Phonography

The Renderers

2012-01-07T10:25:00.000-08:00

A Rocket into Nothing
So brutal, so beatific, so brash and blatant. So good. This album is. Syntax falls apart. When one tries to discuss the otherworldly beauty. Maryrose sings a siren song, so beautiful, once you hear it you are lost for good, in a great way. The music is rawer than raw, colder than ice, and sharper than a sword. Words sting or break your heart, sometimes both.

“Down River” opens with some haunting wails before the drums and Maryrose's beautiful voice comes in. Guitar lines float about subtle drum beats. It is like a trip down into the heart of darkness, This is chilling and stunning. “You’re still too screwed up, to be sane” is a devastating lyric. So sad and without hope. “The way back, is long, undignified and indignant.” You got that right. The second track, “Shadow & its Shadow” opens up with guitar screeches before a pounding drum joins in. Maryrose’s vocals soar above the propulsive beats as she sings “Daddy ain't your Daddy.” There are swirls of blistering guitar feedback all over the place while the drumming drives this jam into the ground. It is crushing, yet exquisite. “The Shining Life” is a change from the darkness -- “all we can do is shine.” I can not convey how much I love Maryrose's vocals. The soaring guitar lines and flock of tight drums sound like a train with loose cargo going down the track at a quick clip. It fades out with a burst of noise at the end.

“Restraint of Beasts” sounds like how 3 beers and two benadryl feels. Slow, groggy and warm, “the hallucinatory dark beast.” It sounds like, is that a banjo on the track? It sounds great, no matter. “I love you so much, there is no simplicity,” sings Brian. “Assassins” creeps in with lazy slowly curling smoke rings floating up to the ceiling. “The coffee is cold and left in limbo.” Brian's lyrics are so basic and pure, stripped of everything except the necessity. All the while the New Zealand drone chug rumbles through, like a trolley down the tracks behind wooded suburban homes. “Castaway Bardo” is driving and dark. Maryrose’s vocals go from desperate to soaring. It is pure rock perfection. “Typhoid Mary” is rough and unkempt in a beautifully disheveled way. “The first time I saw you I was lonely, drunk, and horny,” sings Brian. It has a more lo-fi feel, like it is being pulled down from the stratosphere like a distant AM signal at night. “Vanishing Point” feels like a dank motel room at night with trucks rumbling by on the highway as the streetlights shine through paper-thin curtains. The disc ends with “Hypnotized.” Layers of guitar jangle pile up like a desperate snow, and Maryrose’s somber vocals sing of “turning this grave yard into a deep strip mine.” “Even the demons need feeding” -- the guitar jangle now is dense drifts of guitar feedback snow.

This album is dark and resolute, heart breaking and stunning.
(Ba Da Bing) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Caterpillar

2011-11-28T15:20:00.001-08:00

Johnstown
The whole album is a work of art, from the hand silkscreened covers to the sea foam green of the vinyl. It is a stunning art object, and we have not even gotten to the music, which is excellent. This album is a “rock opera” about the Johnstown Flood. Caterpillar performed it in Johnstown this summer. It is not surprising that a rock band led by an archeologist would write a magnum opus to some historical disaster.

The Johnstown Flood or, as it was known locally, “The Great Flood,” occurred May 28, 1889. Like other “natural disasters” the damage was made worse by human folly. “It'll Hold” seems to reference the dam that ultimately did not. There is a sort of swagger in the guitar line, with ominous undertones. This album is way jammier than previous efforts. It is obvious that a Neil Young and Crazy Horse influence weighs heavy on the tone. The slightly laid-back bass drum and bass stumble right under a current of prickly guitar showers of cosmic proportions. There is a bounciness in the heaviness, like a log hurtling down a flooded river.

The next jam is more dense. There is a voice, female; she is speaking German. The band is locked into one groove. You pick out the word “Philadelphia” from the German. When they performed this live once, they had Ms. Shannon Boweser read the corresponding English at the same time as the German for a hypnotic effect. She repeats “Johnstown,” again and again “Johnstown.”

The flip of the record starts with “Johnstown in the Flood.” It is a song about losing someone in the flood. “I was across town when I heard the dam would go.” This is Crazy Horse Caterpillar at its finest. The guitar solos are blistering. A frenetic frenzy of bent guitar chords and chugging bass and drums. “Momma said she is no good, one more gone my friend”. This is rageful sorrow. This is a masterpiece.

The next jam is channeling a more Spacemen 3 vibe. backwards drums and all. The guitar work on this record is great. Mike is the show boat but Dennis' skills should not be underestimated. John & Brenda are a couple and that is why the rhythm section is so literally tight. It is the sound of people’s lives being washed away.

The last jam has a hopeful vibe, despite the despair; it is called “After the Flood.” I love Mike's earnest unassuming vocals. He is the funniest archeologist you could ever hope to meet. The female vocal (not sure if it is Brenda) sounds beautiful. This is a beautiful coda to a classic album, belonging in the same canon as Neil Young's “Time Fades Away,” Spacemen 3’s “Taking Drugs to Make Music to Take Drugs To,” Sonic Youth's “Bad Moon Rising” or even Bardo Pond's “Bufo Alvarius.” Classic. (Caterpillarlovesyou) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Wooden Shjips

2011-10-07T10:45:00.000-07:00

West:
This band rides the riff like no other. They drive the rock into the ground in a straight line, never stopping, except for a guitar solo or two. This San Francisco space rock band is channeling the same tides of dark psychedelia that oozed out of the city in the late 1960s through the 1970s. Imagine, if you will, that Ray Manzarek was replaced in The Doors by Martin Rev, and the drummer never ever ever stopped.

“Black Smoke” channels the same vibe of “We Ask You to Ride” off their last LP. Yes, The Doors is a touchstone, but without all the ego and general asshole-ness of Ray or Jim. They worship the riff. “Crossing” is fried like forgotten eggs on the griddle at a shitty greasy spoon at 3 am in Clifton Heights, PA. It is over hard, not easy. I was a bit nervous that they might just be re-jiving their past glories. The are definitely tapping the same dense ore of the last disc. But it seems to be tightly focused and unrelenting this time. It is heavy but controlled. They are still on the bucking bronco 8 seconds in or even 10 minutes in. “Lazy Bones” is totally tweaked out, like a meth addict on a Tri-Met bus out on 82nd in Portland, Oregon.

The hit of the disc is smack dab in the middle of the record. “Home” is MEGA PEAKING. The drumming beats out the time in military precision, while heavy reverb floats over blown-out Crazy Horse guitar chords. In “Flight” the keyboards are riding the crest of the wave, while the drums chug underneath. Locked in, the groove is like a laser beam. Then the guitar solo hits. The bent guitar notes bleed out of the speakers, like a nice nick to the carotid artery. The album ends in reverse; u-turned drum beats swish down one’s ear canal, chased by snaking guitar lines and backwards vocals. Time means nothing.
(Thrill Jockey) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Azalia Snail

2011-08-20T16:12:00.000-07:00

Celestial Respect
This stuff is woozy. Like 3 beers, two .25 xanies, and a toke woozy. It is psychedelic in the truest sense of the word, because the music seems to be recorded at a different speed, shifting and wobbly from slower to faster, so slightly that you can't tell if it is just in one’s head. It is out of tune with the harsh reality of the impending doom that squawks out of the fear-mongering cable boxes. It is a much better place where this music exists. This music is not lo-fi, but home-made; it is better than store-bought sounds.

Azalia’s vocals are an acquired taste, but like a fine dark draught the longer you spend with it and the slower you partake of it, the better you like it. Her vocals are not faltering but precise. She often double or triple tracks them all slightly out of time. This is not just psychedelic, but surreal; the clocks are melting off the trees.

“Solar Riser” starts off the album. It features horns and a timpani and Azalia's otherworldly vocals. Her vocals seem to be escaping from a worm hole from a different dimension. There is also a sad organ that rides under the plaintive trumpet tones and slow drumming. “Celestial” is a short track of what has to be an intentionally cheap-sounding synth. It ends abruptly before the space cowboys ride in on “Space Heater,” a wonderfully weird mix of spaghetti western country and cheesy 80s synth, with a trumpet to boot. Layers of vocals are piled upon the soundscape.

“User System” shows that Azalia is not hiding a bad voice behind layers of delay. Her vocals are quite fetching when stripped bare. This is probably my favorite track of the album. It rides so close to the edge of being cheesy and overwrought that it makes it all the more beautiful and pure. “GTR GODZ” has an amazing fried amp playing low slow Crazy Horse chords. Unlike Crazy Horse, the track is only fleeting.

She must have been cracking up during playback. For example “Lovely Dove,” where she sings very earnestly, “You are my lovely dove.” That phrase is piled on top of itself until it forms a billowing pink fog that spills out of your speakers and across the carpets. This music is really funny, when it is not being devastatingly sad. “Saving Time,” which is almost so dramatically sorrow-filled it takes on a comical nature. “Respecter” has a darker and abrasive tone. “Death Gets in the Way” starts out as a mournful tune, but then militaristic drums join the fray. But still a little sparkling keyboard hovers above it all, and the tone shifts to something very hopeful. It sits there magically hovering between light and dark. Squeals of guitar feedback starts up. The tone shifts again. Horns, Horns??? come out of nowhere and the mood is now triumphant. This album is a journey, strikes and gutter-balls, ups and downs, much like life itself.(Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Caterpillar

2011-01-15T05:29:00.000-08:00

S/T (e.p.)
Caterpillar is a band hailing from the greater Delaware Valley - namely just outside of Philadelphia & and Northern Delaware. This band has been around at least 18 years, if not more. They are as good as ever, if not better. Caterpillar played one of my first all ages show. It was upstairs @ The Khyber Pass Pub. I bought my first piece of Dead C on LP from Mr. Tom Lax himself. To me they all were rock stars.

I first heard Caterpillar on WVUD's “The Cutting Edge”. This program was an excellent education for my thirsty young ears. “Free Floating Freaks, Free Floating Exploding Heads” was my favorite jam in high school. I wore the cassette tape out, with the song recorded from a WVUD Show. There was something so cheerful, sweet and funny about this band. It always brightened me up, even on my darkest days.

If you told the high school me that I would watch an Eagles game with 3/4s of Caterpillar and Andy from Zen Guerrilla, I would have told you that you were crazy. But I did that over the hoildaze. What follows is in no way an impartial review. They were my boyhood heroes; now they are my friends.

Caterpillar took a break for a few years. But they have since reunited, and the original magical spark is still there, as well as a new maturity. The warm humor is always there, bubbling below the surface, sometimes spilling out of the pot.

“4004” is one of Caterpillar's best songs, ever, in their entire canon. It is just that good. It is a beautiful tight little pop gem, “Every one is sync and it’s scary, at least they belong to the same tribe.” What follows is a blistering guitar solo up there with Neil Young with Crazy Horse. There is some serious face meltage by the end of the tune, and it is just the first one.

“Rise Above” is not a hard core song; it has a harmonica on it. It jangles and chimes like bands did in the early 1990s; it is a time warp, but it is the same people playing... just a little further down the hallway. This song is not one of anger but one of true joyous hope.

“Wake Up Pass Out” is slow and building with a twang of sadness but with a mellowly floating feel. There is catharsis with the command, or is it a regret, “Wake Up, Pass Out”? This song is up there with anything off of Silkworm's classic Firewater LP.

“Sargasso Sea” is not about a body of water in the landscape, but the body of water between one’s two ears. Mike's vocal is soft and bleating in a wonderful way. The reason why the rhythm section is so tight is because the drummer and bassist are partners in life as well. The guitar work can not be underestimated; while Mike is more showy, Dennis is solid.

“Ptarmigan” has a great bass line, kind of ominous in an early 80s British way. It is layered over with Mike's uplifting vocals. The ominous feel slowly subsides and the sun comes out. The mathy rock comes in waves like that of a mirage on a sunny summertime street. “Loam Star” is another wonderful tune, “chasing American dreams, who knows what that means.” The last song is up there with the opening track for instant classiness. “Permanent French” is as heavy but buoyant as any Silkworm song. There is an uncredited bonus track; it takes place on the bus, and it is more magical than one could imagine - “Dialing up a Shooting Star”. This EP deserves its place of honor in the hollowed Caterpillar Canon. (CaterpillarLovesYou) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Notekillers

2010-12-20T05:21:00.000-08:00

We're Here to Help
The Notekillers’ career trajectory is a strange one. They started in the mid 1970s. David First the guitarist was coming out of the free jazz tradition. He was joined by Stephen Bilenky on bass & Barry Halkin on drums. The Notekillers took the freedom they had found in free jazz and were applying it to the strictures of rock. They broke up in 1981 only having put out one single. 30 years later Thurston Moore made an off hand comment about the Notekillers single in a British glossy music rag. The band members got back in touch and decided to give the band another go. Instead of being an oldies no wave band, they ventured forth in exploration of sonic lunar landscapes.

The Notekillers were playing what they termed free rock decades before post-rock. But this instrumental free rock is not all hard edges like no wave; there is a strict form. It is calculated but heartfelt -- something that was sadly lacking in math rock. It is far more human than the coldness of post-rock.

The album opens with Crazy Horse wails of feedback before switching into kraut rock/math rock. “Eyelash” refers to the act, not the biological component -- as in lashing one’s eyes. It feels as if Neil Young & Crazy Horse decided to do a jam session with Neu! and they were pissed off at each other.

“Narrator” has a punky flair. “Modern Jazz” thankfully has little to do with the light, trite jazz that tries to pass as “Modern Jazz” -- I am looking you, Wynton Fucking Marsalis. “Waiting” is something I would not mind doing if this song was playing. It has the feel of walking out into the sun on a bright summer afternoon emerging from an air conditioned house. The Notekillers were playing songs like this 30 years ago. They beat Pavement to the punch a decade and a half before. “Goo Lab Brain” is one throbbing piece of flesh. It is unrelenting in its pulse. The clatter of drums and screams of feedback do not end. They only build, and build, and build -- like some secret tantra ceremony.

Considering the 30 year gap between recordings, the Notekillers have not lost any of their original spark. To think that David First not only fronts a pretty killer free-rock band, but for the last 3 decades he has been composing music and making minimal drone recordings. My mind is melted when I think of what their musical canon would look like if they stayed together. It might be a good thing, the break. They still are butting heads, still not settling down. The Notekillers cannot rest on their laurels. They are too busy killing it ever single night they play.

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Sic Alps

2010-12-13T14:17:00.000-08:00

Napa Asylum
This has been frying my car stereo for the last month or so. In that time, I have filled up three 20 yard dumpsters with thirty years of crap and bad memories from my childhood home. The fractured space that I have been inhabiting fits in well with the broken fried blues, feedback folk, sloppy rolling stone-ish, multitudinous muzz. Some songs are fairly brashly baked, while others have a sweet tinge of psych-folk, with a little New England early sixties boarding school garage thrown on top. This record is anarchistic & anachronistic. If one was forced to guess when this was recorded, it certainly would be in the last century. This music is old and creaky, but one is not sure where to place it. It could have been produced in the Lo-Fi 1990s or the Garage-y 1960s? It could be some cooked-acid-burnout country from the 1970s or coarse proto-punk rawk.

The words to the songs are wonderfully all over the map--did he just say Jackson 5 (and why am I okay with that)? These songs are almost as schizophrenic lyrically as they are their in their sonics. Each of the 22 tracks tumble and bump into one another like bubbles in a water pipe. This was a good record to listen to while my childhood was slowly emptied out by the car full & dumpster full. It is melancholy and wistful, and simultaneously weightless and full of relief. There is something oddly catchy about these songs, in a strangely discordant way. If one had to throw out all of college freshman year physiologically defying terrible life drawing studies and middle school art work (painting of the Traveling Wilburys, and a drawing of Matt Hoffman), this would be the album one should listen to. It is sad and sweet, a shamble, and a wonderful lo-fi mess. (Drag City) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Dead C

2010-10-31T08:26:00.000-07:00

Patience
Patience is always a virtue when listening to the Dead C. If one takes the time, and listens closely, one begins to find order in the chaos. While the vocals are absent from this record, it is still song oriented, if more abstractly so. It does not totally forgo structure or form like the turn of the century Dead C was exploring. It still has hums and hisses, but they seem to have more intent and not just chance behind them. There is space on this record, along with the rock-ist rawk.

“Empire,” the first jam, is sprawling and barely controlled, like the parking lot of an abandoned mid-west box store or the last stages of the British or Roman Empire. “Empire” is about as straight ahead rock as the Dead C get. The chugging guitars would not be misplaced in a Crazy Horse end-of-the-song train wreck. Robert Yeats’ drumming is solid, structured and tight. The driving guitar sits well with the atonal squawk. Like all empires, it seems to chug along sustainably, until you notice bits of thread beginning to fall off in strands from the composition, like retirement funds in the dying days of American capitalist empire in the 21st century. By the time you notice the shift to atonality, the form is already slowly collapsing, sliding slowly into the sea like the poorly built McMansion beach house in an earthquake zone.

“Federation” comes in with cymbal clangs and reverberated-out space drone. It is over as soon as it finds its own expanse. “Shaft” features some cracked broken beats that could have easily come from the latest dance hit Gate record. The drum loop on this track, though, is thrashy and blown out, while the beats on the Gate record were warm, round and cushy. The drum loop dies out and form terminates.

“South” inhabits a very Bardo Pond spiritual head space. The amp hum sounds of the early 1990s lo-fi, but I think it is deliberate rather than accidental. Space expands in this song, much like the universe is expanding. A simple rattling sub-surface loop provides the barest of tethers to solids before total evaporation. Something squeals, a mistake? It is stopped abruptly. The other guitar slowly strums, while the second guitar goes into an epileptic fit before coming to a very quick haunting halt.
(Ba Da Bing Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Gate

2010-07-17T20:53:00.000-07:00

A Republic of Sadness
This Gate album is by far the most accessible and possibly the most interesting record that Michael Morley has done thus far. Gate records have a rep for being difficult; even for a dedicated noise-nook like myself, it took great effort to sit through previous entire recordings. When I did I was rewarded with a synapse-rattling brain cleansing like none other. This record takes elements of dance music, and combines it with Michael Morley's wonderful caterwauling to make something so shockingly good that one is dumbfounded. It should not work -- simple dance beats, a South Island drawl, and blown-out drone -- but it does. Could there be a Dead C dance remix album in the works? I hope fucking so.

It should go without saying that Michael Morley is the last person one would expect to be making a “dance” record. To call it a dance record does this exceptional album a disservice. It is far beyond the sum of its parts. The LP starts off with a lush static drone on the first song “Forever”. A simple house beat comes in. The electronic snares whoosh by one’s eardrums. Michael Morley’s unmistakable vocal styling joins the mix. It sounds like a lounge singer on barbiturates -- this is meant as a compliment. The vocals themselves are as impenetrable as ever. It is slightly disconcerting how Morley subverts the dance element signifier to make something wholly other. “All” is a bit more concise. A tiny thudding drumbeat provides forward momentum. A backwards cymbal joins the mix before Micheal's vocals. He mutters and murmurs, and all the while the tinny drum keeps up the beat, bells join the mix, swells of sound gurgle up, and the backwards cymbal repeats. The simple minimalistic elements make up something greater than their whole. It is transcendent simplicity.

“Desert” is about as poppy as it gets for Gate. With a poppy guitar loop, and a driving drum beat, this track has all the signifier of a poppy dance tune -- that is, until the distinct vocals of Mr. Morley come in: “I CAN'T STOP THE WATER RUSHING IN HERE.” This is as strong of a tune as the Dead C classics “Power” or “Bitcher”.

The flip side of the record starts off with a tribal dance groove -- well, as close as you can get to a tribal dance groove on a Gate record. “Wilderness” features a propulsive drum beat, high pitched squeals and a wonderfully over-modulated guitar loop. Morley's vocals on this track are as blown out as it get. It sounds like whales mating; once again this is meant as a compliment. “Freaks” has a bit of bass and crunchy grooves. The groove hits hard on this track; Michael's vocals sound like they are coming up from below the oil slick on the Gulf of Mexico. The beat, with its poppy overtones, are subverted by Michael’s vocals making something that is totally original. The last track is plaintive, with waves of feedback, and distorted drum beats. A collaboration between James from XIU XIU and Mr. Morley would be most fruitful.

I was a bit shocked to see a laptop on stage when Michael Morley played w/ the Dead C in Philly on the last US tour. It seemed counter-intuitive to what the Dead C were all about. After hearing this disc I realize there was no reason to be concerned. The computer is another tool that Mr. Morley can use and abuse. It does not matter what Mr. Morley uses to make his sounds; it only matters how he uses it. This record demonstrates the great skill he has in manipulating any sonic material. (Ba Da Bing Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Amy Annelle

2010-06-27T18:42:00.000-07:00

The Cimarron Banks
To compose her latest album, veteran singer-songwriter Amy Annelle stole away to a cabin in the lonely Cimarron Valley, a desolate region of Oklahoma that lies on the western fringe of No Man’s Land. The time-tested approach of self imposed isolation has resulted in more than a few classic albums, from Bob Dylan’s reluctant Woodstock output to more recent underground success stories like Devendra Banhart’s masterstroke Rejoicing In The Hands and Bon Iver’s celebrated For Emma, Forever Ago. Annelle emerged from her retreat with The Cimarron Banks, a semi-concept album that, while achingly beautiful at times, usually relies on subtle production touches to keep it from losing momentum.

