, or $7.21 - but you can at least stream it at no charge first.
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Transmissions: Solarno and Public Service Broadcasting [SPSB16]
Post Date: 8 Dec, 2012
So, in today's entry, I had intended to pass on some Christmas cheer from Solarno - when I noticed that I hadn't even mentioned Solarno until now! Whoops! Seems like an introduction is due...
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Solarno - the musical alter ego of synth mastermind Jim Furey. Trained in both classical and jazz composition, his work combines old-school synths and chiptunes with sleek modern production and effects (including some elements from dubstep), while maintaining a cinematic gravity. "Stone of Lazhward" from the Kyanos EP, which integrates an old-world Asian aesthetic into a pulsing whirlwind of keyboard finesse, is a fantastic example of this dynamic hybrid. What I love about Solarno, though, are the artistic pursuits behind the music - the above EP mentioned, for instance, is a aural investigation into the character of the color cyan.
These quests for enlightenment also compel Furey to record "holiday EP"s. In Solarno's two festive albums - Hark! The Herald Robots Sing and God Rest Ye Merry Robotmen - traditional Christmas carols are adapted into electronic compositions, which feature all of Furey's genius tricks. (And, yes, that first one DOES feature "singing robots" on the title track and "Good King Wenceslas".) The latter EP, recorded this year, comes with some neat liner notes detailing the history behind each carol and the approach that the artist took on his own version. You can download "Hark!" for at least $2, and "God Rest Ye" for no particular price at all (though I'd pay just a bit, if I were you!) |
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Public Service Broadcasting - You might have heard of nostalgia-mongers Position Normal and Mordant Music, who build their minimal sound around sound clips and old tunes pulled from an older, quieter era. Public Service Broadcasting embraces a similar concept, drawing their retro samples from dated public service announcements; however, instead the barebones approach of the previously mentioned bands, PSB supplies rich, exhilarating instrumentals, both hard-edged and intriguing, to back their archaic quotations. EP One, a name-your-price download, evokes the far-gone days when parties were classy ("Mixergames"), private music players were still wondrous devices ("New Dimensions in Sound"), and PSAs were actually congenial ("Theme from PSB").
PSB has also now released a new EP, "The War Room", which is centered around broadcasts from WWII (and boasts an awesome cover). It's incredible. If you enjoyed EP One, then you'll swoon over this. UPDATE: Now, of course, PSB are set to release their first full-length LP, "Educate, Inform, Entertain" on May 6, which they have been promoting shamelessly. You can still pre-order it from several reputable UK record stores (such as Rough Trade, Piccadilly, Cargo, and so forth). |
Alternate Realities: Today's Psyched-Out Bands [AltR15]
Post Date: 4 Dec, 2012
Tired already of all the comercialized Christmas cheer? Sounds like you could benefit from a trip to a planet far, far away. Today's recent crop of tunes will transport you there, and perhaps into an alternate dimension, as well.
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Gnod (prononced "nod") - Otherworldly travelers of time and space, who recreate their expeditions with primeval and psychedelic soundscapes. The tracks on "Sex, Drones, and Broken Bones" (Or Pathways to Hidden Lands)" are hardly "songs" in the traditional sense, but droning, ambient soundscapes, sometimes flecked with recorder and wind chimes, at other times accompanied by tribal chants. It's an entirely free download on their Bandcamp page, so go check it out if your imagination needs somewhere new to roam.
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Strange Forces - Extraterrestrial jam band. In the words of their artist bio, "[their] influences range from Spacerock to obscure New-Age Prophecies". Awash with astronomical guitar solos, "I'd Rather Listen to the Bloody Birds", their latest album, is a fantastic voyage available in both digital download and glorious vinyl on Strange Force's Bandcamp page.
Band of the Week (If Not Year) [PAwk14]
Post Date: 18 Nov, 2012
If you take away just two artists from this page, then I swear: order Since The Bomb Dropped from Extradition Order, and then check out Paul Hawkins & Thee Awkward Silences.
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Dudes, with the right exposure, Paul Hawkins could be a cult figurehead (if he's not already). His songs dabble in the macabre as he relates (in an unmistakably English deadpan, reminiscent a bit of Swell Maps) tales of disastrous romance and bitter self-loathing with sardonic humor. And there's no predicting what Thee Awkward Silences will do - lush violins, ruthless guitar riffs, and drum machines are all fair game, and crazed tempo changes occur often.
What's more, on last.fm, you can download TWO full albums from Paul - The Misdiagnosis of Paul Hawkins, and Skinful of Silence. I'm listening to the former now, and it's just glorious. As exhilarating as his more manic songs are, the quieter pieces on here are also exquisite. If you crave more from these awkward folk, though (as I did), you'll need to hop over to either their page on Jezus Records (yup, the same label as Extradition Order) or the Bandcamp page of their most recent label, Audio Antihero. I actually received "The Wrong Life" EP as a bonus from the latter label, so I'd personally recommend that vendor first. Thanks again, Jamie! ; ) |
The Recent Accomplishments of David J [DavJ2]
Original Post Date: 24 June, 2011
Retooled: 13 Nov, 2012
You might know David J as the aloof bassist for Bauhaus and Love and Rockets, but the bloke's been quite busy on his own for many years.
I'll be focusing on his more recent exploits in this post - but, for the record, if you haven't heard David J fly solo yet, look up The Etiquette of Violence and/or Glass, a brilliant singles compilation.
I'll be focusing on his more recent exploits in this post - but, for the record, if you haven't heard David J fly solo yet, look up The Etiquette of Violence and/or Glass, a brilliant singles compilation.
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Now, in the past few years or so, David J has been supremely busy. He's written musical scores for two stage plays, including the cult hit The Chanteuse and the Devil's Muse, and even dropped a new LP last year - Not Long For This World. As the title suggests, it's a concept album - an "accidental" one, according to David himself - that explores death from several perspectives, often specific ones (case in point - "Hank Williams to the Angel of Death"). Not Long utilizes a range of styles, too, from jovial cabaret to moody narratives to sweet acoustic.
That variation, coupled with David's compelling storytelling, is just what makes this album so genius. "Spalding Gray Can't Swim" is so magnificent that it's positively cathartic, while "Dress Sexy At My Funeral" conveys a charming romance with a delightful (albeit slightly indecent) twist. "Eulogy for Jeff Buckley", however, might be the most devastating track on Not Long, as David J relates with painful honesty and visceral imagery his memory of Jeff Buckley's passing, as a terse violin sputters erratically in the background. It's powerful stuff. To purchase Not Long For This World, you may order the album as either physical CD or a digital download - both $15 - at Starry Records. |
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On Extradition Order [ExOr1]
Original Post Date: 21 July, 2011
Retooled: 13 Nov, 2012
This summer [of 2012], Mark Whitby of Dandelion Radio lauded Extradition Order as "one the greatest bands out there right now". (I could be misquoting, but he said something to that effect.) I couldn't agree more - because this is one of those rare bands that defies precise genre categories, and whose influences cannot readily be traced. Quite simply, Extradition Order will trump any and all stereotypes or standards you might place on "indie rock". They are a passion unbridled, a voice unfettered by style or aesthetic, a vision unmatched. Dramatic, uncompromising, and always stunning, this band is undeniably one for the ages. Their debut LP, Since The Bomb Dropped, is a bona fide masterpiece that will inspire awe and ecstasy within five seconds; label Jezus Records confessed that it was "one of the finest records of the year [2011]". So, do yourself a favor and tune into Extradition Order TODAY.
For more on Extradition Order - including their new double EP - visit their website.
For more on Extradition Order - including their new double EP - visit their website.