As an album, The Cimarron Banks is solid, well recorded with an eye for fine details. With a few exceptions, the arrangements are consistent throughout, strong but understated, settling comfortably in a plaintive, relaxed folk-pop sound... think Laurel Canyon-in-the-early-70’s, peppered with modern indie flourishes like organ swells and vocal delays. Throw in a penchant for occasional lo-fi detours, and you’ve got all the makings of a modern underground folk record, one that tries to feel conceptually cohesive, yet retain a sense of variety and adventure.

Annelle is a gifted and confident singer. Tonally, she is at her most affecting in her lower range, and her haunting, tempered vibrato sounds wonderful on the title track, as well as closer “Streaking With The Lightning”. “Harden Your Blades” is a satisfying exploration of moody, spectral folk, a stirring blend of finger-picked guitar, spare piano, and tasteful vocal effects.

The downside to Annelle’s more reticent moments is the tendency for her phrases to smear lazily into one another, the clarity of the lyrics usually getting sacrificed in the process… it’s a problem that crops up all over the album, and songs like “Carrion Dream”, “Ode To A Lone Bird” and “Wounded Man” begin to blur together, though “Wounded…” benefits from the unexpected addition of some quasi-Mariachi trumpets. It’s production details like these that regularly swoop in to excite the material on Banks, whether it’s the processed, ethereal harmonies of “The Nightjar’s Blues” or the clipping vocal distortion on “Miss It More Than You Know How”.

Annelle’s busy yet somewhat aimless melodic sensibility seems to be the thing keeping many of these tracks from being true standouts, though a few of the quirkier numbers have a fighting chance. The jaunty piano of “The Hellhound’s Address” features an animated melody that bears more than a passing resemblance to songstress-of-the-moment Joanna Newsome, while “Wake Up Little Dark Eyes” possesses an indie-pop edge just begging for a soundtrack appearance (Juno 2, perhaps?) These tracks might just have the legs for AAA radio play, or maybe an iPod commercial… it might not be what Annelle had in mind, but it’s a testament to their more universal appeal, not to mention a little welcome levity in this somewhat heavy collection of songs. (High Plains Sigh) (Raymond Morin)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Mass Shivers

2010-06-25T10:26:00.000-07:00

Contoured Heat

It is true when I was in seventh grade I liked Yes. My brother mercilessly made fun of me so much that I denounced progressive rock for good, or so I thought. Prog has been a dirty word around these parts for so long thatI am a little shocked that I find this disc so appealing. Normally,I have a no wank policy when it comes to guitar solos, but Mass Shivers seem to pull it off with aplomb. To pigeon hole them as a prog-rock band does not really capture the scope of this band. While their sound definitely resides in the 1970s, it seems to cover the total evolution music made in that decade, from hippie Grateful Dead-ish jams, full on funk, even a little punk, stoner jazz, classic rock, and yes a whole bunch of prog.

“More Bumper than a Body Shop,” the lead off track, does indeed have a vast quantity of bumper beats. This band is tight, which I normally find distracting, but the tightness is in service of the rock and the tune is over before it becomes overly indulgent. “I got the Power” has a feel of a reved up Yes track. Complex knots of notes fly off the fret board. The rhythm section is precise and on point. This allows for the guitar to go out there,but it never ventures into free rock territory. “Outsider Erotica” is a hilarious title. The music itself seems rather jocular. The bass drums and guitar lock into a tightly controlled orchestrated dance. These guys obviously have chops, but the guitar wank-ery never become gluttonous.

“Bilateral Dysfunction” is a nice spacey number. The instrumental number is a nice change of pace. This track is not as frenetic as the first couple of songs. The music floats away in purplish hazy fog. “Languid Liquid” is a beguiling elixir. The vocalist on this track sits in the back ground until the metal riffage comes in. Despite the slightly annoying nonsense chorus, the other parts of the song achieve a good balance between guitar heroics and vocals. The D&D dorkiness of the title “Odin V. Oden,” thankfully is not too much in the music. Actually it is a pretty great rocking number with out the blatant reference points. “Dusk” is an epic song that feels like a Grateful Dead-ish or Jackie-o Motherfucker spacey jam. The final track “Beneath the Sand” is the strongest of the disc. It feels the most emotional and spacious. It is the least musically self-aware. It is very clear that Mass Shivers are very talented musicians, if I do have a complaint, it would be a small one. I wish that they would occasionally ease up on the fancy guitar work and let the music itself shine through.(Drag City)(Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Aarktica

2010-01-06T17:08:00.000-08:00

In Sea:
This album of starkly beautiful (mostly) guitar tracks is perfect for the darkest time of the year before the sun starts it slow return. Jon DeRosa, the sole person behind this project, lost most of his hearing in his right ear in 1999. Like other musicians who have suffered this, he struggled to come to terms with it. The result was his début “No Solace In Sleep” in 2000. I am familiar with how tragic hearing loss in a musician can be; Jason Diemilio from the Azusa Plane (a friend to many of my friends) took his own life because of his hearing problems. This record marks the sixth release of Jon DeRosa's career; I am glad he has stayed with us because this is stunning music.

I was only familiar with DeRosa’s work because we both appeared on Silber Comps together. I listened to this album for a long time before I read the press release. I slowly formed my own opinion of the work. I knew it was about loss or mourning, but I did not know about what. When I read it was about Jon’s hearing loss suddenly the album became even more poignant and beautiful. The album title “In Sea” refers to the Terry Riley masterwork “In C.”

The album opens with “I am in Ice” sorrowful tones that move as slowly as snowdrifts across an arctic landscape. Layers of guitar build on top of each other, one never overpowering the other. It almost sounds orchestral. It ends with washes of reverb. "LYMZ" is a tribute to his teachers La Monte Young & Marian Zazeela, who helped him overcome his hearing loss by teaching him to develop new ways of hearing via sound vibrations in his instruments & vocal chords.

“Hollow Earth Theory” is the first track album that features Jon's vocals, which has a sweetly baritone sound. It is one of the most anthem-ic songs on the album. Soaring vocals and back masked guitars meld into one. It is the “hit” of the record. “A Plauge of Frost (In the Guise of Diamonds)” sends listeners back into the frigid landscape. The title track “In Sea” reminds me of the bedroom minimalism of the early Roy Montgomery sound. Swells of sound and backwards audio build up dense and thick but not overpowering--more like chocolate syrup that has been left out in an unheated car overnight. “Onward” has the feel of “Hallow Earth Theory” strummed Mogwai-esque guitars with soaring tones underneath. Like the best Mogwai, it does not hammer you but waits, and is patient, and gets you with a sucker punch. “Young Light” builds on the energy of “Onward!,” and is even more hopeful. It is one of those great driving tunes that might cause if you to find yourself slowly pushing the gas pedal as you grin like an idiot as the trees and cars fly by. ”Autumnal” seems like another shift in the record. It slows down from the previous two tracks. No longer manic, it seems content. It takes a darker turn on “Corpse Reviver No. 2.”

What is most surprising about this disc is the last song which is a cover of Danzig. My house mate in college LOVED Danzig, along with such bands as Type O Negative. We did not see eye to eye musically. Anyways, it will probably shock her to hear me say this, but I kind of dig this Danzig cover. I am not familiar with the original work but Jon’s take on it is admirable.

This disc, while tending slightly to the over droney and ambient, has enough variety and changes of textures to keep things interesting. It never seems indulgent or aimless. It also features a not too shabby pop tune “Hallow Earth Theory” and cover by an artist that I would think that never in a million years I would appreciate, but his take on it works. (Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Espers

2009-10-23T07:11:00.000-07:00

III
Espers is one of these bands that existed in my mind long before I heard them. I was familiar with the excellent solo work of its members, including Meg Baird & Helena Espvall. I saw Helena solo many times and once even sitting in with the excellent Japanese band Ghost. I was familiar with Brooke Sietinsons from the excellent house shows she put on in her back yard and living room of her row house in Fishtown. But for some reason I never saw the full band or checked out their recordings. I think they went on hiatus shortly after I rolled back into Philly from the west coast. Their music took place in my imagination, wood nymphs and magical medieval elixirs. All the rapturous reviews don’t really match the beauty and depth of this band. I am sure my own blabbering will fall short, but I will try.

What surprised me about this disc was how rocking it was. It definitely has a feel of a lost 1970’s psych/folk rock record. Meg’s vocals soar above slightly proggy guitar lines on the first song “I can’t see Clear.” There is a heaviness to the tune but also a lot of air surrounding it. It feels like the sun comes out surprisingly during a light rain. It is bright and sunny but it is foreboding on the horizon. “The Road of Golden Dust” features the vocals of Greg Weeks along with Meg’s backing vocals. The electric guitar manages to be both blistering and sit in the mix in beautiful balance with the plaintive strings and a subtle but spot-on rhythm section. One notices how well these songs flow into one another. They say this album was designed with vinyl in mind, and it was recorded beautifully by Weeks @ Hexham Head in Philadelphia. It was mixed and had some additional recording done at the legendary Miner Street Studio by Brian McTear. While my promo copy is on CD, I can imagine how gorgeous this record would sound on vinyl.

“Caroline” features great strings and a vocal duet between Greg & Meg. A keyboard line floats above the babbling brook of acoustic guitars, strings and light percussion. The feel is buoyant yet wistful. “That Which Darkly Thrives,” as the title implies, is slightly ominous. The bass and drums are in the forefront this time, with ghostly wordless multi-tracks female vocals rising and falling behind the beat, before Greg’s strong voice comes in, the music swells and subsides like a tide on stormy beach. “Sightings” is more upbeat with stabs of strings and Meg’s most stunning vocal performance of the album. The electric guitar line that soars along almost matches the exquisiteness of her voice. “Meridian” has a great Fairport Convention, Pentangle vibe or even the late-era solo work of Mary Timony, who also managed to pull off the mix of prog and folk, which in the wrong hands can be a dangerous combination. The Espers pull the mix off wonderfully.

“Another Moon Song” is a sweet little tune with a loping bass line and glistening strings. I love the electric guitar tone on this album. It stands out but doesn’t overpower the acoustic instrumentation. Brooke’s acoustic guitar work allows the electric guitar to go out and explore soundscapes while keeping it firmly rooted to the mix. Brooke is also responsible for the layout of the packaging. She worked with the great visual artist Xavier Schipani whose illustrations show mysterious pre-Columbian rituals of the new world.

Espers mixes effortlessly the ancient into the modern. Their music exists outside of normal time and space. On the surface it seems all sunny, but there is a darkness and complexity held within. This is a stunning record that is as magnificently recorded as it was played. (Drag City)
(Dan Cohoon)

Moodring

2009-10-05T03:45:00.000-07:00

Scared of Ferret
Monte & Mae are best known for their work with Rollerball, an outfit that has been bouncing around the underground for nearly a decade and a half. Moodring is where Monte & Mae let their freakier jams reside, which is pretty freaking freaky considering the canon of material produced by the mother ship Rollerball. What started out as a side project for the couple has morphed into a full fledged band. In 2007 Jesse Stevens (OvO & Plants fame) joined the fold; he also acted as recording engineer on this album. Michael Braun Hamilton (Nudge/Momeraths) added some more spice to the secret sauce with his spaced out clarinet-ing & bass burbling. Strabage Hands (a.k.a. Shane “Bunny” De Leon a.k.a. Miss Massive Snowflake) designed the beautiful black & white packaging the CD resides in. Shane was in Rollerball for a good chunk of its existence.

“Scared of Ferret” is an appropriate name for this disc. That animal has always given me the willies. There is something spooky, visceral and feral about Moodring’s music. Moodring creates these great claustrophobic grooves that slither and slide between the cracks in the haunted basement of one’s mind. Mae’s vocal range can go from angelic to demonic (in a good way). Jesse’s drumming give form and forward movement to these spectral druid jams. The drumming allows Monte & Mae to go way out there in their “melting the cheese on the radiator” as Brother JT would say, while Jesse makes sure they keep on trucking. Monte Bass burbles & bleats while Michael adds to space drip-page with his sonic sloshing of his clarinet, much like the role that Shane had when he was in Rollerball.

“Pole Cat Intro” features some ghostly mumblings, keyboard blubbering, percussion clattering and spaced-out flute before seamlessly transitioning to “Rintin Fire.” The basketball percussion, washes of static and Mae’s disembodied vocals creep along the ground like a thick fog on some forsaken wasteland. #9 sounds like it could be a Rollerball outtake, with the gypsy accordion & Mae’s gorgeously delayed vocals. The clarinet gives an eerie eastern European feel to the song. “Shaker Tab” features the sound of a toy keyboard dying with a propulsive house beat; the discordant elements somehow meld into a slightly insane driving, maddening, yet pleasing mix. “The Weasel” is a kraut-rocking jam that features Monte’s stellar space bass grooves and Mae’s back-masked vocals, which seem to collapse in the black hole created by the heavy grooves. My favorite track on the disc by far is Into the Doom. A simple loop slides on down the path and is joined by clarinet, bass & drums. Mae’s vocal are soon too on the march. Another bird-like theremin sound floats above the mix. The song fades out as the parade finally passes.

This album is a great addition to the Moodring catalog. I think the guest performers add depth, space and movement to their other-worldly jams. The music is dense and complex, chilling yet pleasing. This music is perfect for autumnal nights when you want to get your spook on. (Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Soul Junk

2009-10-05T03:29:00.000-07:00

1960
Glen Galaxy a.k.a. Glen Galloway continues his march through Psalms that he started with his album 1959 and his ever-evolving band Soul-Junk. This go-around he focuses on Psalms 119 which is the longest in the book. He breaks it down over 22 sections. Glen has always been full of surprises, from leaving the skronk-tastic Trumans Water to sing biblically inspired songs with Soul-Junk, to incorporating hip-hop, free jazz and noise, not only in the same album, but sometimes even in the same songs. The one thing you can count on with a Soul-Junk album, besides the biblical themes, is a drastic U-turn from his previous efforts.

This time he has the help of Daniel from the Danielson Famile, long time collaborator Brian Cantrell & Emil Nikolaisen who hails from Norway. He also has Todd Fadel sitting on keys; he is best known to me anyways as the man behind the great all-ages club Meow Meow around the turn of the century in Portland, Oregon. Jie Jin also contributes, who is a well respected classical musician from my own stomping grounds of the Delaware Valley. He has backing vocals from several of the Danielson Famile relatives and Glen’s own family members.

What is so surprising about this album, besides making ancient text sit neatly within a pop song context, is the fact that several of these songs are so poppy...or as poppy as someone who was in the noise freak-out band Trumans Water can be. Not all the harsh rough edges have been removed, but the jaggedness sits inside of a beautiful landscape of pure pop.

One of my favorite tracks is “[Lamed] Forever O Lord your word is settled in Heaven.” Despite the mouthful of a title, this is about as straight ahead has Glen has been. It sounds like a laid-back country-tinged Pavement tune, with of course direct quotes from Psalms, “I am yours, save me forth, I have sought your precepts Lord.” Glen is a tricky bugger; there is always one song that gets stuck in my head and I find my self mumbling bible verses to myself while driving around. Perhaps I would have remained a Christian if the hymns at church sounded like this.

From a musical context this album is very enjoyable listening. It gets interesting when Glen chooses chipper melodies to go with the bad ass old testament God, or conversely when he chooses ragged glory to spread the good news. Don’t let this God talk shy you away from listening -- “[QOPH] Scottish Yak” proves that being Christian does not mean you can’t linguistically have some fun, at least with the song titles.

When Glen said in an interview with me that he planned to sing the whole bible I thought he was joking; I now know he was serious. His sonic palette continues to evolve, and expand; this is probably the first album of his that I would use the word lush to describe. The one thing you can count on from Glen is change. I can’t wait to hear the next installment; I will be surprised if I am not surprised by the sonic shifts in future output. (Sounds Familyre) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Beirut/ Realpeople

2009-04-02T19:14:00.001-07:00

March of the Zapotec/ Holland
Beirut, the moniker that Zach Condon operates under, shifts from the old to new effortlessly, moving from pulsing electronics to south of the border horn music. The only other band that operates with such ease & style is Portland Oregon's Rollerball.

This disc was recorded in two parts. For the first half of the record called March of the Zapotec, Zach went down south to Oxaaca, Mexico. There, he employed 19 members of the Jimenez Band. The first song, "El Zocalo", sounds like a Mexican marching band. It is fleeting like the sound you would hear from a parade as you barreled down an over pass past a fair ground holding a fiesta celebration. "La Llorna" still features the horns but some crooning vocals are added on top. Despite being recorded in Mexico it definitively has an eastern European feel.

On a "Bayonet" opens with a more somber tone before shifting to more Lawrence Welk-ian polka fare, which I like btw. Once again Zach’s vocals are soothing. The rest of the band keeps the polka going underneath his lyrics before ending abruptly. "The Shrew", the last song with the Mexican band, is slow and stately. The tenor sax/ and horns have a tonality that is beautiful. Zach sings disturbing lyrics to cheerful tooting of the horns.

Realpeople is the moniker of Zach's original solo sound project, which features pulsing electronics. "My Night with the Prostitute from Marseille" is more explicit in its title than in the lyrics. I think the ambiguity of the lyrics & the specificity of the title create a nice tension. "My Wife, Lost in the Wild" features a driving beat and multi-layered vocals. While the first half of the record evokes the Tex-Mex music of 100 year ago, the second half has its roots in the electronic dance music of the 1980s. "Venice" is a mellow track that features the horns of the first half of the record with the electronics of the second half. "The Concubine" employs an accordion with what sounds like a toy xylophone or piano, before beats and horns join the music. It feels light and airy, perfect for an early spring day. The last song is my favorite of the disc with the pulse electronics & the thumping bass.

Zach has shown a lot a promise, and he has an innate ability to take on any musical genre in which he is interested. The separations of styles are not obvious on first listen. Only after reading the press sheet after listening to the album 20 plus times did I realize it was meant to be broken in half. I think if he keeps pushing the boundaries in both directions new vs. old he should have an interesting career. I almost wish both halves of this album were expanded to full length projects or both influences were combined on a third album. Zach, you have your assignment for your next project. If you do not like my review check out what some senior citizens from Fishtown in Philly thought of it here. (Ba Da Bing Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Paint & Copter

2009-04-02T18:21:00.000-07:00

Damnatio Memoriae
This album is all the more touching because of the passing of Johnithin Christ one of the co-founder's of Savage Jaw Records. This album is testament to his good tastes. This album is dark, broody & beautiful. Andy Brown the main man behind this project is a veteran in the basement of the underground rock movement, harkening all the way back to his participation in Jessamine. This band appeared on the land mark Drunken Fish compilation, Harmony of the Spheres, an inestimably important album.

On this album, Andy is in good company. Besides the other members of Dave Tollefson & Jason Frank, the trippy magical duo of Monte & Mae (of Rollerball & Moodring fame) also grace this album. The album opens with “Rarefied Air”, which features swirling bass sounds & keyboard wails that channels the spirit of Kraut Rock. It is as fleeting as it is heavy. “Times New Roman” is still dour, even with the sounds of an accordion breaking the facade. The vocals come in with the lyric, “It is my last chance, give me one more year.” Mae harmonizes beautifully with Andy. It is as heart- breaking as it is beautiful. Suspira is a very different song. While I would not call it upbeat, there is a very tangible drive to this song. Mae sings, “In the Canyon” The wood wind instrument winds itself through snake like bass lines & drum beats. At one point the woodwind nearly goes into a free jazz freak out but still manages to ride within the waves of the rhythm of the song.

“Sacred Geometry” features heavily delayed vocals, keys, drums & a guitar letting out squeals of feedback. Mae's vocals are at their most ethereal and meld well with Andy's slightly monotone vocalizations. “Remote Viewing” features Mae in her full on lounge singer mode, if said lounge was on the banks of the river Styx. It goes into a nice tunnel of delay and feedback with the drummer keeping things moving until the abrupt end. “Cymatics” is a much more abstract piece. A thudding digital keyboard and Andy's swirling vocals create a thick fog that hangs in the air until a keyboard line starts leading the way out of this delightful morass. “Determinacy” is the most pop-y song off the album so far. It feels like dub caught in molasses, which is a surprisingly pleasant sensation. Listeners might catch themselves bobbing their heads or tapping their toes to this one.

“Wizard” is still dubby feeling, but this time it is entirely menacing. The blown out guitars ride over distorted drum loops. A squealing electronic sound swirls in the feedback, while plaintive notes from a wood wind is played. The ominous beginning resolves itself in a somewhat gauzey feeling ending. It almost sounds like The Cure at their earliest and most abstract. The song once again gathers a head of steam and starts pummeling forward. Andy's buried vocals tunnel through the mix. The last song & my favorite has a Spaceman 3 style vibe. Andy sings about getting “Back to Nature” With each new project Andy manages to explore new territory, whether it be the stoner/drone of Jessamine, the funk with Fontenelle, to the Baroque dark cabaret of this endeavor. Since it is such a change of pace, it might take a few listens for listeners to acclimate to these sounds, but once they do they will be justly rewarded.
(Savage Jaw Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Hotel Hotel

2009-01-18T13:47:00.000-08:00

The Sad Sea
This Texas band’s latest offering is as grand and sweeping as the state itself (full discloser, I am a native son... So O.K. I left when I was six, but still...). Like all Texans, these folks like to spin a yarn. This tall-ish tale tells of the search for the ghost ship “Marie Celeste.” It recounts a seafaring journey from Galveston Texas to Haiti in the middle of hurricane season.

“From Harbor” is a pastoral piece with strings, minimal drums and guitars that gently lap along the surface. It sounds like early Rachel's meets Mogwai's classic “Ten Rapid.” The gentle beauty of the piece might mislead the listener about the intensity to come. “The durac sea low tide” actually opens with what sounds like wind. The violins soar as the drumming slowly builds, first with cymbals then on toms and bass drum. It then pulls back before the expected crescendo. In “Marie Celeste” the strings seem thicker and more ominous; it almost enters a Tony Conrad type territory. It builds layer upon layer. Unlike Conrad there is variation in the drone; slight changes, while minimal, create a forward movement.

I am not sure what the reference to Black Sabbath means in the song title “Equator in the mean time (Black Sabbath).” I am not as up on my Sabbath as I should be. Anyways, you can feel free to throw the horns or spark a lighter during this song if you would like. It is the most intense of the disc so far. Instead of Black Sabbath, this reminds me of the more eastern-tinged dirges by Bardo Pond.

“The shore line disappeared” is back to the pastoral beauty of the first song--piano and chiming guitars and what sounds like a saxophone-like tone, but I think is a violin fed through a pedal. The piano has suggestions of Peter Jefferies’ playing at its most plaintive. It fades out with layered violins.

“The Dirac sea (high tide)” also has the feel of early Mogwai. The drums for the first time are way out front. The Guitar and Violin tussle for dominance. There are electronic water-like gurgles in the background that end the song.

The song title “The captain goes down with the ship (sinking)” gives you an idea of the somber tone of this song. The guitar drones ominous tones, while the violins rise and fall on an foreboding sea. If the ship is sinking it is sinking slowly. The last song “The captain goes down with the ship (drowning)” is noticeably more intense. The drums are fuller, and the guitar is also in front instead of supporting the violins. It builds and builds but before the release they pull back. The drummer starts pounding out a military march and the violins let out last sorrowful tones. Hotel Hotel have made an exceptionally beautiful record. One complaint, and it is slight, is that I really wish, maybe on just one song, they fully exploded. Otherwise no sophomore slump for these guys.(Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Brother JT3

2008-10-04T21:05:00.000-07:00

Jelly Roll Gospel
Brother JT, the spiritualist of Blendrometry, is a comedic genius besides being a damn fine musician. One only needs to see his talent by doing a Google search for “Tripping Balls with Brother JT.” Or one could check out his pseudo (?) religion, “Blendrometry.” It is kind of like Zen Buddhism but it involves consumption of copious amounts of alcohol and illicit substances to achieve a nirvana.

Brother JT has been around the various underground music scenes in Philadelphia from the late 1980's to today. Back then he was best known for his band The Original Sins. He has been plugging away for a decade-and-a-half, making great music. All the hard work is clearly evident on this fine disc Jelly Roll Gospel.

Jelly Roll Gospel is the real deal; it has genuine soul along with Brother JT’s great humor. This is a summer album. You cannot help but feel the sun’s warm glow on every listen. It opens up with the upbeat “Lift You Up” which also mentions melancholy, making the optimism of the song so contagious.

“Accident Waiting” is a sad song but not without hope. “You are a fright, you are a sight for sore eyes.... you mad little thing, you are a fad, you are a thrush on the wing, And you are an accident waiting to happen.” The song ends with the declaration “We are all accidents waiting to happen.”

“Ribbon Driver “is a swampy bluesy stomp. White boy blues is an old trick, but a trick when played well can be quite enjoyable. Mr. JT carries it off effortlessly with aplomb. “Way Out” is an ode to “The Strong.” It is a reggae-ish jam that mixes in radio static that, if you are imbibing, might cause you to become paranoid that one’s speakers are about to blow up. This song has my favorite line of the album, “So have a drink, or maybe six, to find a way, find a way, find a way, to get away, get away, get away.” JT lays down bristling guitar solos while the rhythm section keeps up the rock steady beat. “The world is wrong, but I got me some, to get away.”

“Bad Vibrations” is straight up blues, which makes me, someone not normally a fan of such things, a convert. The cough from what I presume to be a bong hit lets us in that Brother JT does not take himself seriously, which is a problem with most white boy blues. The original blues I think always had a tongue firmly planted in the cheek. It also does not hurt to have an absolute crack band backing you up. “What You Make Of It” is an uplifting ska-inspired jam that includes cowbell. As we all know from the SNL skit you can never have too much cowbell.

“Belly Fat” is, you guessed it, an ode to belly fat. It is Brother JT's version of “Big Girls Need Love Too.” He might also be prognosticating about his own, um, girthy-ness as well. “There ain't nothing wrong with that, a little bit of Belly Fat.” Once again his backing band provides the structure for Brother JT to let loose in. There are some pretty slick guitar solos laid down. Normally I don't approve of wanky-ness, but since it is the JT I will let it slide.

“Do Ya Good” is probably the most straight up song on the disc. It has a breezy summer vibe going on for it. It starts with a rolling bass line and light touch of cymbal, and Brother JT provides his own vocal percussion. “There is milk and honey, oozing out of stuff, and sometimes there is even money, to buy stuff with, so you can feel funny, inside.” The chorus “I want to do you, really want to do yah, some good, good good,” is a little bit grating but the rest of the lyrics are great stoned stream-of-consciousness.

“Thank You For Being Me” is actually a really touching song. “I am sick of looking at the guy, the one with the me disguise, I would like to pull his head right off, and let you try it on for size. And then maybe I would see what you see in me.” When the organ comes on it truly does sound like a gospel, as Brother Jt belts out“Thank You for Being Me”

“Everything's Alive” is a great uplifting song to end the album with. This song is for driving down dark back roads on hot summer nights listening to the roar of insects. At times it seems Brother JT is channeling Jerry Garcia (that is not meant as an insult). As the song progresses things start to open up and get more like a Dead “Space” jam, while maintaining a forward momentum (okay so I had older siblings who were Dead Heads, is that a problem for you?). The jam continues to build and build and then it cuts back returning to the chant of “Everything” from the start of the song, shifting to an “Everything’s Alive” chant before fading out in cascades of bells, guitars, and bubbling bass. Each instrument dies out one by one, leaving the whooshing of a synthesizer.

It is a travesty that Brother JT is not huge; he should be making Harold & Kumar style stoner comedies, except he is actually really funny & profound. He as skilled as Ween at mixing humor with killer Jams. If Ween could trick the Dead Heads into liking them there is no reason Brother JT couldn't. Behind all the humor and slick musicianship Brother JT has a soul. He can save your soul too. Just watch the videos about Blendrometry. It changed my life; he will change yours. “Ohhmmmm, I don't want a hoagie.” (Drag City) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Theo Angell

2008-09-11T18:38:00.000-07:00

Dearly Beloved
This disc does not fit in an exact place or era. The songs makes quantum leaps between time and space, from songs that sound like field hollers from the early part of the last century, others like acid soaked folk from the sixties and some employ drum machines along with banjos and stomping feet for a 21st century hootenanny. It should come as no surprise that Theo has been part of the late era Jackie-o Motherfucker. Like JOMF Theo does not concern himself with genre, era or the mixing of different instruments from disparate traditions.

The album opens what could be a secular hymn. Multiple voices sing “I am going to sing you a song; I hope you can get along, oh lord, safety in my lover’s arms. The only other accompaniment is stomping feet, tambourine and maracas. “Cannonball” is straight up dirty bluegrass, kind of sounding like Bob Log. Many voices hoot and holler while blistering banjo lines flow as a swampy drum beats pound. The vocals sound like they could have been recorded from a dusty 78 that is worn down so much that the vocals have become indecipherable. As the song ends the chaos slows, replaced by docile guitars & whirring synthesizers. “Gonna wanna” could easily pass as that was recorded during the great depression. He uses a vintage mic that makes his vocals crackle and pop wonderfully.

My favorite song on this excellent album is “Born to Burn”; unlike the early songs, this song seems to be channeling not just some distant era but a distance place. Whether it is in the past or the future I am not sure, but it is very far away from here. The song opens up with an organ and Theo singing, “If I had a frozen memory, would I put it in the water and let it be, If had taste of the shining sea…. Would I punch her into drown?, Would I break her little crown? Yeah….” The beauty of the heavenly tones of the music masks the darker message of the song. “Let’s put this race to sleep and wake up in the morning.”

”Price of Prince” has a similar feel of the previous song, a gentle but constant drum beat rides underneath beatific vocal harmonies, shiny acoustic guitars, and what sounds like an accordion, or muted horn. “Thread of Grace” is slightly more forlorn and keening, “Please don’t leave me here whispering in your ears, My bones circle around the sun everyday, my bones still trip when they hear your name.”

Theo’s voice is a chameleon. He can go from sounding like a share cropper blues man from the delta, to that of an acid drenched folky from the sixties. This song is the later. You definitely have to have the right set and setting as the disc progresses. The songs become sparse and slowed down. The pacing of this disc is strange. It starts with a bang and then drifts slowly down sonic rivers.

Just when you are about ready to let yourself get zoned out comes “Sheoust” A chunking drum machine chugs along as folks harmonize. The layers keep coming and coming. If Theo and friends are singing anything in particular it is hard to decipher, but that is not really important. Immediately after the modern day hootenanny it shifts back to the lysergic tinged folk on “Charlie’s Eye.” The last song sounds like it could be a traditional song or hymn. What ever the case it is stunning, and it still touches my heathen heart.

Theo Angell has made diverse and intriguing record. There is not a lot to complain about this record, my only one is pacing and song order, but there is no fault in the songs themselves. Maybe Theo’s intent was to lull you into a relaxed state only to jar you. Some songs sound like they are from 100 years ago, while others feel more like just from 40 years ago. Then there are the songs that could like hillbillies who were taken up by the mother ship and dropped down in some future land where they meld their tradition with a new environment. This album is one of stark beauty of deep & diverse depth.
(Amish Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Matthew Welch & Craig Colorusso

2008-08-25T06:01:00.001-07:00

Rusted Breath, Quiet Hands
This duo of Matthew Welch on alto sax and Craig Colorusso on guitar offer up two bare-bones spare tracks that inhabit a space between minimalism & free improvisation. Welch’s playing reminds me of Jef Brown’s most serene, non-braying playing in Jackie-o Motherfucker. Colorusso’s guitar work reminds me of Mick Turner (of the Dirty Three)’s solo guitar playing. Like Turner, in his solo work, Craig uses slow methodical playing, focusing on small simple sounds, absent of the cheap bombast of guitar heroics.

"Rusted Hands” starts off with a slow wail of an alto saxophone; it is soon joined by what sounds like a bowed guitar. Both players make long slow tones on their respective instruments, sometimes in unison, sometimes one building while the other fades away. It is not all drones. The alto sax does plays a melody but it is very slowly played; it is easy to be mistaken for just drone. The piece unfolds gradually. It is hard not to be hypnotized by the slow sway, like that caused by a snake charmer causing a cobra to slowly emerge from a basket. There is great power in this music; the power comes not from bombast, but restraint. At any moment one feels like it could burst forth in free jazz frenzy, yet it never does. Like the Melvins at their best, jamming on one riff, the tension builds, and builds, yet there is no release. The closest time it comes to the dam bursting is when the sax plays what to me sounds like a few notes of “Amazing Grace.” Unlike Jackie-o Motherfucker, they let the notes hang there in the air, purposely leaving it unresolved. “Rusted Hands” is a work of stunning splendor and contained power.

"Quiet Hands” starts out with a gently plucked guitar, while slow tones from the alto sax are played on top. The sax lets out moving moans, while the guitar rings clusters of small notes. Colorusso explores different variations on a limited number of notes, playing them slowly then fast, playing one or two then all. Welch gives space for the guitar notes. He lets them hang in the air, before joining in. At some point a pedal is hit and the tone changes; it is then retracted. Welch responds to it by playing a slightly sour note, like to tell his partner, “What was the deal with that?” There is a slight stumble, but this is part of improvisation; detours are what make it interesting. They both regain their composure and Welch lets out a heavenly tone. I am not sure if Colorusso is using a looping pedal or not. If he is, he slightly varies the loop constantly. The tone on the alto sax seems to expand as they journey further into the piece. It almost sounds like a tenor at points. At points the sax gets very near free jazz bleating, The guitar quickens its pace, before returning to its former glacial speed.

For all its minimalist austereness these two tracks are packed with deceptive complexity. Matthew & Craig are not show-boaters; they practice a discreet discipline which is admiral. The hardest thing to do in improvisation is to hold back. The easiest is wild skronk, bleating and braying (not that there is anything wrong with that). They manage to beautifully wed the divergent worlds of free improv with minimalism for a stunning effect. (Muud) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Thalia Zedek Band

2008-07-20T07:40:00.000-07:00

Liars and Prayers
The liars of the Bush administration claim to be prayers too. No matter how you interpret the Bible there is no way that document can justify the evil that the Bush administration has perpetrated upon the world. This is not the first time that Thalia Zedek has mixed her pop and politics; see Come's Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Unlike others who attempt to do the same, when she does it it has an utter devastating effect.

Not all her music is political; most of it is deeply personal. Her music is raw and visceral. It is harsh, ragged and beautiful. This music is for cold and desperate winter nights when one has given up all hope.

The disc opens with “Next Exit” -- a lonesome violin weeps, as a piano plays melancholic lines. The bass and drums join in as the sorrow is replaced with anger. “There is no up or down, there only one direction coming around. You can’t switch sides.” Thalia voice is rough, tough, yet pleasing. In her solo career Thalia Zedek has chosen to explore the starker end of her music. This song pulls no punches. While combining the orchestration of her solo projects, there is a rough hewn edge to this album like her band Come.

”Lower Allston” is a song about a failed construction project. The Big Dig is a construction project to bury the other green monster, the elevated highway that goes through Boston. It has been going on for as long as I can remember; my Mom was born in Dorchester. It had been going on for nearly 20 years by the time I arrived in Boston to go to college in the mid 1990s. When the highway went through it tore neighborhoods apart. Forty years later, for almost at least two decades, they have been digging up Boston again. When they did finish a section of the tunnel the roof fell in. “The destruction of a perfectly good home, just to dig a hole, and then fill it up again.”

“Do you Remember” is one of the best songs written about 9/11. “Do you remember where you were; everyone is asking, were you hurt?” What makes this song so good is that it captures the horror of that day with out fascist faux patriotism or the complete fiction that is Neil Young’s “Let’s Roll.” Thalia sings “No I can’t say that I remember, just the blue skies of September….White ash hair, wide eye stare, blue skies so clear, the ozone of fear.”

I do not know if Thalia played a show in NYC on 9/11 or if this is what she imagined what it would be like, but the scene shifts to the evening, “And I was walking to the bar, I was carrying my guitar, and I know I tried to call you, but it was very hard, there was a TV on the street, it was a real sad affair, and the sky reflected silence, onto a harmony of sirens. Do you remember?” The most haunting image for me that day, watching it on TV, was paper flying through the ash cover street to the wails of sound devices that the firemen were wearing to find each other when they could not see; it truly was a harmony of sirens and it was also a very sad affair. What makes this song great is she leaves the politics out; it is a document of the fear that transcended that day and how it has not been the same since.

“Body Memory” is a classic sorrowful song by Thalia. It starts with a guitar, drum roll and pining violins. Thalia’s raw and striking voice reflects the sadness of the song. “Sometimes it feels so good to dance; these days I can’t take that chance.” She continues later, “I am trapped and tripping out, can you help me out?” The situation of the song is left ambiguous; what is not is the feeling. That is in your face; the music swells, the violin whines, the song builds, a piano is added. “There so much going on right now and no one can know what is going to happen…but you tell me it is all planned, just like everything you’ve ever had, like a body memory, I can’t feel myself, Am I free?” The question is profound, especially in the times we are living in.

In “Come Undone” it is not clear if the barbs she hurls are at a partner or herself. “You can keep some things out, you can keep some things in, but you can’t hold anything from an arm’s distance.” The song double backs on itself, “If you don’t like the answers, maybe you shouldn’t ask. Every thing can come undone so fast.” So one is left to ponder if one should allow oneself to be open and risk being hurt or shut down and be alone.

As the discs progresses Thalia outdoes herself in heartbreak on each song. “Green & Blue” is as moving as it is stately. The dual vocals at the end of this song, is like a sucker punch in the gut. The song ends abruptly after and leaves you reeling. “Stars” is a slow burn, before it explodes in a super nova. Then the song leaves as it entered, gentle and quietly. In the last song on the disc, “Begin to Exhume,” despondency turns to rage. It is as brutal as anything that the early days of Come produced.

To call this disc a return to form would be a misnomer. Thalia hasn’t made any missteps along her path. She has just chosen to explore different palettes, from the heaviness of early Come work to the nearly baroque sound of later Come era and later solo projects. With this disc she manages to blend both. If this is a masterwork it is one among many in her canon. (Thrill Jockey) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Diacon-Panthers

2008-06-20T18:33:00.000-07:00

Make it Feel Better
The Diacon-Panthers is the finest thing the state of Tennessee has produced since the Grifters or, dare I say, Johnny Cash. Like the Grifters, it is hard to peel one’s jaw from the floor on first listen. Like Crappin’ You Negative, one will listen to this record five, ten, twenty times before bringing oneself to remove the disc from the CD player. I took a long time to write a review of this because anything I wrote pales in comparison with the greatness of this album. It is so stupefying-ly good all one can do is mumble “rad” or “fucking rocks”.

“Days of Wonder” opens with thundering drums and a scorching guitar line. The intensity builds until the wonderfully, southern-ly slurred words of the vocalist come in. It does not matter if you can understand him or not; after a few listens you begin to (on their web site they offer to provide lyrics if you really, really, really, want them). The intensity of the music communicates the emotions behind the words.

“The Actress” is stripped back and heartbreakingly lovely. An unadorned acoustic guitar and a wailing vocal are all this song needs, “Her manager does not recognize her part because she is not acting.” The Diacon-Panthers balance the full-on rockers with full-on crying-in-your-beer weepers (as my Grampy liked to call ‘em). This song is the latter.

“Tennessee Dancing Nights” has the feel of a mid tempo upbeat Crazy Horse tune. It’s a good song to drink an ice cold beer to on a sweltering night in June. They say they spent a long time mixing the album, and it is in wonderful evidence on this song. The drums are in perfect clarity and balance with the guitar squalls.

I think the classic of the disc is “St. Anthony.” Once again the enigmatic vocals are there. But you can understand enough of them to get the point, “You can’t live on holy water, just like St. Anthony.” Not being a Catholic boy I have no idea who St. Anthony was, but they sing about him with a passion that make one want to find out.

”When it comes to the night” is another weeper. “When it comes to the night it gets a little worse.” It is good to sob in your pillow to when you have given up all possibility. “You are all around me; you are never beside me, You all around me, You never beside me.” Isn’t that always the way. “When it comes to the night, the stars just despair.” The aching wanting of unrequited desire is real -- it is almost uncomfortable in a totally good way.

On their website they make the suggestion one should drive at night on rural roads while blasting this record. I did that before I even read it; going 70 on a twisty two lane in quickly disappearing rural Pennsylvania countryside, while listening to “Midnight Black,” really can not be beat. “American Creature” has such a great southern twang. I would kill to listen to this song in a desolate bar on a jukebox somewhere in the deep-south, on a sweltering night, with the crickets humming and a cold glass of beer sweating.

If there was a summer record this is it. Push the gas to the floor, roll down the window, stick your hand out and blast “Minor Tiger” to the neighboring Semi as you pass them. It is guaranteed you will have a smile on your face. Remember the days when you thought that 25 was ancient? The youngsters in the Diacon-Panthers feel that way. “You’re 25… and I am 22.” How adorable.

”Screecher” is not really that, but slowly strummed guitar and wonderfully drawled warbly lyrics -- that is until the full band kicks in. First with a distorted guitar and then pounding drums, it morphs into some deep-fried southern-style countrified funk. When the chorus kicks in you see how the song got its name. Pounding drums and weird electronics, screaming guitars, the song ends at a drop of hat. “Monster” has one my favorite lines on the whole album. “I smell wine, and expensive cheeses and another part of your profile. You can kill them with all this tonight.” I am a fan of expensive cheeses, especially stinky ones.

I do not think “Black Flag” is a tribute to the hardcore band with the same moniker. I could be wrong. The song starts off with a softly pounding bass drum, while guitar lines are scribbled as high pitched feedback wails. “I am a bad kid, I am a bad kid, and I am a bad man, get away, get away from me.”

This album is a stunning masterpiece for a band so young. It sounds like 1970’s country era Rolling Stones but more raw and raucous. The Grifters comparison is also fair because of their innate southernism and real feel for where Rock-n-Roll came from. These kids are going places. I felt the same way about My Morning Jacket when I saw them at the Blackbird, a small now-defunct club in Portland, six years ago. I just hope that the Diacon-Panthers are not corrupted by the hippies like My Morning Jacket has been. They have already created one of the best albums I have heard in years. If they stay true, these kids can achieve magnificent things.
(Borrowdeer) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Mountain Goats

2008-02-24T01:03:00.000-08:00

Heretic Pride
I personally like my Mountain Goats to be filled with anger, bile, hurt and any other negative emotion you can think of, partly because John Darnielle portrays these emotions so well. He is a documentarian of the hurt human heart. He does it better than anybody else. On the brilliant and autobiographical Sunset Tree these emotions were available in vast abundance, and it was good. Unlike that album Heretic Pride is a loose collection of different emotions, with some songs bordering on contentment. Not to worry -- there are negative emotions aplenty -- but I suspect that John might actually be happy now. Unlike some of his compatriots, when John became cheery his music did not suffer.

Let me say that I miss most of the literary refrences in John’s songs. I understand his songs on a far more base level. I feel them vs. understand them. That being said, the first song is called “Sax Rohmer #1” which (thanks to Google and Wikipedia) I found out was the dude who created the character Dr. Fu Manchu. The song itself describes a film noir-like scene set in some questionable port in the Far East. “I am coming home to you, if it is the last thing that I do,” is what John sings with great conviction.

"San Bernardino” is a song about a birth of a son in a motel in an idyllic town in California. There is not hint of irony; it is genuinely sweet, and the plucked and strummed strings are beautiful. “Heretic Pride” is a rather cheerful song about being dragged through the streets by a mob before one is to be killed. “I will be so proud when the reckoning arrives.” His use of incongruous sensory details in this song, such as the scent of flowers on the wind, is what makes this song great.

"Autoclave” is the hit of the disc. I literally listened to this song 20 times in a row on a particularly bad day while driving alone down Route 202 in Delaware. “As my last chance to feel human beings to vaporize, maybe it is the heat in here, maybe it is the pressure, you ought to head for the exits the sooner the better.” As the chorus would come around I would sing along with almost as much force as John sings live, “I am this great unstable mass of blood and foam, and no one in her right mind would make her home my home; my heart’s an autoclave.” By the 20th time around I was completely cured. John’s songs are magic like that.

"In the Craters on the Moon” is a brilliantly depressive song with the sage advice, “If the strain proves too much, give up right away. If the light hurts your eyes, stay in your room all day.” There is impending doom throughout this song about the “Declining Years of a Long War” -- an apt description of where we find America now, and it is not good. “Lovecraft in Brooklyn” is a claustrophobic exploration of an imagined (?) post-apocalyptic Brooklyn. The slashing strings and machine gun percussion make one feel the walls are closing in. "Tianchi Lake” is a very pleasant song about a sea monster. It offers a break from all the impending doom. It is like a perfectly timed cool breeze on an oppressively hot day.

This album is not perfect and there are some flaws -- slight, but still there. The production of the album is a bit over the top. This may be my own bias, but I always thought John sounded best singing into a boom box. All the high fidelity takes away some of the rawness and edge to John’s music; a prime example of this is “How to Embrace a Swamp Creature.” The saccharine sweet female backup singers is like adding way too much sugar to a fine cup of organic fair trade coffee. The sweetness ruins the complexity and darkness of the original. The same annoying backup singers show up on “Marduk T-shirt Men’s Room Incident.” It is actually a great song, but the backup singers rob the song of all its power.

The album finishes strongly with an ode to cheesy horror movies of the 1980s, “Michael Myers Resplendent.” John manages to make something as vacuous as an actor getting ready for his scene in a questionable B movie seem important, even transcendent.

Overall, the strengths of this album far outweigh any of its minor flaws. I think a less crisp recording technique would allow the beauty and horror of John’s songs to really shine through. After all these years John still has the ability to cut one to one’s core and leave one utterly devastated. That is a good thing. (4AD) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Spanish Prisoners

2008-02-09T13:26:00.000-08:00

Songs to Forget
Calling one’s album “Songs to Forget” is baiting lazy musical journalists to say, “Yeah you should.” Luckily the advice of the album title is not something one needs to heed. In fact it would be hard to do if one tried. These songs are not unmemorable. Leonid Maymind seems to be the main man behind these tracks. His name may or may not be an anagram. Like his compatriots in Califone & Sparklehorse he shifts easily from ramshackle folk twang to gurgling electronics, sometimes within the same song. “Songs that are hard to put out of your mind” would be a more accurate if less eloquent title for this disc.

The album opens with “Song for the Weary”. It is a sad weepy country tune with wheezing squeezebox, banjo, strings and what sounds like a children’s choir. I am a sucker for crying in your beer songs, as my grandfather called them. This one is a tearful one, with a tiny bit of hope at the end. “Some Among Them Are Killers” is more electronic. It sounds like Jeff Tweedy singing with basic drum machine and simple keyboard lines. It still does not lose the organic feel of the first song. The warm distorted guitar leads are a sweet addition.

“A Thousand Zimmermans” is the hit of the disc. It is a sloppy raucous affair. “Because you made me feel like, I was just the flavor of the week, like some offhand promise you never intended to keep” -- these simple lyrics should not work but they do. “This not that” is a pleasant instrumental with reverb-y guitars and mumbled singing, whistling and various other audio confectionary.

”Mantequilla” was recorded in part by Eric Metronome. You can definitely hear a change in the recording -- less lo-fi, more refined. While this songs flirts with syrupy sweetness, there is enough melancholy to balance it out.

”Periwinkle Blues” is a silly song with great overmodulation on the drums and guitar. If I thought he was being serious it might be problematic, but the horns show that it is really all for fun. It is a pleasant little romp. On the last track Leonid does his best Smog impression with piano and guitar and burbling keyboards. It is stately and refined, sad and sweet.

Leonid Maymind is a talented musician who likes to play with genres, shifting from hillbilly music to electronics to blues. What is surprising about this disc is how such diverse songs seem to sit so comfortably side by side with each other. This album shows promise. I am sure I will be surprised at what he does next.
(Dan Cohoon) (Exit Stencil)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Human Bell

2008-02-09T13:16:00.000-08:00

S/T
It should come as no surprise that this great band hails from Baltimore, MD (the place that spawned Jackie-o Motherfucker). Both bands share an overall openness and jammy-ness. Like Baltimore, Human Bell is a crossroad not fully southern, yet definitely south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The band draws on diverse influences, from the Bluegrass that originally sprung forth from Appalachia, to the more cerebral and calculated post-rock of their Chicago cousins to the northwest.

Human Bell is comprised of Dave Heumann & Nathan Bell, the band’s moniker a play on their last names. Both members have exceptional pedigree -- Nathan who played bass for Lungfish, and Dave who has played with the bonnie one, Will Oldham. In fact they conscripted Will’s brother Paul to record the majority of the album (Antony West recorded a song at Nathan Bell’s house). The album was mixed by the masterful hand of John McEntire @ Soma EMS in Chicago.

”A Change in Fortunes” opens the disc. Simple guitar lines are traded back and forth. Slowly and carefully more complexity is added with what sounds like xylophone and drums. The pace quickens with the addition of new sounds. While sticking with the basic guitar structure of the opening, new complexities are added until one guitar chugs, while the other nimbly climbs. It then opens up to a high plateau where once again the skeletal structure of the jam is revealed. It oh so very slowly fades out.

”Splendor and Concealment” definitely has the feel of an Ennio Marconi song. This would not be out of place on a spaghetti western soundtrack. The high lonesome wails of a reverbed guitar and carefully placed counterpoint of the second guitar lets the tension builds until it forms a full on hoe-down. The influence of bluegrass is clearly heard on this track; like dueling banjos, these guitarists trade licks and stabs with each other. You cannot help but tap your feet even if you can resist the urge to doesy-doe.

”Hymn Amerika” tells the musicians’ feelings towards faux patriotism with the simple insertion of a k into America. The song itself is the best of the disc. It shares the dueling banjos feeling of the previous song, but this time the joust is not for play and the blood is for real. The war drum pounds as the amplifier sings with distortion and feedback until it stops on a dime. “Outpost of Oblivion” certainly feels forlorn with the bowed banjo of Matt Riley. The drumming of Peter Townshend is more pronounced, with the drums providing the structure for the various guitar garlands to hang. “Hanging from the Rafters” almost feels like the Dirty Three’s sparser guitar-focused work. When the drums come in it changes feel again to a more deep American southern stomp

”Ephatha” was recorded at Nathan Bell’s home by Antony West. A horn blares plaintive wails while the guitar seems throatier than on the other tracks. It feels both other-worldly and very earthy at the same time. With the addition of Michael Turner on guitar for the last track “The Singing Trees,” it almost has a Crazy Horse vibe to it. The guitars are crunchier and the drumming is fiercer. The harmonics of the amps sing as lead upon lead are piled on. Slow and methodical, it wills the listener into submission. Just when you think it is all over the coda comes. The song leaves as grandly as it entered.

This entire album is a triumph. This hillbilly post-rock finds a middle ground between the austereness of Post Rock and the complexity of Bluegrass. While creating multifaceted structure it never loses the sense of play. It is as much a joy to listen to as it must have been to have played. (Thrill Jockey) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Cat Power

2008-01-24T06:07:00.000-08:00

Juke Box
Firstly let me say I love Cat Power, I always have and I still do. From the first time I saw her open for the Palace Brothers on the Viva Last Blues tour I have been smitten. I personally know a thing or two about anxiety disorders. I know they are very real and can be crippling especially if one’s job is to perform in public. What I have to say is said from a place of love.

This album is vexing. There is nothing wrong with it that one can point to; in fact most tracks are quite good, but there is a nagging feeling of it being calculated and contrived, a result of market research not artistic intent. From the Covers Record we know that Chan is amazingly talented at reinterpretations of others’ songs. This is not strictly a covers record because there are at least two Chan-penned tunes, the strongest of the disc.

The problematic song choice starts with the cover of New York, New York made famous by Frank Sinatra (written by Fred Ebb/John Kander). Maybe it’s me being from Philly and having a chip on my shoulder towards NYC, or maybe after 9/11 the G.O.P. has made the use of any song glorifying the city suspect. Maybe Chan is trying to take the city back from the SUV driving, Starbucks going, FDNY t-shirt wearing assholes. If that is the case then it is cool. There was nothing more disturbing than the crass commercialization of that tragedy by the G.O.P. and their pals in multi-national corporations.

The second track without the baggage is a joy to hear. It is a smoldering bluesy affair. It is a cover of Ramblin’ (Wo)man by Hank Williams. The guitar reverb-ed wails and organ and laid-back drum kit proves the quality of the Dirty Blues Band, the back-up band for this disc. On this song it fades out mid-verse, like it does on other songs, which on first listen was quite off-putting. This is the type of song you want to soak in, and let it percolate. Maybe she was trying to leave one wanting more, which she always does for me.

The high point of the disc I think is the blistering reworking of her own classic “Metal Heart.” The song starts with simple piano with Chan’s slightly husky voice before the drums and guitars come in. When she inserts a verse from “Amazing Grace” the song explodes like a rocket ship hurtling towards the stratosphere. Chan almost screams, “Metal Heart, you are not worth a thing.” What makes this song so successful is that it is not a genre exercise.

Another successful song from the disc is “Silver Stallion”, originally performed by the Highway Men. She changes things up by reversing the gender roles of the original. It alters the feeling and meaning of the song to have female singing words, written by a man. It is still touching nonetheless.

The one song I do not care for on this disc is “Aretha, Sing One For Me” (originally performed by George Jackson). It might just be because I can not stand Aretha Franklin or this particular brand of the blues. It just feels like a little too White Girl Blues. Now her cover of James Brown’s “Lost Someone” has genuine soul vs. someone just doing a genre calisthenics.

She does a raucous cover of Bob Dylan’s “I Believe in You.” This song is not some crass genre flirtation for the benefit of over-privileged vaguely racist Starbucks customer base [Starbucks made her change the packaging of “The Greatest” because of Starbucks’ racist concerns that her shiny pink cover with boxing gloves were “Too Urban” (code word for black) for Starbucks’ core audience].

One can tell she truly loves this Bobby Dylan song. If there were any doubts, the next song is “Song to Bobby” -- a downright sweet song about her crush on Bobby Dylan. It might be her answer to Bob thinking about Alicia Keyes. Once again when she uses her own words her songs are all that more powerful. The song fades out just as she was about to tell Bobby something… Another powerful cover is “Don’t Explain,” originally sung by Billie Holiday (written by Arthur Herzog, Jr. & Billie Holiday). Chan’s take on the song sounds surprisingly fresh and undated.

It may be my own bias against Janis Joplin, but Chan’s cover of “Woman Left Lonely” is a little bit too much of a straight-ahead cover for my taste. It has the slight distaste of market research in the form of song selection. ”Blue” manages to get past my great dislike of Joni Mitchell songs. I think it is the jazzy piano and low wailing organ that made it sound more like a spiritual than that from a pen of a folkie.

I was going to write about the disgusting article in the Magnet Magazine last year that treated Chan more as a fashion model/starlet than an extraordinarily talented musician. I was going to write about my disappointment that Chan would lend her beautiful voice to the vile, evil and corrupt Diamond Cartel. But that just seems mean-spirited. I am glad that she is healthy and performing again. I cannot wait for her to write some of her own material because that is what truly sparkled on this disc.
(Matador) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Bottomless Pit

2008-01-10T08:06:00.000-08:00

Hammer of Gods
After the murder of Michael Dalquist and his friends, by an over-privileged, suicidal Ford Mustang driving, wanna be stripper/ “model,” the surviving members of the band stated that Silkworm would cease to exist. I was doubly heart broken, first and most importantly for the tragic death of an extremely talented drummer and and all an round great guy, from what I have ascertained, but second because it would also mark the end of the collaboration of Andy Cohen & Tim Midget. This duo is the best song writing team for a rock band since Lennon & McCartney, in fact I will say they are better than the Beatles (Is that the equivalent of claiming a band is bigger than Jesus?).

Imagine my joy when I heard about the collaboration of Cohen/Midget in a new project called Bottomless Pit. This album quite simply stated is a masterpiece on par with any of the great works of Silkworm i.e. In The West, Firewater, or even L’ajre. All of Silkworm's work is filled with naked exploration of the intersections of the familiar, the social, the psychological, and the cultural, but this time the examinations of nuanced emotions are rawer and the tragedy real.

The disc opens with “Cardinal Movements.” It could be a classic Firewater era song, simple direct lyrics, “When you know they won't show up, When you think it might rain, When you get it in your mind to live again.” with gut-wrenching choruses, “ Those dreams are never ending. I know it is always hard to hear. Sometimes they're good sometimes they're bad, We always want some better way to say it, Sometimes it's bests to lay it bare.” The drummer had some big shoes to fill, but he holds his own admirably.

”Repossession” hits home hard, “Do you ever feel like you're going crazy from the inside out?” The answer is yes, yes, yes! After this fucked up fall the “inside” has a totally different meaning for me. The soaring music provides the clue that this song is not about giving up, it is about holding on. This song gets me every time. The song ends with this advice, “Sometimes you got to take control of your mind,” That is easier said than done, but comforting none the less. “Leave the Light On” is another heartbreaker.

The one song that deals directly with the tragedy is “Dead Man’s Blues.” Its opening salvo is, “I lay in the street, the cars run over me, but I am a tough piece of meat.” Then the plea of “People you got to be careful, you know not what you do.” The bass and drums chug along the song to its blistering conclusion.

The ending song “Seven Sings” with its sputtering drum machine seems to be a tribute to Michael. If it is, it is a beautiful one. The bass rolls along with the drum machine, trumpet, real drummer and sweet guitar lines. It reminds me of Sleeps with Angels era Neil Young. Violins join the mix. “I can only hope, I can leave you now, no, no, no.” While the tragedy is great and the loss is real, this music heals. (Comedy Minus One) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Origami Arktika

2008-01-10T07:44:00.000-08:00

Trollebotn
The album literally inhabits the space where the “real” world and the magical world meet. The album title Trollebotn is named after a wild untamed area of Norway where trolls & mountain giants live. This album was recorded by a who’s who in the Norwegian underground drone rock community including Tore Bøe (Origami Republika founder), Kai Mikalsen (Kobi), Kjell Runar Jenssen (Motorpsycho, Del), Kjell Øyvind Braaten (Varde, Ehwaz), Kjell-Olav Jørgensen (Salvatore), & Bjarne Larsen (Salvatore). Out of all the participants, I am only familiar with Kobi. If the rest of the collaborators are anything like Kobi, and from what I hear on this disc they are, then I would assume that the sounds that they make on their own would be intriguing too. This disc was recorded on an island in a lake that looks down on the actual physical and magical, Trollebotn. Through musical alchemy, the magic and wonder of the place has been transformed into stunning, drone-ing, floating sounds.

I listened to this record for many weeks before even bothering to open the CD case. I was so entranced by the sound I felt little need to find out what it was about. I don’t speak Norwegian so all I did was listen to Rune Flaten’s melodious, woodsy voice. When I finally opened up the CD case I was pleasantly surprised that each song had a brief explanation of what each song was about. Despite sounding like Can or Faust on Quaaludes (this is meant as a compliment) most, if not all these songs are very old.

The first song “Anne sit Heime” features Rune's amazing vocals, a sad whistle or flute, a slowly unfolding strummed guitar, and minimalist percussion. It tells the tale of a mother singing to her son, about his father’s journey to go fight the Mountain Giants. The mother finally breaks down telling the son that his father can not return unless the son helps him back. The intensity of the song slowly builds as the drumming gets tighter and quicker. By the end, it is almost sounding like Slint or at least the dense part of the For Carnation.

Fjellmannjenta apparently is a bit of a dirty ditty. Like all great dirty folk songs, it sounds like the song is about nothing but sweet, innocent farmer's daughters. Well the song is about a farmer’s daughter, but she is making a pass at her chosen one, according to the liner notes, “with her skirt around her neck.” While I enjoyed the song on a pure sonic level, finding out the meaning of the words to the song is like reading the explicit verses in the Song of Solomon in church. It is deliciously wicked.

Fra Guro Heddelid needs no translation for one to know it is a sad, sad song. What sounds like a bagpipe drone, or an accordion, moans slow and low. There are bells, cymbals fills, and other unspecified clatter. All the while, Rune sings the lament of a woman who married for money not love. Her children surround her as she describes her self as a dying, once beautiful, tree beside a beautiful river.

Som Lidi Baere Lauv is full of impending doom. The drum beats have a thicker, more ominous feel which counters with a high pitch but low drone. Simultaneously, the vocals seem fall from the sky to the earth, like tears rolling down a cheek or a droplet of water falling from a waterfall. The song ends actually with the sound of water.

Throughout this whole disc, the magic of the place where it was recorded can be felt and heard. A very special recording, it is both ancient and modern. This record is a bridge between the “Real” world and the magic one. In this place and on this record they co-exist beautifully. (Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Devastations

2008-01-06T17:24:00.000-08:00

Yes, U
Not just because of their origins in Melbourne, Australia, Devastations have been likened to Nick Cave and the decades of dark balladeers he’s influenced. What makes Devastations stand out to my ears is the lighter vocals and somewhat funky, campy sonic twists that differentiate it from the more leaden trudge of, say, iLiKETRAiNS or Black Heart Processional. The singing is more like Soft Cell’s Marc Almond or Talk Talk’s Mark Hollis than Nick Cave, and the addition of bell-like keyboards, cheesy fake cymbals, and freak-out guitar solos provide a counterweight to the oozing darkness of the bass and drums. As an example of the layered soundscape, “The Pest” combines a Suicide-esque drum machine (perhaps found at an abandoned disco in their new home Berlin) with a searing guitar effect that sounds like a strung-out mosquito singing too close to the mic. Another standout, “Mistakes,” combines a cheery Rickenbacker strum with faux-handclaps and more scorching trebly guitar. The closing instrumental “Misericordia” combines a majestic toy piano with a shimmering, sucking, stinging wave of electro-noise that rises, crests and falls at a gorgeously languid pace. The effect of these embellishments is that listening to this album feels more like a meander through techno-colour poppy fields than a march across the monochromatic frozen tundra -- more psychedelic and less claustrophobic. (Beggars Banquet) (Jim Ebenhoh)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

iLiKETRAiNS

2008-01-06T17:13:00.000-08:00

Elegies to Lessons Learnt
Though I too like trains, I was pretty sceptical about a band called “I Like Trains,” even if they did make it all one word and put the i’s in lower-case. It just seemed a little too straightforward and distracting from the music, like naming your band “bEERtASTESgOOD” or “gIRLSmAKEmEfEELfUNNYiNSIDE.” Surprisingly, the songs aren’t very much about trains, from what I can tell. Rather, they are dark tales of historical drama, death, insanity and general malaise, set to ponderous, plodding music that marches slowly up a granite staircase before spreading its creosote wings and soaring above the hellfire below.

At times, lighter chiming repetitive guitars evoke the sound of Interpol, but overall the feeling is truly Gothic. The lyrics have been called “wry” and “witty” by other reviewers (perhaps because of notable lines like “this time the French are not to blame”), but overall the dark themes and overwrought vocal delivery remind me more of iLiKETRAiNS’ Beggars Banquet predecessors Fields of the Nephilim or fellow Leedsters Sisters of Mercy than the Smiths. The neurotic twitchiness of Joy Division or Interpol is not overly evident; while neuroses are undoubtedly at work behind the scenes, the sound is predominantly one of turgid morbidity.

None of this is to say that the album doesn’t have ample sonic beauty; much of it is reminiscent of the epic soar and plod of Sigur Ros or Mogwai, but perhaps if the lyrics were in Icelandic or unintelligible Scottish it would be easier to avoid getting dragged down by the Edgar Allan Poe vocals. If you can get past this, or if you actually enjoy listening to the audio-cassette tour of Madame Tussaud’s House of Horrors, the album offers a relatively unique (and informative) sonic journey. (Beggars Banquet) (Jim Ebenhoh)

Future Rapper

2007-11-21T07:31:00.000-08:00

A Land of a Thousand Rappers Vol. 1: Fall of the Pillars
Future Rapper is the name of the artist from the artist formerly/ currently known as Slo-Ro, a.k.a. Michael Kauffman. I was introduced to the weird wild world of Slo-Ro via his collaboration with Glen Galaxy in Soul-Junk (the only Intelligent-Christian-Rock, Noise, Spazz, Free Jazz, Skronk, Rap Band). Slo-Ro has left the band of his former Sunday school teacher to explore the weird wide sound-scapes of his own design. While Glen explores things of an explicitly biblical nature, Michael still investigates the nature of right and wrong but his subject matter is more worldly and in the present tense, if not the future one.

Slo-Ro takes his aim at the "bling" culture of most of today's mainstream rappers who willingly whore themselves out to their corporate slave masters all the while declaring themselves to be pimps. (I do not care for the White Stripes really, but one line by them seems to be particularly apt in regards to main stream rappers, "You can not be a pimp and prostitute too.") The state of current Hip-Hop is a cluster fuck of fake hard core street thugs who turn tricks for the subsidiaries of the military industrial complex (see the diagram that God Speed You Black Emperor did connecting all the major media companies to all the major defense contractors). The corporate masters really tipped their hand when 50 Cent came out in support of the over-privileged, cokehead, dry (?) drunk, fake Christian, George W. Bush. Fiddy tried to claim that Bush was the "Ultimate Gangsta." Bush might be good at shoving coke up his nose but being a successful street thug takes something that Bush does not have, common sense. To last on the street, you must know how to choose your battles and know who not to fucking piss off.

It is sad that once a music created by and for the disaffected has been co-opted by multi-national and right-wing "Christian" broadcasting companies (aka Clear Channel). The vile people who push unattainable materialism on the masses also exploit people's genuine faith for evil means, i.e. supporting the Republican Party. Who knew that the savior of hip hop would be a white Christian kid (Ok, kid might be stretching, he is about my age) from the suburbs, but that is exactly what Slo-Ro is. He returns the joy and fun of the original rappers of the outer Boroughs of New York City. Slo-Ro, like the original rappers, has no problem getting down while indicting the system.

The album opens with "Past the Ice & More," which features the deceptively pastoral strains of an orchestra and a loop of a choir, before shifting to the dub of "Future Past Perfect". We are also introduced to the Holy Fool aka Wayne S. Feldman. The song ends with what sounds like oceans waves fed through a plate reverb. The most comical character on the album is Warhol Bucks who is introduced on "14Karrot Butcher Knife." His part is played most excellently by Michael Kauffman. Warhol Bucks is a parody of not only all the fake bling-ing rappers, but also the pathetically empty consumer culture at large. Warhol Bucks want you to know that his cape is "Oh So Long and Velvet-y," and he has an "All you can eat pasta bar in the trunk." I am confused at the reference to the outlet mall at King of Prussia (Delaware Valley, Represent!). As far as I know there are no outlets at the King of Prussia Mall. But I have not been there in 15 yearsdespite living 20 miles away. Maybe Slo-Ro knows something I do not.

Neil Young should listen to "Factor IX for the Headwound" before he runs his mouth about the current generation's inability to write a decent protest song (I do love the album Living With War). Slo-Ro cuts deep into the tender underbelly of the Bush Administrations faux patriotism: "You hide dead, your sick and your poor, watch your TV dinners while you eat your wars. It ain't about the bling you bring, because death still has its final sting." The willing participation of the mainstream media in self-censorship of the horrors of war is all the more disheartening when you realize that companies like NBC's parent company GE make mountains of profit off of the terror that Bush reigns upon the world.

On first listens the album seems like a Dadaist collage of disjointed words and images. As one listens more and more, the album reveals itself as a masterpiece of cultural criticism. No other album so perfectly captures the complete barrenness of the current consumer culture. One can go buy a fake Louis Vuitton bag, drive one's big-ass Japanese SUV with one's big American Flag decal and yellow ribbon magnet to the Wal-Mart to buy lead laden Chinese slave labor manufactured toys to bring back to ones sub-primed mortgaged home. All the excess of capitalism will not make one fulfilled. (Asthmatic Kitty) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

For Carnation

2007-11-21T06:56:00.000-08:00

Promised Work
Out of all the bands that spawned from Slint, the For Carnation was the only band that surpassed the greatness of the original band. This disc is a reissue of the two essential EPs the band produced during its existence. Brian McMahan, "The Voice of Slint," is also the voice of the For Carnation. Over the course of its existence, the band had contributions from such indie-rock glitterati as David Pajo (fellow Slint-er), Doug McCombs & John Heron (Tortoise), Tim Roth(Evergreen)and Brian's own brother Michael (Dead Child).

The album opens with the classic "Grace Between the Pines." Brian's trademark whispered/spoken vocals are haunting as they are mysterious, but with an unfulfilled longing. The gentle strummed guitar and bassnever build to the Slint-ish crescendo, the template copied by so manylesser bands. My favorite line from the song is, "I will be here and you there, with crackheads, and assassins, and burn victims and millionaire sons." I could not ever figure out what place would have such an odd combination of people. My best guess is either a mental hospital or prison. I do not think it is important to pin down. The point of the song is the mood of heart break and melancholy.

All these songs are imprinted on my musical DNA. "How I Beat the Devil" is short and sweet. On "Get and Stay Get March," Brian's vocals float above a gentle rolling drum beat, strummed guitars and tweetingbirds. The lyrical content of the For Carnation is always obtuse,never obvious, but plainly simple sung/spoken words. Brian sings,"Measure each step, look straight ahead," over and over again. Unlike Silkworm, Brian does not lay it down in full view. The words conjureimages and moods. Making the listener feel is more important thanconveying a specific message. I saw this in person, at a show in Portland, Oregon: a girl openly wept as Brian sung "Moon Beams".

"On a Swing" is the first song from the Marshmallow EP. This song isbrief and placid. Just like "Grace beneath the Pines," the first song on the second EP is immediately followed by a more rocking number. "I Wear Gold" is with a full band, it is the closest thing that the For Carnation come to Slint's bastard child June of 44. The song builds and builds, the bass and drums provided a propulsive rhythm for which the fancy guitar lines to soar above. "Lymr, Marshmallow" is my favorite song on the two EPs, simply strummed guitar and bell like keyboard line and brilliant lyrics. "Winter Lair" is dark and haunting. "Salo" is also filled with dread. It is a story of a sharpshooter. It is not clear if the shooter is a hit man, working for the military or simply a crazy person on a rampage. One must listen intently to decipher what is going on. As always, it is left intentionally unresolved.

If you are like me and have the two EPs all ready, you may question the need to get this album. There is no bonus material. If you are like me those discs have been collecting dust. I for one am glad tohave gotten this disc. It reminded me that the For Carnation was one of the finest bands the 1990's produced. If you are not familiar with the band, this disc is a great start. These songs are too great to beforgotten about. (Touch & Go) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Kinski

2007-10-16T14:20:00.000-07:00

Down Below It’s Chaos
Kinski are rock-ist scientists. They know precisely how long to hold a riff before the drums hit for maximum impact. They let the tension build & deploy the release at the perfect moment. They specialize in creating catharsis. While all this precision might seem to make the listener feel manipulated, they do it with such expertise it feels totally organic.

While most people take notice of Chris (no he is not married to Gwyneth) Martin’s guitar heroics, it is Lucy Atkinson’s bass playing that is key to grounding the guitar chaos of Chris and Matthew. Barrett Wilke, the drummer, is also key to the framework of Kinski’s rollercoaster like songs.

The first three tracks on the album are all about the full-on rock. “Cry Baby Blowout” is a fun romping number. The Kinski kids walk up to the very edge of the cliff of wanky-ness on this song, but fortunately the rock-ist scientists in Kinski know precisely how far to push it. “Passwords & Alcohol” has a mid-period Sonic Youth vibe to it. While most of the band’s output is instrumentals, on this album Chris sings on a few tracks. The song deals with the deadly combination of alcohol and a fast internet connection; well at least that is what I think it is about. “Passwords & Alcohol, soft light changes all.” The band can turn on a dime from melodic guitar lines with singing to full-on feedback attacks.

“Dayroom at Narita Int’l” has Chris brushing his teeth in the bathroom on an airplane on his way to Japan. This song contains the lyrics that are also the title of the album, “Down Below is Chaos, So don’t go down below.” The first three songs are full-on rockers before they start to stretch it out on “Boy, Was I Mad.” The guitar licks sound like the Christmas classic “We Three Kings.” Matthew contributes an Isobel Sollenberger -worthy flute line before switching back to the guitar attack of the first few tracks. On “Child Had to Catch a Train,” Lucy provides a pretty bad ass, yet simple bass solo to the song. “Silent Biker Type” ends the disc. It is a slowly creeping song, like a giant tortoise dragging itself up the steep embankment of a suburban drainage ditch.

Kinski has found just the right balance between all-out rockers & slow burners. I think Kinski has finally produced an album that matches the ferocity and transcendent beauty of their live sets. While it may seem to be chaotic, there is a great deal of control in these excellent tunes. (Sub Pop) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Dead C

2007-09-07T11:09:00.000-07:00

Future Artists
When it comes to listening to the Dead C you are faced with two options. The first way is total and complete submission. In this method you dim the lights, pop a few Benadryl or what ever your cold medicine of choices is, lay back and let the squeals of feedback and snail-paced percussion take you over until you fall asleep or achieve a state of total oneness with the universe.

Listening this way is quite relaxing and therapeutic. Despite the atonal quality of the music, if one commits to listening to an entire album in one sitting, one becomes taken over with a state of inner peace.

The second way, and the more productive way of listening to the Dead C, is to use it as sonic tapestry while one engages in boring or tedious work. Vacuuming blends well with the hums, squeals and thuds of the music. Doing one’s dishes is an excellent idea. The thuds and crashes in the sink are just as random as some of Robbie’s drumming seems.

The Dead C have now entered their twentieth year of existence. Over that time they have produced a body of work that is most challenging, yet very engaging. While you have to be in the right mood or state of mind, having taken the cold medicine of your choice (see liner notes for vain, erudite and stupid) it can be an amazing experience.

The first song on the disc “AMM of Punk Rock,” at thirteen minutes and twenty three seconds, is leaning more towards the AMM side of the fence. If you do not know who AMM is I am not going to tell you. The track itself sounds like huge lumbering power generators heard through post-apocalyptic bomb shelter walls. Yeats’ drumming is so sparse on the track it is almost nonexistent. Morley and Russell provide howling guitars and electronics that seem to be in their violent death throes. The sound is so stripped down it is almost skeletal. Instead of the gurgling bleats of electronics being used as random elements, they seemed to be tightly controlled and precisely deployed. Like almost all great “Harsh” sounding bands, all the chaos is used to obscure the stunning core that is the heart of the music.

The Magicians is the only “song” on the disc. I love abstract atonal noise as much as the next dude (and I really do), but can one imagine how fucking cool a disc full of the Dead C’s very special brand of pop would be?

The song “Eternity” is not a tribute to the Calvin Klein scent, I don’t think. While the song is long, it does not last an eternity -- more like 2 minutes longer than a quarter hour. The jam is a slow burn, but a burn well worth hearing until the end when all the carbon bonds are broken and there is nothing left but a pile of ash.

While the record is challenging (well duh, it is a Dead C record) with repeated listens one notices subtle and complex variations and patterns. The Dead C is like an old sweater one might find in a Dunedin thrift shop. It might have holes, if you pull on the wrong thread it might unravel, and it might look ghastly to others, but it keeps one warm and oh so happy. (BaDaBing) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Soul Junk

2007-08-31T22:21:00.000-07:00

1959
When Glen Galaxy stated in an interview I did with him a few years ago that he was commanded by the almighty on high to record every word in the Bible, I thought he was kidding. Well, it appears that he was not joking. 1959 covers the first 23 verses in the book of Psalms in the Bible. Psalms has to be the weirdest book in the Bible besides Revelations. From verse to verse it can go from joyful, to wrathful and visa-versa.

As standard operating procedure, Glen’s sound palette alters drastically from disc to disc. Now that Slo-Ro has left the fold to explore his own sound projects, this disc seems less beat-centric and hip-hop influenced. Instead there seems to be rough-hewn percussion and hard-scrabbled guitars. Some Psalms are definitely more song-orientated. With others the imagery is wild and bizarre. Glen crams some songs so dense with the holy word that it seems impossible that such a short song could contain such complex imagery and lyrics.

I was raised in a Christian home. I have since become disenchanted with almost all forms of organized religion. These verses have an odd familiarity, like a half-forgotten memory from childhood. The words are familiar; the context in a Soul-Junk song makes one re-examine the meaning of the words again. Glen places these recognizable verses in such odd context one cannot help but listen and reconsider the words of the Bible. I do not doubt for a second Glen’s sincerity in this project. He managed to reach my hardened heart to at least pay attention to what the verses were saying -- something my pastor never managed to do. If Glen’s goal was to get people to really listen to the words of the Bible, he is very successful in this endeavour. (Quiver Society) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

The Underpainting

2007-08-20T08:05:00.000-07:00

(s/t)
The Underpainting is the brainchild of Mr. Brian Michael Roff, who has regaled us before with his backing band The Deer but who takes on a somewhat new guise here with the help of various friends on guitar, drums, viola, “singing saw,” piano, and bass. This instrumentation provides a rounded-out country sound, reminiscent of Bonnie Prince Billy’s later works with less of the try-hard “wizened old prophet” factor, or Iron & Wine on a higher-protein diet. The songs are honest, with none of the bombastic NASCAR arena-country of mainstream country-western, nor the deliberate freak-folk of Devendra Banhart or Animal Collective.

The strongest (and longest) track here is In the Analog Woods, which begins with the memorable line “Got a splinter in my toe from a Popsicle stick; that’s what I get for being such a memorable prick,” then slowly builds into what feels like an epic celebration of avoiding the digital frontier. For at least three minutes, Brian joyfully belts out the lines “the photographer pines, trees turn into tines…it’s all rather good to be in those woods, caught up in the trees with a bellyful of bees.” The piano-driven ballad On What It Means to Disconnect is also a highlight of this 10-song disc, as is the angry tension of Saddest Thing.

Despite these high points, this album is destined to be the simple pleasure of a few. The lack of any pretension of mainstream hit potential or tangible hipster angle seems acknowledged through the low-key profile of its conception and promotion. Recorded in Leominster, Massachusetts – hardly the epicentre of any identifiable “scene,” it was released frugally in May this year as a limited edition of 150, through a joint venture between Catbird Records and Tower of Song Records (home of TW Walsh and the Soft Drugs). The cover art by Matthew Feyld features a simple but brilliant etching of a creature that looks like McDonald’s Grimace with the condensed face of Steve Buscemi, and the extensive use of what appears to be the Silom font (at least on the promo version) is a hock-ptooey in the face of slick graphic design majors. Those 150 souls who brave Buscemi Grimace and Silom to harness a copy of this release will be rewarded over time, as repeated listening provides a gradual appreciation of its lyrical and musical offerings. Like a Van Gogh hidden under a 1950s painting of kids with tattered striped shirts and gigantic eyes, the Underpainting reveals itself over time. (Tower of Song Records & Catbird Records) (Jim Ebenhoh)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Eric Gaffney

2007-01-07T08:10:00.000-08:00

Uncharted Waters
Eric is still cleaning out his vaults, and he is finding some gold. This is the second release that spans nearly a decade of material (the first being Brilliant Concert Numbers). It dates roughly from when he left Sebadoh to the present. Going back and listening to the Sebadoh III reissue one realizes what a valued contribution he made to that era of the band. One might consider a 27 track CD excessive, but there is little fat that needs to be trimmed from this fine disc.

“Cold Weather” & “Twilight” could fit very easily on to any one of the Sebadoh albums to which Eric contributed. “Leave me Alone” has a great sitar on it; the song has the same feel of songs from the Brilliant Concert Numbers' disc. There is a bit of woe is me on “Gone Wrong.” Eric’s self-pitying, yet perfect lyrics are the highlight of the song, “When did I go wrong? When did all the fun Stop? How did I do you wrong?”

One of my favorite songs on the entire disc is “Shark Attack.” The first couple of lines capture the mood of winter in San Francisco, “Another dreary day in the bay. Raining in the wintertime, Letting go of relationships. Getting thinner all the time.” The next line is a left hook out of nowhere, “You hit me faster than a shark attack. Baby how you fooled me.” The funny imagery of the shark attack takes some of the sting out of the punch. What could be a thoroughly depressing song only seems sweetly sad. Eric is still in touch with his inner desperate, randy 15 year old self on “I Want a Woman.” Who wouldn’t want a woman who “takes baths” or “stays the night?”

If Eric ever gets tired of being an iconic Indy Rock Star, he might have a future writing children’s songs like, “Punk Rock Monkey” Maybe just leave out the violent imagery of “Kicking Bears in the Air for all to see.” (Just for the kids, I love the line in the song). “Puzzle Piece” is the second song about a monkey. Any songs about monkeys are terrific in my book.

Another gem on this disc is “Baker Street,” “Another Year & you will be happy. Just one more year and you will be happy, but you’re crying now.” The sadness of the lyrics is under cut by odd cartoon voices. The combination of humor and sorrow is one of Eric’s song writing trademarks. Humor is what is so sorely lacking in the current crop of Indy darlings who are now signed to major labels, I won’t name names. Don’t worry, not all the songs on this disc are down in the dumps. There are some rockers, like the blistering “Stampede Caribou Recipe” and the guitar wanktopia (in a totally good way) of “Flash Flood Advisory.”

The most inspired song on the disc is the last tune “Life isn’t fun anymore.” More powerful than Xanax or Prozac, this song will put a smile on your face. Eric's wife Janice sings in a vaguely European accent that “Life isn’t fun anymore.” The funniest line in the song and the entire album is when Janice demands, “Where is my pot of gold? Where is my winning lottery ticket? It smashed on the floor! Life isn’t fun anymore God damn it!” This is a great song to put on repeat to defeat any down in the dumps mood.

While the 27 track length might seem daunting, it is well worth the time to listen to it all. I am pleased to hear that the original line up of Sebadoh (Lou, Jason & Eric) is getting back together. Maybe now Gaffney will finally get the credit he deserves for the greatness of that band (hopefully he will get a little paper while he is at it). If this disc is an example of the songs that Eric still has in him, I can not wait to see what his future holds for him working as a single artist or as part of a group. (Handmade Records/ Old Gold) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Dead C

2007-01-07T07:55:00.000-08:00

Vain, Erudite & Stupid (selected works from 1987-2005)
On the morning of September 11, 2001 I listened to the Dead C’s EUSA Kills five times straight through. As I watched the endless loop of the planes flying into the buildings on TV one line from the song "Now I Fall" really stuck in my head. “Americans are everywhere,” Michael Morley spits out those words in a New Zealand south island drawl like the word “Americans” is the most foul obscenity that one could imagine. Shortly after that morning, George W. Bush would manage to make the word “Americans” even more obscene in the eyes of the rest of the world. No other band has so perfectly captured the horrors of American imperialism as well as the Dead C.

The Dead C started in a little town called Port Chalmers, New Zealand (a suburb of Dunedin, NZ) twenty years ago this year. This double disc covers nearly all of that time. While no dual disc can fully capture a band that has been around for two decades this disc do a pretty good job of it. While my friend complained that they chose to focus on the noisier out put of the band it is still a pretty stunning collection. They did miss some of the pop gems in the Dead C catalog (yes the Dead C could be poppy when they wanted to be) the breadth of these discs makes it valuable to a fan such as my self who already owns most of the original records.

The disc moves in mostly chronological order. It starts with “Max Harris” (recorded in 1988) with its trademark over modulated vocals of Michael Morley, the lo-fi guitar clang of Bruce Russell & Morley and the wreaked drum beats of Robbie Yeats. “Helen Said This” is a sprawling 10 plus minute epic that features Robbie Yeats’ amazing drumming. The Dead C is an excellent band to clean the house with. The roar of the vacuum cleaner melds perfectly with the band’s lo-fi rumblings.

The most powerful and direct song written by the band is “Power.” It was originally written in response to the invasion of Panama by W’s father. “Hell has come, My Baby was shot. My house was bombed. I’ve got no food. There is no water.” Sadly, eighteen years later these lyrics could be describing what the American military had done to the civilians of Iraq and Afghanistan [and what the state of Israel (with the support of America) did to the people of Beirut]. In fact, the Dead C issued a Fallujah edition (the 7” is entitled Relax Fallujah / Hell Has Come) of the song to commemorate the massacre of civilians at the hands of Americans in that town. It is a song from the view point of victims of American imperialism.

Neil Young claimed that there were no good protest songs being written today. “Power” matches the greatness and directness of anything Neil Young has written. “Mighty” is another one of the Dead C’s more direct tunes. The lyric “I think I prefer the grass to the fucking concrete,” is something that any developer should be forced to listen to before they build yet another ugly subdivision.

The first disc ends with the slow building “World.” It starts with a lone guitar and audience chatter before the rest of the band joins in. The Dead C walks the fine line between control and chaos. Their best work straddles that divide.

The second disc is much more abstract and open. This reflects a different direction they took in later years. I am very pleased that they included, “The Marriage of Reason and Squalor” from the “Operation of the Sonne” LP. My own LP might have been worth something if it were not totally worn out due to my constant playing of it. I bought it from Mr. Siltbreeze himself (I think) at some sort of all ages show/ swap meet upstairs at the Khyber in Philly when I was in high school.

“Bitcher” was the first song I played when I got a radio show in college. It is an all time classic up there with any of their other “hits” like “Power” or “Helen Said This.” “Tuba is Funny” does feature a tuba and is probably one of the most punishing tracks when listened to at the proper volume. The “Truth” proves that in their old age they have not forgotten the value of simply rocking out. The Dead C has made some of the most challenging and rewarding music over the last two decades. Here is hoping for two more. (Ba Da Bing Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Sun Rushing In

2006-11-06T08:12:00.000-08:00

Sound Collage for Live Performance
The rather utilitarian title of this disc hardly describes the beauty & enchantment it contains. Sun Rushing In is the collaborative effort of Lauri Des Marais & Susan Deleo. Des Marais handles the sound composition & synthesizers. Deleo contributes guitar & vocals. I believe that these tracks were originally designed to be used for performance pieces or installations. Divorced from their original context, they still manage to hold up on their own.

The first track “Meditation in four parts, Earth,” despite its new age-y like title is surprisingly organic. It opens with a low moan of keyboards and the sound of someone counting. There is a conversation buried in the mix. The vocals are barely audible beneath the tape head rumblings, tweeting birds, and street sounds. I love how they leave in the artifacts of the making of the sound piece. The tape hiss and audio pops keep the sound piece rooted in the real. Without these ties to reality, the piece could easily float away.

I think my favorite track off the album is “Mary.” It is an acoustic guitar and a sweet keyboard line. It reminds me of early more acoustic based Flying Saucer Attack or early home taping era Charalambides before they became so spare. That is not to say that Sun Rushing In is not spare, but it is in a different way.

The thuds & hiss of the recording device become part of the composition. The rumble of the tape heads are the main feature of track six. This track employs something called an Auquasonic. The disc shifts from guitar and singing with peripheral noise additions on earlier tracks to pure sound manipulations. Sun Rushing In employs field recordings of dolphins, wolves, & insects. That natural world is very important to the sound. They seem to have the same, almost mystical, connection to natural world as Alastair Galbraith does to the wilds of the south island of New Zealand.

Sun Rushing In’s music seems to hover between pure abstractions & more traditional modes of musical expression. Susan Deleo’s vocals seem to seep through gauze, as Lauri Des Marais’ electronics obscure and reveal her partner’s vocals. The music of Sun Rushing In is not tied to a time or place; it is both ancient and modern all at once.
(Post Dawn Music) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Heller Mason

2006-09-04T07:00:00.000-07:00

Minimalist & Anchored
In college, I was voted the most depressing DJ @ WMWM in Salem, Massachusetts. This début album by Heller Mason would have fit in well with my crying in the beer arsenal. During that time I played the heck out of a seven inch by Whiskeytown. The song “The Strip” really got to me. (This was before Ryan Adams became such a jerk. Wait, let me rephrase that, this was before I discovered that Ryan Adams was such a self absorbed asshole). These songs really remind me of that seven inch. They are country tinged, sad & sweet.

I nearly wrote this band off when I went to their Myspace page and saw the dreaded self- applied “Emo” tag. Originally, this term was used only as an insult, and in my opinion, this is the lone way it should be applied. Thankfully, I looked past the grievous error of using such an offensive word and found that I really did enjoy this disc.

Heller Mason is the name of the group and not a person as I first thought. Todd Vandenberg is the main songwriter and vocalist. His vocals have the same warm-hearted quality of Mark Kozelek’s from the Red House Painters. Like the Red House Painters, Vandenberg is clearly influenced by Neil Young’s more acoustic and country-inspired tunes.

Vandenberg has the nasty habit of making one feel old. I still remember listening to Karate sing about being nineteen and not yet being that age. When Vandenberg sings about the sadness and desperation of being in one’s mid-twenties, the problems now seem sweetly quaint.

Some of Vandenberg’s lyrics are cringe worthy, but endearingly so. On “Drown the Villages on the Maine Coast,” he sings, “I got mint tea, mint tea, with honey. But it did not do anything for my throat. All it did was burn my nose.” Fortunately, the slight lyrical missteps are brief. The music it self is fantastic, with sparkling acoustic guitars, swelling violins, wails of steel guitar, and crisp percussion.

Over all this is an excellent debut. The music of Heller Mason is both hopeful and poignant. With time, the band’s music will develop into something wonderful.
(Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Black Happy Day

2006-09-04T06:49:00.000-07:00

In the Garden of Ghostflowers
Black Happy Day is the collaboration between Tara Vanflower (Lycia) & Timothy Renner (Stone Breath). This project inhabits the same creaky attics and bleak basements as Moodring (the Rollerball side project of Mini Wagonwheel & Mae Starr). The combination of traditional songs and modern technology make an interesting amalgamation.

I will be honest. On first listen, the music of Black Happy Day can be quite off putting, especially the first track. It is a reworking of the traditional song “The Leaves of Life.” It is mostly an a cappella duet between Tara’s unaltered vocals and Timothy’s heavily delayed and manipulated ones. At first, I found the mixture of delay and reverb of Timothy vocals distracting and unnecessary. After many listens, I have found that this odd combination provides necessary preparation for all the strangeness that follows on the rest of the record.

The more traditional folk title track “In the Garden of the Ghostflower” is pleasant after the disturbing opening track. “Whore” uses whistling feedback and odd electronic gurgles. Tara’s heavily delayed vocals sound like they are encased in amber. The vocals seem to be played backwards despite moving in a forward direction. I found the use of just feedback as the main instrument on this track very interesting. “Edward,” another traditional tune, is reworked so it sounds practically medieval with a Middle Eastern tinge.

The hilarious “How they Weep and Moan” seems to poke fun at all the dourness on the rest of the record. Tara does an impression of a possessed evil chipmunk that is overdubbed over her own sobbing and moaning. The press sheet describes the traditional songs such as “A Lyke Wake Dirge” as Americana, but it seems to me that such songs are far more ancient.

My favorite track of the disc is the minimalist “How many hours ‘til the spider’s work is done?” It opens with what sounds like a backwards playing sitar before being joined by Tara’s ghostly moans. Then Timothy’s deep baritone joins the mix along with Tara’s slightly delayed vocals. The song builds in complexity, becoming denser towards the conclusion. “Neither can I sleep or wake. But still I lie and still I wait. And how many hours ‘til the spider’s work is done?”

“Hand in Hand” is the most traditionally rendered of the traditional songs on the album. It is stunning in its simplicity and beauty. The album ends with another traditional hymn “Be Thou My Vision.” The juxtaposition of old traditional songs and modern musical technology makes for a fascinating arrangement. While this record is challenging, patience is rewarded with each repeated listen as more of the audio artistry is revealed. (Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Bardo Pond

2006-08-05T19:10:00.000-07:00

Ticket Crystals
The band has stated that this record Ticket Crystals completes the trilogy that started with Dilate and continued with On the Ellipse. I felt that On the Ellipse was really a song cycle with all the songs leading up to the climax, the stunning “Night of Frogs.” This album harkens back to earlier sprawling records with glorious gobs of gunk oozing off the edges like Bufo Alvarius or Amanita.

The opening track “Destroyer Angel” is up there with any of the tracks that have flattened us completely in the past like “Walking Stick Man” or “Tommy Gun Angel.” The dual banshee wails of Isobel Sollenberger and special guest vocalist Christina Madonia is a real treat. Isobel’s volatile flute lines hold up well against the Gibbons brothers’ guitar squalor. Clint’s Bass and Ed’s drumming pummel you into submission.

“Isle” could have been off On The Ellipse. It starts off with John Gibbons (I think) on acoustic guitar and Isobel’s angelic vocals before the whole band joins in. Isobel seems to be exercising more control over the effects on her vocals instead of using the effects and delays as a wall to hide behind. She now uses them for a very precise purpose. She controls when she wants the listener to comprehend what she is saying and when she wants to obscure the meaning. Her self-assurance is a marked change from when I first saw the band play ten years ago this year at T.T. the Bears (has it been that long?). Then she could barely ask the sound guy to change her flute in the mix.

Her lyrics remain as mysterious as ever, even though now you can hear clearly most of the lyrics (when she wants you to). I still have no idea what the door she found “At the end of the day” on the song “Isle” is, or where it leads. All I know is that it takes you somewhere very nice.

Michael Gibbons, with the studio at the Lemur House where 3/5 of the band lives, is free to endlessly tweak the mixes (the studio is directly next to his living space on his floor of the Bardo compound). On “Lost Words” Tom Greenwood from Jackie-O Motherfucker lends his guitar playing to the track. Michael used backward drum tracks and multiple layers of Isobel’s vocals to build up dense layers of sound, but not so impenetrable that those small sounds like bells and flute can’t peek through the haze.

I disagree with most reviewers of this disc who say the highlight of the disc is the cover, “Cry Baby Cry” by John Lennon. To be honest my tolerance for the Beatles is fairly low, even with Bardo covering them. This is due to the fact that my older siblings subjected me to one too many Beatles A-Z weekends on ‘MMR or ‘YSP. I don’t think the cover is bad in any way. It is the placement I question. It takes the listener out of the crystalline dream the band is creating. Maybe that was the band’s intent. I think the song would be better served placed at the end of the record as a coda. If people still made seven inches it would be a great b-side.

The eighteen minute “FCII” might seem daunting to some. I am sure with the proper set and setting, the journey could be most enjoyable (if you know what I mean). This song reminds me of the more sprawling works found on the CD-R Vol. series. Clint’s bass rumbles and thuds along as Isobel’s serrated violin scrapes along the surface. It is joined by squalls of feedback courtesy of the Gibbons boys. To fully enjoy, this track must be played at the proper volume i.e. very, very loud.

I think “Moonshine” could become a fan favorite much like the life affirming “Be a Fish.” Isobel harmonizes with herself with just acoustic guitar and bells before the rest of the band joins in on Ed’s bouncy beats. In contrast, the last couple of records seemed darker and sometimes almost prophetic. The song “Two Planes” was released shortly before the 9/11 attacks. The song is such a sad lament that one would think it was written to memorialize the attacks despite it being released just before them. They also released a song called “Torture, Torture,” just prior to when the prisoner abuse scandal came to light in the imperialist misadventure in Iraq. It seems that with “Moonshine” that hopefulness and joy has returned to the Lemur abode.

“Endurance” opens up with a huge guitar sound before going into a murky, muddy and dirty style of the blues that Bardo were fond of doing early in their career, like “Blues Tune,” the b-side to the “Dragon Fly” seven-inch. The lyrics written by Gary Snyder are as enigmatic as anything Isobel has written -- “We belong to the mountain,” and “We are already spoken for” -- but are fun to mumble to yourself while driving down the road.

“Montana Sacra II” finds Michael Gibbons playing around with audio for an old science fiction or horror movie. The voice says in a garbled way, “I am not afraid to bleed, because there is no death.” It reminds me of the creeping David Letterman sample he used on “Sit, Sleep.” The guitar lines of John and Mike drip down the walls like molasses. Ed’s drumming moves at a snail’s pace. This type of muddy gelatinous sound is why I fell in love with this band in the first place over a decade ago.

This record was well worth the wait. Believe me there was a wait, thanks to the general incompetence of All Tomorrow’s Parties record label. Like the frustrated record clerk told me about ATP, “They may put on nice festivals but they can’t get a record out on time to save their life. Bardo needs to get on a real record label.” It seems grossly unfair to a band of Bardo Pond’s stature to miss not one but three release dates. Because ATP had missed so many release dates, when it did come out many stores did not bother to order it because they were unsure if it was really out.

Now I would not mention this if this was an isolated incident, but this has happened numerous times to various artists on the label. I had to special order the Selections Vol. I-IV compilation CD from a well respected independent record store in the Philadelphia area because ATP never bothered to get into even local stores in Philly. It is such a shame to include such negativity in a review of such a great album. Bardo Pond really needs to get on a record label that gives them the respect they deserve.

It is amazing that Bardo Pond has been around for over 15 years. I first heard them on a college radio station from University of Delaware. The first time I heard the “Dragonfly” 7” (circa 1992) I knew that I loved this band. For weeks after hearing that seven-inch on the radio I would walk around my house muttering to my self, “Bardo Fucking Pond;” I still do sometimes. It is so great that they continue to make great music after all these years. (ATP) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Sonic Youth

2006-08-05T18:56:00.000-07:00

Rather Ripped
After nearly a quarter century Sonic Youth is still making outstanding music. Rather Ripped is named after a now defunct 1970’s record store in Berkeley, California. These songs, the first since the departure of Jim O’Rourke, are rather ripped themselves. Returning to a four piece has forced the band to strengthen their structure and form. I have grown attached to Kim Gordon’s guitar playing. I was quite pleased that they are using Mark Ibold to play bass when they play live.

The album opens with the driving “Reena.” Kim, who while recording this album returned to bass when Jim left, has let Thurston have the songwriting duties on most of the songs on this album. The song builds to a peak after Kim sings about a friend “who cries all the time.”

“Incinerate” is the song they are playing on all the late-night talk shows. It must be the song that DGC hopes is their “hit.” With Clear Channel and its imitators complete takeover of commercial radio there is not a chance in hell that it will ever be played north of the 91.9 radio frequency. That is a shame because it is a great song.

The strongest song on the album for once is not penned by Lee Ranaldo. “Rapture” is a somewhat sweet song about questioning faith, maybe wishing to be naïve enough to believe. It is not as mean-spirited as some would have you believe. Thurston asks again and again, “Do you believe in Rapture, Babe?”

There is an odd current of infidelity on this record. “Sleeping Around” has Thurston asking, “What would the Neighbors think?” I don’t know how autobiographical any of Sonic Youth’s songs are. Even though Kim on “Shoot” from the album Dirty sings from the point of view of a junkie, I am pretty sure she has never really ridden the white horse. I think we can rest assured that the union of Mirror & Dash is on solid footing.

The second strongest song on the album is “Jams Run Free.” It opens up with very pretty guitars and Steve’s solid drumming. Kim informs us that “The Blondes come first.” Kim sings in slightly breathy tone, “We love the jams, and the jams run free.” I do love the jams, especially on this track. My one minor complaint about this disc is I wish they let the Jams run a little freer on the rest of the album, like they did in the O’Rourke years.

Lee’s sole penned song is “Rats.” It is much more angular and rhythmically based than his normal sonic freak-outs. The lyrics are great as usual:

“When the rats run riot and the screen door slams
When the trees grow quiet, nothing but cats and cans
When the breeze says try it, but you can hardly see
When your love has died and you rat on me.”

“Turquoise Boy” has the slow building serene vibe that Sonic Youth started exploring with 1000 Leaves. Kim coos about a Turquoise Boy before building to a guitar catharsis with Sonic Youth’s trademark walls of pleasant feedback with Steve’s drumming holding up the base of the wall, before the wall of feedback crumbles back into pleasant pools of Kim’s vocals and gentle waves of guitar harmonics.

The theme of infidelity reappears with a girl looking for “A star to consume,” on “Lights Out.” Kim and Thurston sing in unison, “Lights out for you,” while Lee’s languorous guitar lines float across the churning sonic surf. “The Neutral” has one of the prettiest openings to any songs on the disc. The song is split between Kim whispering sweetly and a more forceful chorus. “Pink Steam” also has a very mellow opening of just a harp-like sounding guitar before being joined in by the rest of the band. This song has the funniest line of the album, “I am the man who loves your Mother.”

The last song opens up with some sort of surrealist transaction involving, “moist rolled hundreds” and “canisters of whipped cream” that are kept in “sweater pockets.” The second part of the song deals with the mundane, repeated questions the band is asked by both fans and hapless journalists. I will never again ask a songwriter, “Which comes first, the music or the words.”

Sonic Youth over the last decade have been a band with a dual personality. They have spilt their time between more song-orientated albums for the major label DGC and explored the outer reaches of the sonic galaxy with their SYR series. I think it is a good thing. This collection of songs proves that all the people who said Sonic Youth were a bunch of no good noise nooks, were dead wrong. The two previous releases, Hidros 3 with Mats Gustafsson and Koncertas Stan Brakhage Prisiminimui (SYR 6), have proved to the hard core noisester that Sonic Youth has not yet forgotten their experimental noise roots. I think the years with Jim O’Rourke have served them well. His methodology has allowed Sonic Youth to explore new sonic frontiers. They have returned to a four piece stronger and more focused. They have pushed the boundaries in both directions from full-on improv to full-on pop. They have found that they can exist happily in both extremes. (DGC / Goofin' Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Alan Sparhawk

2006-07-11T10:23:00.000-07:00

Solo Guitar
The basic name of this disc is deceiving. While it does accurately describe the activity on the disc, it fails to capture the complex and spacious sounds produced by the solo guitar of Alan Sparhawk.

For those not in the know Sparhawk is also a member of the aptly named band Low. While some of these tracks are minimal, many have a harsher edge to them. The guitar work inhabits the middle ground between Loren MazzaCane Connors’ harshest work and Kieji Hanio’s most plaintive.

The music is made with a solo guitar with the aid of looping pedals and delays that build up to complex and dense sounds. On “Sargrado Corazón de Jesú,” the guitar is at first plucked. Then, the strings or body of the guitar is rubbed to make a barely audible hum. Over that more aggressive and distorted guitar lines are added. Following that, there is a loop of the guitar slowly being strummed, while more dissonant and desperate guitar lines explode out of the amplifier into what sounds like a cavernous hall. The track ends with gentle waves of feedback rippling across the surface before it ends abruptly at the 13 and a half minute mark with a hum that slowly fades out.

Alan proves, despite the dour sound of most of the record, that he does not totally lack a sense of humor. One example can be found in the title of the short piece “Eruption by Eddie Van Halen.” It starts out with some morosely bent notes before the aforementioned Eddie Van Halen eruption. If the song was not called, “Eruption by Eddie Van Halen” the explosion of quick guitar licks might come as a surprise.

“How it ends” closes the album. It is short--just a couple of repeated guitar lines. The song concludes before it can be resolved into anything. The abruptness of the ending leaves the listener wanting more.
(Silber Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Vlor

2006-07-11T10:19:00.000-07:00

A Fire is Meant for Burning
Brian John Mitchell (the friendly chap who is behind the excellent Silber record label) decided to resurrect his old project Vlor which he started in 1992. Vlor had released a few EPs in the late 1990s, but has been dormant for a few years.

Instead of working as a duo as Brian previously had with Russell Halasz, he decided to record about ninety minutes of random riffs and arpeggios and send them off to his friends. The friends just happen to be a who’s who of the droney end of the underground. The folks he collaborated with are Jon Derosa (Aarktica), Mike Van PortFleet (Lycia), Nathan Amudson (Riverlets), Jessica Baliff, Jesse Edwards (Red Morning Chorus) & Paulo Messere (6 PM). With so many cooks in the kitchen, this might have turned into a sonic mess. Surprisingly, it sounds wonderfully organic. The collaborators really don’t draw attention to themselves. They only add to the expansive whole.

The first track “Trust in Weapons” really reminds me of Mick Turner’s (of the Dirty 3) solo album Moth. Like Mick, Brian uses simple, at times endearingly fumbling guitar line loops that he plays off of to build more complex sounds. “Wire” has a claustrophobic rockist sound. “Weakening” feels wistful with weeping guitar lines cascading over one another.

Out of all the collaborators, the star that shines the brightest is Jessica Bailiff. Her gorgeous vocals are stunning on the too short “Suncatcher.” Over the entirety of this mostly melancholy disc there are shifts and surprises that make repeated listening most enjoyable. (Silber Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Quiet Countries

2006-06-05T08:02:00.000-07:00

No One Makes A Sound
I was only familiar with Leb Borgerson from the short lived band Laserhawk. I think they broke up shortly before or after I split Stumptown. Quiet Countries is a quantum leap in a separate direction from his previous band. The band is essentially a one-man band with Leb at the helm. Quiet Countries’ music reminds me of a late era beat-centric version of the British band Hood. The sound is a mix of glitchy electronics, wrecked beats, looped guitars and acoustic instrumentation.

The artwork on the CD features the great photos by Jason Quigley of a run down mausoleum. The photos have an odd combination of solemnity and worn out tackiness. The photographs are a perfect match to the music. The music is a perfect mismatch of ruined beats, gorgeous instrumentation, and voice along with sorrow and humor.

The funniest moment on the disc is the second track “The Message.” It is not a cover of the ground breaking rap song. It is simply a phone message that somehow found its way on to Leb’s answering machine. The track features a strungout-sounding elderly woman talking about her daughter or granddaughter. She says in a slurred drawl, “She’s young though….She’s 18…. She ain’t going nowhere to party, she ain’t going nowhere in the clubs. She sure ain’t going nowhere.” The message ends with the old lady stating that she is “Burned out.” What starts out as just a funny message left by mistake by a woman with clearly her own substance abuse problems, becomes more profound and sad with each listen.

“A Wicked World” starts off with a simple beat, then a gentle acoustic guitar, and then it morphs into an electric guitar. The song is then joined by Leb’s great voice. As the song builds, a drum kit and xylophone joins the mix. The song has a great chorus, “Throw yourself to me, Know you can, Know You can, Untie my tongue to speak, a wicked world, a wicked world.” The lush instrumentation builds and swells like an ocean swallowing a drowning person. The song ends with the strains of gorgeous strings.

The best track off the album is the song “Variation on a Letter.” It starts with Leb singing against a looped guitar and the thud of a drum machine. The chorus of the song is what kills me. “We won’t escape life alive,” a fairly obvious observation, is altered by the threatening next line, “Don’t try, don’t you dare try.” The song at this point slows down as he wails over heavily delayed guitar lines, before brittle beats join the mix. The song ends in a sonic cyclone.

The quality overall is great over much of this expansive disc. After many repeated listens I am still discovering gems hidden in deep dark crevices of this album. There is a lot of music to absorb in one sitting. The album benefits greatly from many repeated listens. (Lucky Madison) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Murder Mystery

2006-06-05T07:21:00.000-07:00

S/T (E.P.)
It was bound to happen. After five or six years of 50 million bands raping the dead and bloated corpses of Joy Division and Gang of Four, it was time for the vultures to move on. It became even clearer once Gang of Four started cannibalizing its own corpse that it was time to find some fresher meat. The fresher meat I speak of is the work of the early 1990’s holy trinity of Sebadoh, Pavement and Polvo.

The Detroit band Murder Mystery (they take their rather clunky name from a Velvet Underground song), have been gladly engorging themselves on the sounds of the halcyon days of the early 1990’s. They have taken those influences to produce a quite pleasing mix. Their music is pretty simple and direct, much like the music of that earlier era. There is no 21st century digital fuckery to be found on this disc, which is quite refreshing. It was recorded by Robert Blum Detroit Sounds Studios.

The one thing that is missing from this homage is the genuine angst of the original artists. The biggest crisis of the disc is that the singer, Adam Leroy, hopes to catch a ride in the song “Going to the Store.” The music itself is great (except maybe for the silly break down in the song). The only other complaint on an otherwise enjoyable disc is that the drummer, Jean-Phillipe Saulneir, hits his cymbals way too much. It might just be a matter of it being too high in the mix or my own fucked up personal taste.

I am sure that Murder Mystery would be a blast to see live. Their motto is “Jamming Indy Rock,” which is quite charming. This band shows a ton of promise. Their early 1990’s revivalism is pretty much fucking spot on. With a little work on more personal songwriting and attempt to find their own individual sound (not that they can’t borrow/ steal from others), I see a possibility that in the future Murder Mystery can make truly great music. This disc is not a bad start.
(Detroit Sounds Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Cat Power

2006-05-28T08:13:00.000-07:00

The Greatest
This is a record that was logical for Chan Marshall to make, given where she came from and where she’s been since she left. An all-star Memphis backing band provides an opportunity for Chan to draw on the influences of her southern upbringing and complement her breathy twang with something other than the claustrophobic two-pieces of her earlier work, or the full but rock-oriented sound of her most recent albums. The Greatest gives us a new twist on the Cat Power experience, unearthing a pregnant possibility and preventing a lifetime of “what if”s.

The outcome is pretty positive. Hearing Chan’s vocals bounce along a shuffle-beat of brushed drums, noodly keyboards, and emphatic saxophonics is a surprising diversion from the HEAVY sounds of much of her previous work. “Living Proof”, “Could We”, “Empty Shell,” and the second half of “Lived in Bars” are good examples, making much of the first half of the album a veritable romp in the hay.

But the power and raw emotion that makes Cat Power so unforgettable is missing in those really Memphis-y tracks; Chan sounds like she’s along for the ride, letting her hair blow in the wind and enjoying the scenery for a change. The effect, though not unpleasant, is a bit gauzy and soft-focus compared to the dagger-like impact of “Maybe Not” from You Are Free or “Great Expectations” from Myra Lee. Vague or vapid lyrics are not to blame; nearly every track delivers a poignant message of heartache, pain, suffering, unrequited love, or all of the above, when the lyrics are taken separately from the music.

Ultimately, though, it’s the title track, which opens the album, that resonates the most with me--because the music delivers the message. A borderline maudlin string section underscores Chan’s lamenting vocals: “Once I wanted to be the greatest; no wind or waterfall could stall me. And then came the rush of the flood; stars of night turned deep to dust.” In this track, and others like “The Moon,” where the backing band steps back a bit, Chan steps up and emotes like no other. There are moments in those tracks and a few others where her hoarse but delicate warble evokes the shudder of the summer’s final cicada, or the worried flicker of a forlorn firefly.

News of Chan’s tour cancellation struck me (and probably a lot of people) quite hard. With the mysterious “health reasons” as the only official explanation, coupled with the lyrical messages of several albums and memories of her fragile live persona, I feared that The Greatest would also be The Last, especially as I struggled with the tension between the more somber tracks like the title track or “Hate” and the more rollicking numbers in which Chan seemed to have joined the party that everyone was throwing for her. I’m relieved to hear that her tour is back on, not because I’ll be seeing her in concert from my distant locale, but because I hear that she appears to be having fun. Here’s hoping that Chan can continue to spend only as much time as she needs to in the darker spaces where some of her best music comes from, always eventually emerging with a post-cathartic glow and an ability to get back as much as she gives.

(Matador) (Jim Ebenhoh)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Robert Pollard

2006-05-28T08:10:00.000-07:00

From a Compound Eye
When last I wrote about Robert Pollard for the print version of this fine periodical, I was reviewing Guided by Voices’ 1999 major-label debut Do the Collapse. Essentially, I said that GbV had kind of lost the plot, or at least had followed it through to its unelectrifying conclusion (bloated major-label arena rock band with mildly catching pop songs). In the final 5 years of its existence, GbV tried to alter that narrative somewhat by “going back to their roots”, but this appeared to translate mostly into doing lots of shitty 45-second tracks hearkening back to the brilliant 45-second tracks of their earlier career, or recording boring songs in a relatively lo-fi manner. The songs they actually put effort into were sometimes catchy enough (“Best of Jill Hives”), and Doug Gillard was an incredibly proficient guitarist (“I Am a Tree”), but the good songs on albums like Earthquake Glue and Universal Truths & Cycles were definitely fewer and farther between than the early 90s heyday of Propeller, Bee Thousand, and Alien Lanes. The final album, Half-Smiles of the Decomposed, only half-returned to the glory days.

The decline in Robert Pollard’s songwriting ability could have been attributed to many things, not the least of which would be the frightening rate at which an army of Bud Lights were repeatedly thrown against the reticent brain cells that hadn’t yet succumbed to natural attrition. The video of GbV’s last-ever performance (“The Electrifying Conclusion”) requires a separate review, but suffice it to say that watching a good band with great songs reduced by a 4-hour alcoholic onslaught to a shambling, stumbling, bumbling, mumbling, piss-yer-pants stupor was a clue that Mr. Pollard was killing the goose that laid the golden egg.

In approaching From a Compound Eye, therefore, I wasn’t expecting much. I hadn’t really listened to his previous solo output (“Waved Out,” “Kid Marine,” etc.), but I assumed that without his bandmates he would be slightly less inspired and definitely less capable of translating any fleeting inspiration into an aural record.

I wasn’t quite right. Yes, the Fading Captain is no longer in his songwriting prime, and the stream-of-consciousness lyrics often seem to be drawing from a cracked streambed of borderline unconsciousness (“heavenly hash, babies in a basket, and hang on to our list, and I never ever met a day I didn’t like, but there I get squat, try to take that wagon train around it, found it,” etc.). But in this 70-minute disc, having put GbV out to pasture, Pollard seems free to try his hand at a range of sounds and styles that didn’t fit even within GbV’s sprawling repertoire. And some of them even work!

At least 8 of the 26 songs on the four “sides” of this one-sided CD are really good. “Dancing Girls and Dancing Men” and “U.S. Mustard Company” on Side 1 are pop pleasantries. “I’m a Widow” and “Love is Stronger than Witchcraft” on Side 2 are grunty rockers, sometimes reminiscent of Cheap Trick or T Rex. Side 3’s “50-Year-Old Baby” is a fuzzed-out spazz-out like Bee Thousand’s “Hot Freaks,” and the same side’s closing “Blessed in an Open Head” offers a glimpse into the epic soaring beauty that characterized GbV tunes like “Huffman Prairie Flying Field” (the final song from their final album). Side 4’s “Strong Lion” is another catchy sing-along pop tune that revisits the same territory of Do the Collapse’s “Teenage FBI,” and “Kingdom Without” on the same side ends up in a very fine place indeed.

Unfortunately (but not wholly unpredictably), duds-aplenty abound, including the unstrategically-placed first two songs on the album. Involuntary visualization of Side 3’s “I Surround You Naked” and “Cock of the Rainbow” implodes the implied romantic imagery and ruins these otherwise decent tunes. “Kensington Cradle” sounds like a slow-motion 30-car pileup in grandma’s small intestine. And there are far too many limp ballads like Side 4’s “Lightshow,” which sound like late 70s Yes outtakes. Maybe, though, it’s these clunkers that make the decent songs sound so good in comparison.

From a Compound Eye isn’t the first fly reference in Pollard’s album titles; the excellent 1990 GbV album bore the title Same Place the Fly Got Smashed. In this album’s “The Right Thing,” he even sings like a fly (listen to it; you’ll see).

The album’s title might refer to the extent to which Pollard’s vision is blurred exponentially beyond a lesser drunk’s mere double-vision, but I think it also refers to his multi-faceted influences, interests, and abilities. Watching Pollard on the 1998 documentary “Watch Me Jumpstart,” I got the sense that he had attention-deficit-disorder, and maybe that beer was the tonic that killed the action enough to bring things into focus. This album is like a glimpse out of 26 small window panes at views that Pollard has taken the time to paint for us. Some views are bleak, some are pretty; some are frightening, some are calming; some are boring, some are inspiring. It’s a mixed-up, crazy world within the House of the Fading Captain, but I’m happy that he’s still inviting us in. (Merge) (Jim Ebenhoh)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Goddakk

2006-05-12T16:00:00.000-07:00

Monument to a Ruined Age
Don’t be scared off by Goddakk’s gothy sounding name or the dark embryonic-like imagery of the packaging. You have nothing to fear. The music of Goddakk is entrancing and mesmerizing. All the sounds on the disc are created by Martin Newman mainly using looped sounds produced on a bass, along with some guitar, keys and vocals.

The music on the disc is eerily familiar. It took me a long time to place where I had heard music like this before. Newman’s self proclaimed love of the Cure threw me off the right track. His true allegiance is not with the Cure but with someone from much further south, New Zealand to be exact.

His true fellow sonic explorer would be Roy Montgomery. Both artists share a penchant for slowly building droney soundscapes. Newman & Montgomery use mostly a single instrument (Martin uses a bass) to build up dense subtly changing sound environments. On some tracks, like “Unfortunates,” Newman uses a keyboard that would not sound out of place on a Dadahmah or Dissolve record. On other tracks like “Human Beings” it feels like atmospherics of early Flying Saucer Attack.

Martin employs dense heavily altered vocals on some tracks, like the first track “Opened.” It is impossible to hear what is being said, but I don’t think that is really the point. The altered vocals give the song a claustrophobic, uneasy feel. At first the vocals bothered me, but after repeated listens they grew on me.

“Crucify You” is slightly different then the rest of the tracks. It is less dependent on bass loops to build up dense sonic soups. It is much more song orientated with what sounds like a simple bass & string like sounding arrangement. This track shows the broadness of Newman’s sonic pallette. “Yto Nobogo,” the final track, builds up from simple loops to become denser and denser, before it reaches its ultimate climax.

Overall I am quite impressed with Goddakk. Theses soundscapes are deceptively simple. Martin Newman achieves with this project a great deal of variety using simple means. (Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Lycia

2006-05-12T15:59:00.000-07:00

The Burning Circle and Dust
I never went for the gothy shit…. Well except maybe that two week period in middle school that I don’t like to talk about. Lycia gets past my prejudice against all things Goth or dark. While they do share the dark packaging and creepy vocals, Lycia is doing a lot more interesting things than the rest of their dark brethren & sisters. VanPortfleet, Galas & Vanflower build up dense atmospherics that hang in the air like fog on some forsaken moor.

The Burning Circle and the Dust was originally released in 1995 as a double disc on Projeckt Records. At that time, they added songs that were supposed to be a separate EP as the second disc. Now it has been remastered and edited back to its original length, as VanPortfleet wisely went with his original idea of the single disc.

Some of the vocals & drums sound a bit dated, not from the mid 90’s but from the late 80’s. The quality of the remastered record sounds great. I am probably not the best person to comment on this disc, I am not at all familiar with the artist or genre. I do find that this disc makes for some great late night listening. (Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Tortoise & Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy

2006-04-19T18:03:00.000-07:00

The Brave & The Bold
If like me, you were hoping that this collaboration between the Bonnie One & Tortoise be along the lines of Arise Therefore (Billy’s last record to drop some beats) you will be sorely disappointed. If on the other hand, you look at this collaboration as two divergent groups of artists getting together and having some fun covering some unexpected song selections, you will find this disc enjoyable.

I don’t buy for one second that the song selections are un-ironic as the press sheet claims. Just like there is no such thing as an ironic mullet (face it dude you are white trash), there is nothing more ironic than a bunch of Indy-rock hipsters covering Elton John. Will Oldham’s whole career is based on irony. After all he is from an over-privileged background, and he pretends to be a hillbilly on his records. Like Bob Dylan, it is a façade that takes nothing away from his mostly brilliant out put. I actually don’t hate this record. I just think the un-ironic claim is a shot in the foot.

Some of the song selections provided new insights into old familiar songs. Other songs, like “Thunder Road” written by the Boss, prove that good songs are pretty hard to fuck up. Some songs which I despise when done by their original artist, “Daniel” by Elton John for example, I find enjoyable when covered by this collaboration…even humorous. I question the necessity of fucking up Will’s great voice with over distorted effects. The opening track “Cravo E Canela” has a great upbeat feel. I am not familiar with the original so I don’t know how altered this version is from the original.

Tortoise is always at its worst when it is at its wankiest like on the song “That’s Pep.” I hate Devo so I can’t really fault them because they don’t have much to work with. The song, “Some Say I Got Devil” could very easily be a long lost Palace track. “Pancho” is probably the most straight forward cover of the record.

Over all, this record is an interesting exercise. It caused me to reconsider some songs that I had previously dismissed, while other song selections I still don’t care for. I hope in the future that Tortoise & Bonny ‘Prince’ Billy will get together and work on some original material. It seems a shame to waste their talents covering other people’s songs. (Overcoat Recordings) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Point Juncture WA

2006-04-19T17:51:00.000-07:00

Mama Auto Boss
Any band that gives a plug to the Independent Publishing Resource Center can not be all that bad in my book. The packaging itself is elegantly beautiful, done by the fine print shop Stumptown Printers. It features muted tones and complex folds.

I think I may have judged this band unfairly because of their name alone Point Juncture, WA. In my dyslexic mind I confused Point Juncture, WA (a fictional town?) with all the horrid hard core bands that hail from Vancouver, WA the town across the Columbia River. Not to worry they are nothing like their northern neighbors.

If they are like any band they are like the Hoboken, New Jersey homeboys and gal Yo La Tengo. The female lead singer at times sounds eerily like Georgia Hubley. Both bands share a penchant for long droning songs with organs. At other times she has the same scratchy vocals as the drummer from one of my guilty pleasures, Sleepyhead; particularly on the third song “Cardboard Box,” the strongest song on the disc.

The record starts to move at a glacially slow rate on “Auto Pilot”. The next couple of songs share the same pace. The record is saved by the song “Chlorine,” a song with building rhythms and a pulsing guitar line.

Over all, I think this record is a great first effort. My only complaint is one of pacing, not quality of material. I look forward to future releases. (Lucky Madison) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Moodring

2005-12-18T17:23:00.000-08:00

(s/t)
This hand painted black CD-R comes in a hand painted blue box lying in a bed of black feathers. The combination of creepiness and hand crafted preciousness of the package perfectly match the music on the disc. Moodring features Mae Starr & Mini-Wagonwheel (of Rollerball fame). On this disc Mini & Mae explore the deepest darkest basements and the creakiest attics of their sonic palette. The sound is more stripped down and mournful than a normal Rollerball outing.

All the song titles are dates. Since the dates were not included in the packaging, I will refer to the track number to avoid confusion. The disc opens with a piece featuring Mae’s altered vocals; these alterations make her normally beautiful voice sound like a sick chipmunk (in a totally good way). She seems to be channeling her inner Kim Gordon (in her scat singing mode). The second track features Mae’s unadulterated vocal with a thudding percussion and a keyboard squealing and growling.

The fifth track is features Mae’s great vocals and piano along with Mini’s sputtering drumming and percussion. It reminds me of the really claustrophobic songs of Peter Jefferies. I think my favorite track off the album is track six. It features a great chirping/ burping sample, a nice trashy lo-fi drum machine combined with real drumming.

Overall, this disc is not easy listening music. It challenges one’s expectations. This dense, home made, hand crafted music is like finding a dead bird on the sidewalk. It is disturbing and beautiful at the same time. (Nilla Cat) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Wormfinger

2005-12-18T17:00:00.000-08:00

Hot Dog/ And a Coke (EP)
The mini CD-R I feel is the seven inch of the 21st century. It is slightly longer than a seven inch so musicians can really stretch their legs, but compact enough so the artist can’t be overly indulgent. I don’t think that this would be a problem with Wormfinger.

Wormfinger features Steve Gillian on drums, Monte Allen on bass and Mae Starr on vocals and guitar. The music of Wormfinger would be very comfortable toking up on the same couch next to Bardo Pond or any of their Deep Heaven/ Terrastock brethren. Mae Starr’s vocals are the real star of this EP. Her other worldly banshee wails seem to reach out into the furthest reaches of the galaxy. Gilliani and Allen’s percussion and bass provides the solid foundation for Mae’s guitar and vocal workouts. If stony/ droney is your bag you will definitely dig this shit.
(Nilla Cat) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Kobi

2005-11-01T16:51:00.000-08:00

Dronesyndrome

Like Lou Reed's Metal Machine Music or Richard Young's Advent, this album must be listened in total to get the full effect. As when listening to the other records, patience is rewarded; one can achieve an altered state through the music alone. Kobi is a Norwegian collective run by Kai Mikalsen. The music is a combination of electronically processed sounds of common objects and acoustic based instruments such as cello, double bass, accordion & guitar.

The music itself is extremely subtle. It compares to listening to ocean waves or the rumbling of an air conditioning unit. The sound seems repetitive at first, but slowly becomes more and more transfixing. The record itself was mastered at a low volume. I think this record would greatly benefit from play on large speakers. I am sure on a large sound system this disc could be utterly transportive.

The song titles read like they went through the translation tool on AltaVista one too many times. The result is intentionally or unintentionally funny song titles such as "Yellow Scales Slid Across Oily Rolls of Flushed Skin" and "Faint Echoes Ran Round the Unseen Hall (Part 1)". The song titles themselves are unimportant because the whole disc acts as one sound piece. There is a constant subtle, subterranean percussion that runs through all the songs. Sometimes, a guitar feedback growls and bowed strings moan as electronics gurgle and whir in the background. Sometimes the sounds build up to a would be climax, but the music never quite reaches it.

The song "Anchored to a Central Core of Saturated Intensity" begins a journey which employs disembodied voices that call out from the muddy sonic soup. Fractured guitar notes repeat as a feedback-whirlwind rushes over high-pitched squeals. A low rumble joins the mix. The sound becomes more and more dense. It enters an almost Dadahmah like territory before slowly fading out to a person reading a children's story on the song "This Inclusion is not a simple Operation." If one is not looking directly at the CD display it is hard to tell where one song starts and another ends. As one listens, the divisions between songs become less and less important. Kobi's music to be fully satisfying requires ones full attention. Close, committed listening is rewarded with quite a fascinating voyage.

(Silber)(Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

The Cakekitchen

2005-10-21T07:32:00.000-07:00

Put Your Foot Inside the Door
I had no idea that the Cakekitchen (aka Kiwi Graeme Jefferies and his European comrades) had put out anything since 1996’s Everything’s Going to Work Out Just Fine, which was released on London’s Freek Records after a few releases on U.S.-based Merge Records. But then, while unexpectantly perusing the New Zealand CD selection at Wellington’s finest, Slow Boat Records, I came across not one but two new (to me) Cakekitchen releases. One is 2003’s “How Can You Be So Blind,” and the other is the brand-new “Put Your Foot Inside the Door.” Apparently Mr Cake has been producing music and distributing it throughout Germany and perhaps elsewhere in the mainland through the Hausmusik label, unbeknownst to Yanks and Kiwis alike. Well, thanks to Graeme’s current one-month sojourn in his home country, at least New Zealanders are able to savour his recent slabs of delight as well as some rare live shows.

“Put Your Foot Inside the Door” benefits from much crisper, fuller production than his mid-90s Merge releases “Stompin Through the Boneyard” and “The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea.” While those albums had some undoubtedly fine songs, the muddiness of the recordings kept the listening pleasure a bit at bay. The classic Flying Nun 4-track (typically owned by Chris Knox) didn’t hold back the jagged ragged sounds of bands like the Clean and Tall Dwarfs, but Cakekitchen’s multilayered approach benefits from technology that actually allows you to hear and appreciate what goes into the many-layered Cake.

This album also benefits from a wide range of soundscapes, drawing on a multitude of instruments and song styles to make this 51+ minute disc anything but a snoozer. Epic ballads like “Voyage from the Sun” are reminiscent of “Greater Windmill Street Blues” from Far from the Sun, stomping pop tunes like “I’m So Glad That You Dropped Out of High School” evoke not only Jonathan Richman’s candy-coated plea to “drop out of B.U.” but also the Cakekitchen’s previous forays into straight-ahead rock like “Tell Me Why You Lie” from Stompin Through the Boneyard. Twisted tunefulness like “Strung Out” and the live “Hop Hop Song” show the somber but quirky shadows in which the Cakekitchen seems to corner the market, while the stuttering honesty of “Hey Mister Won’t You Help Me To Get Back On My Feet Again” and “On the Rocks Again” peel back a layer of cloud from the mystique and reveal Mr Cake as a talented but human, struggling being.

It’s a ride worth taking. With powerful lyrics railing against vacuous consumption and promoting unabashed dream-chasing, coupled with layers of ambitious musicality, the Cakekitchen offers not only a host of sweet baked confections, but a hearty loaf of stunningly spiritual sustenance as well. Queue up for yours at www.thecakekitchen.net. (Hausmusik) (Jim Ebenhoh)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Yo La Tengo

2005-10-21T07:23:00.000-07:00

Prisoners of Love: A Smattering of Scintillating Senescent Songs, 1985-2003
It’s a little confusing trying to ascertain the point of this three-disc set. On the one hand, discs one and two offer a sort of “greatest hits” compilation, but in being spread over two discs and combined with the third disc of rarities, the power is a bit watered down. The third disc of rarities would have been fine on its own, like the two-disc rarities set Genius + Love = Yo La Tengo from 1999. In trying to be all things to all people, this set has a bit that is unnecessary for both the serious fan and the casual listener alike.

That said, I have it and I’m glad that I do. Discs one and two give you a chance to hear 26 samplings largely representing the best of each of YLT’s somewhat disjointed phases. “Lewis,” “Did I Tell You,” and “River of Water” present the countryish Feelies-esque early years of the band. “Upside-Down” from 1991’s May I Sing With Me showcases YLT’s slick, poppy phase—nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want them to live there. “From a Motel 6,” “Shaker” and “Big Day Coming” are standouts from the Painful era circa 1993, with lots of discord, churn, and drone. “Barnaby, Hardly Working” is an early precursor to this sound, an oasis in the otherwise countrified years. “Sugarcube” and “Tom Courtenay” are the straight-rockin’ Ira-singin singles that I never really liked. “Tears Are In Your Eyes,” “Pablo and Andrea,” “Swing for Life,” and “Little Eyes” reveal just how great most YLT songs are that Georgia sings, but “Autumn Sweater” is Ira’s real masterpiece, with maracas, big drum sound and keyboards that are positively erotic. “Stockholm Syndrome,” from 1997’s I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One, releases bassist James McNew’s Neil Young warble-jangle, as accompanied by claves. “Drug Test” is one of the best early YLT songs, from 1989’s President Yo La Tengo, a plodding anthem with the memorable lyrics: “I think of the things that matter, and I think of the things that don’t…whatever it is no matter—I hate feeling the way I feel today—I wish I was high.” The penultimate track is an unnecessary but amusing cover of Sun Ra’s “Nuclear War.” All in all, I would say these first two discs are about 60% wonderful, 25% darn good, and 15% bearable. Which reinforces my point that this should have been a nice, 19-song, 78-minute CD rather two 13-song 60-minute discs.

Disc Three, with 16 songs, is a real treat for the most part. The best tracks are the demos and acoustic versions, which are largely better than the album versions. The Georgia-sung acoustic version of “Tom Courtenay,” for example, is far superior to the original, as is the demo of “Big Day Coming,” with a guitar riff that’s lost in the slightly muddied album version. The demo of “Blue-Green Arrow” is missing the crickets from the version on I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One, but the lovely guitar fiddling makes this quite stunning. The Kevin Shields remix of “Autumn Sweater” has a lot of nice sounds and is reminiscent of Shields’ My Bloody Valentine, but the engineering takes most of the emotion out of the original. The covers are mostly well-chosen but uninspiringly performed, including Sun Ra/ Cosmic Rays’ “Dreaming,” the Dead C’s “Bad Politics,” Half-Japanese’s “Ashes on the Ground,” and NRBQ’s “Magnet.” The stark exception is a 1986 cover of Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams,” which is both ill-advised and poorly performed. Sort of hearkens back to YLT’s cover of Rick Springfield’s “Somebody’s Baby,”—you know, the song you always skipped on Disc One of Genius+Love. A nice surprise are the two songs written for a soundtrack to a movie based in a German disco: “Stay Away from Heaven” and “Weather Shy.” The liner notes explain that YLT oversalted their food in an attempt to channel the German gestalt through dangerously high blood pressure, and I actually believe this. The nice, sick, warped sound of “Stay Away from Heaven” in particular makes you appreciate their sacrifice for art.

While I think the third disc should have been “sold separately” and the first two discs combined into one “greatest hits” disc once the band has truly folded its beach chairs, I greatly appreciate this fairly rapid run through roughly 10 albums and several EPs. It makes for less than fluid sequencing, but that’s inevitable given the breadth of the material covered. While this set lacks a consistent groove, the advantage over their proper albums is that these three discs never allow you to get into any sort of rut. Mucho gracias Yo La Tengo!

(Matador) (Jim Ebenhoh)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

If Thousands

2005-10-20T07:36:00.000-07:00

I Have Nothing

If Thousands music perfectly captures the bleak winter wasteland that is the upper American Midwest. The band was started in 2000 by Christian McShane and Aaron Molina. They made the conscious decision to make music with instruments they had no experience with. Their music sounds like early Flying Saucer Attack played at Loren MazzaCane Connors pace.

The album opens with the beautiful “Push.” An accordion moans as strings are gently plucked. It fades away rather abruptly. My only complaint about this disc is that I wish they let the sound pieces go on for longer. Some of the edits makes some of the tracks feel truncated. The music itself is amazing in its simplicity and its beauty. The photography on the cover by Joe Cunningham of monochromatic snow-scapes perfectly captures the expansive yet simple sound of the band.

“Wisconsin Bombs” may be one of the most misleading song titles ever. The song contains no explosions. It features only gentle guitar strumming and subtle electronic gurgles. “Providence” enters a Dead C like vein. It features a nice blast of guitar feedback and slowly bowed strings. If Thousands inhabit the space of the more abstract, non-rock-out jams of Jackie-o Motherfucker. The If Thousands sound simmers yet never boils over. The band never falls into the trap of wanky-ness which is very easy to do in an improvised setting.

One of the more startling tracks off this disc is “Alpha.” It is a dirge-y tune which features an organ and thumb harp. I found the track jarring and out of place at first. Slowly the sound grew on me and I became at peace with the demonic clown music. The last song on the disc, “Stella and Me,” is another pleasant surprise. It is a nice ditty which features accordion and banjo; it enters late-era Fahey territory. If Thousands music is minimal yet wonderfully home-spun. It will definitely get you through some cold nights out on the prairie.

(Silber Media) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Fields of Gaffney

2005-09-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

Cosmic Chicken and Egg

Nothing quite matches the sweet sound of a Tascam Four Track cassette recording. This new disc by Mr. Gaffney was recorded live to tape on the trusty four track with vocal overdubs. Some artists need high-fidelity sound equipment to sound good. While other artists sound great no matter the audio format. Eric Gaffney falls into the latter category. Eric Gaffney with the help of Jessica Cowley (bass & vocals) and Richard Marshall (drums) has recorded some lo-fi sweetness. This collection of songs features some new songs along side some classics and one surprising cover.

Some of these songs we have heard before, songs like "Moldy Bread" and "Crisis," date from the classic Sebadoh era (i.e. pre-Gaffney exit). Some songs are from his Brilliant Concert Numbers era, while others are completely new (at least new to me). The album starts off with chiming guitars on "All Alone Again." A pleasant melody is paired with dark lyrics, "All Alone Again, on my own again, I am hard to take, so leave me be."

"The Other Day" was a one of the hits from Brilliant Concert Numbers. This time it gets a nice sludgy rocking treatment versus the country-ish treatment on the album. The album features two of my favorite Sebadoh songs. "Moldy Bread" is a pretty straight ahead take on the original (why fuck with perfection). "Crisis" is most changed of the old songs on the album. It is a whole different kind of heavy than the brutality of the original. This version is more droney & murky (in a good way) than the full on hardcore of the original.

One of the new songs (at least new to me) that really shine is the song "Losers in the Living Room." It is an anthem about hating your roommates. It matches the greatness of anything from Bubble and Scrape. The album ends with a great cover of the Pretenders' song "Precious." It features the pleasant vocals of Jessica Cowley. While I am not familiar with the original this version is a great little punky number.

This collection of songs will please old school fans and new comers alike. I love the hand made quality of CD-Rs. The art work features wonderful xeroxography, but an artist such as Gaffney really deserves a proper release. The only thing that is missing from this disc is Gaffney's great sound pieces. I look forward to hearing them on future releases. (Animal Friends) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Boredoms

2005-07-30T20:04:00.000-07:00

Seadrum/ House of Sun

I will be honest--I have not followed the Boredoms the last couple of years. I think I may have missed out on something wonderfully magical. I loved the Boredoms when I was in high school in the early 1990's. Their spazz out noise jams brought joy to my young heart. At a certain point I stopped buying Boredom records, mostly due to economics (not lack of interest). When I bought this un-assuming blue plastic disc at the record store I did not know what I was getting myself into.

"Seadrum" starts out with someone singing in a scat style that is reminiscent of Billie Holiday (something I would never expect to hear on a Boredoms record). Pounding trance drums that sound like they come from deep in a subway tunnel come in next. The drumming is joined after about four minutes time by a piano playing very quick tone bursts that move up and down the keyboard. The other-worldly siren song rejoins the mix at this point. At around the 14 minute mark a marimba joins the mix. What is so amazing about this disc is the Boredoms' complete and utter departure from their earliest work. Gone is the Dadaist vocals and skronk-punk rock. In its place is this strange jazzy, droney, joy jam.

"House of Sun" is a complete left turn from the previous track. A sitar is featured prominently. It explores the outer reaches of the sonic galaxy in a more slowed droned out stoned bliss-ed out way. It is in the same spirit of Bardo's Middle Eastern tinged jams or the more far out deep "Space" explorations of the Grateful Dead. Unlike the first track "House of Sun" seems to be content to float around taking its sweet time, in no rush to get where it's going. These two tracks, while varying greatly in style, come together to make quite an enjoyable ride.

(Vice Recordings) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Stephen Malkmus

2005-07-30T19:41:00.000-07:00

Face the Truth

The truth is, after Pavement broke up, my interest in Stephen Malkmus waned. It might have been that he named his backing band "The Jicks," which sounds like some sort of unfortunate venereal disease. Another reason is I read reviews of early Jicks shows that stated SM was covering Oasis songs. Ironic or not, anyone doing Oasis deserves to be dragged out in the street (it is just not funny).

When I finally broke my boycott of Stephen Malkmus I was pleasantly surprised. There were great country ballads like "Freeze the Saints," which reminded me of late era Pavement. "Loud Cloud Crowd" features a palace-y guitar lick, with a great pavement-ish chorus. I think the most interesting song on the disc is "No More Shoes." This seven minute-plus late era Sonic Youth-like jam flies by in pleasant fashion.

"Mama" has the best lines of the record. "Upstairs Mama's making some crepes from a fancy recipe book. To me they look just like Tortillas. Boy that Mama can cook." This song I think is the hit of the record--at least it is for me.

Overall this record was a lot better than I thought it would be. For some reason I got it my head that I did not like Stephen Malkmus. I think when I lived in a town like Portland it was easy to dislike the Homeboy Hero, even if it was completely unjustified (well, he did cover Oasis). It feels good to be back in the fold. The No Pro-Tools seal of approval is a nice touch. (Matador) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Rollerball

2005-05-10T06:07:00.000-07:00

Catholic Paws/ Catholic Pause
Well the title of Rollerball’s latest disc is highly timely, what with the old pope dying, the conclave shit, and the Catholic Church installing a former member of the Hitler Youth as their new leader. We are living in fucked up times & Rollerball’s fucked up music is entirely appropriate for them.

The packaging on this disc is beautifully letter pressed. It has great wood block prints as inserts. Also included are absolutely wonderful & hilarious portraits of the band. The music itself is as eclectic as ever. On this disc they have guest members from the crazy Italian band Ovo: they add a creepy feel to the already far-out mix.

“Erzulie” is in the tradition of “Wyoming,” from their earlier disc. It features the fantastic piano and vocals of Mae Starr. Rollerball’s trademark wall of horns of Shane & Amanda is featured. Mini-Wagonwheel has a great burping bass line while Gilles' drums rumble and crash.

“Sores” is my favorite song on the disc. It starts sounding like a creepy children song about chicken pox. “Blisters and sores, blood and gore, my baby’s got chicken pox and golden locks.” Then frenetic drum machine is added to the mix, with clattering piano and squawking horns. The song ends with a dead chicken lying near a fence.

I really dig the more dubby shit on this disc like “Coburn.” Everything floats together on this jam, with Mae’s vocal that has a weird echo on it, and the booming drum beats and subtle electronics. It has the great line, “The scent that wraps around like weight. The hand that fucks the taste.”

Rollerball has returned to their roots of home recording with this disc. I feel this style of recording well suits this band. Home recording allows Rollerball to explore the furthest reaches of their sonic galaxy. This disc finds a balance between their more far-out extraterrestrial dub, skronk-jazz, noise rock and their more down-to-earth gypsy pop. (Silber) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

thebrotheregg

2005-05-10T05:59:00.000-07:00

Aortica Mor
When I lived in Portland I always heard good things about this band. Unfortunately I never got around to checking them out. After a few spins of this disc I wished I had. This music is low-key sunny music with an up beat feel. The vocals have the same relaxed feel of former fellow Portlander Jeff London. This record is a summer record well suited for backyard bbq'ing and badminton.

thebrotheregg use both folky and stringed instrumentation to create sweet mellow psychedelic tinged pop. I think my favorite track is “Mercury Retrograde.” The song features great horns, strings and a rolling drum beat. The song also features the wonderful backing vocals of Kaitlyn Ni Donovan. Since I am not up on my astrology I have no idea what, “Mercury Retrograde will always break down your Machinery,” means exactly.

The press sheet talks about a lo-fi sensibility which confuses me. Everything on this record is recorded beautifully. Maybe they are talking about a D.I.Y. aesthetic. These home grown nuggets suffer not at all from flaws in the production on this fine disc. (Bingo Lady Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Mary Timony

2005-04-22T06:29:00.000-07:00

Ex Hex
We are now out of the enchanted forests of the last couple of records and have re-entered the real world. Well as real as it gets with Mary Timony at the helm. This album might be Mary’s comedy record. “On the floor” is a hilarious song about a loser neighbor who is passed out in the hallway. If it is the same drunk who crashed the party on the last record, I would, like, totally move. “Friend to JC” is another funny song dealing with degenerate louts. The chorus sounds like Polvo circa Welcome to the New Dark Age. This must be some form of inside joke.

This album is the most Rocking we have seen from Mary since her Helium days. Unlike the last album, this record is very stripped down (just guitar, bass, drums and minimal keyboard on some songs). My only complaint about the record is at some spots it gets a little too wanky. This is a minor complaint and it’s more about my personal taste than anything else. “In the Grass" could have been off The Golden Dove. It features a great minimal drum machine beat, along with sparkling keyboards. It features the excellent line, “I was on the bus trying to get off, jamming to the Fat Boyz when I was lost." Any song that gives props to my favorite rap group, the Fat Boyz, is all good in my book.

After over ten years of being a fan of Mary Timony she still has the ability to surprise me. This record once again takes another left turn from her previous work. She has left the strings and the enchanted forest behind and has a created a more tightly rocking unit. (Look Out Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Mogwai

2005-04-14T20:36:00.000-07:00

Government Commissions BBC Sessions 1996-2003
This record is dedicated to John Peel who died last year. John Peel was a legendary BBC broadcaster who had up and coming bands play on his radio show. Like Mogwai, John was dedicated to exploring new sonic terrains. This record features recordings of Mogwai's live performance from his BBC radio show. This record is Mogwai’s “Greatest Hits” of sorts. It features the band's radio performances from 1996-2003. The music of Mogwai is as stunning and powerful as always. Since these recordings are from radio show some of the songs seem a little stripped down (which is not really a bad thing).

“RU Still in 2 It” is my favorite song from the Young Team album. On this record it slowly builds then dissolves into beautiful drone. “Cody” is both sad and majestic. “Like Herod” is a brilliantly brutal 18 minutes. The only new song on the record (at least new to me), is “Super Heroes of the BMX.” Any song with BMX in its title can not be all bad (yes, besides being a music dork, at one point I was a BMX dork). It is a superb slow building song with a drum machine & keyboard, squealing guitars are added later. “New Paths to Helicon,” is a great track. This song, which appeared on “Ten Rapid” (their first record in the states), is the reason why I love this great band. All and all, this record is a great tribute to John Peel. If you are not familiar with this group, this disc is a great introduction to an amazing band. (Matador) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Radar Bros.

2005-04-14T20:13:00.000-07:00

The Fallen Leaf Pages
The most frequent comparison the Radar Bros. get is that they sound like a country tinged Pink Floyd. While this may be true it really fails to describe how original they are. The first time I heard of them it was the mid to late 1990s. I lost track of them for a few years until I got this great disc. I think the real stand out track of this disc is “Papillon.” The sound of acoustic guitars, electric guitar twang, keyboard, and light percussion make a great combination. The lyrics are abstract but wonderful, “Hot night, crows fight, beetles in the fire light.”

Another great track “Is that Blood” features the great chorus, “Hey is that blood washing through our feet again? Is that blood coming from me? And hey are those tears washing through my fingers?” The gruesome imagery is set off against a cheerful guitar licks and vocals. This is great music for lying in a sunny room in the middle of the afternoon. The last track of the disc, “breathing again” is in the same vein as My Morning Jacket (all though the Radar Bros preceded them by a few years). It is in the same spirit of mellowness and wonderful washed out reverb. (Merge Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

The Microphones

2005-04-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

Song Island
This is a collection of singles, out takes and alternate versions of Microphones songs. Phil Elvrum is the master mind behind the Microphones. His album “The Glow, Part 2” is a masterwork of pure genius. There is an alternate version of “Moon.” It is hard to believe that Phil could improve on the original, but he does. “(Version)” which follows “Moon” is an instrumental extension of that song. I think my favorite song on the disc is “I can’t believe you actually died.” The song opens with laughter and thudding mic stands. I love how Phil leaves these artifacts in the final product. The song also features a camp fire sing along chorus that consists of people Phil seems to have drug off the street.

Sometimes people object to the term low-fi. I use the term as a compliment, not as a derogatory term. These recordings show how beautiful recordings produced with less technical and material intervention can really shine. If you are not familiar with The Microphones, Song Island is a good place to start. This disc has everything from the acoustic strum of “Phil Elvrums Will,” to the full out noise attack of “Heavy Eyes,” to the wrecked beats of “Lanterns.”
(K Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Shipping News

2005-04-14T20:04:00.000-07:00

Flies The Fields
This is one of those discs that does not leave a CD player for months. I listened to Rodan: Rusty daily for two years straight. It is strange to think that record is over a decade old. This equals, even surpasses the greatness of “Save Everything,” the Shipping News first disc. The band with the addition of Todd Cook has really become a cohesive unit. On early work there was always the June of 44 sounding song or the Rachel’s sounding one. I can not tell really which song is Jeff’s and which ones are Jason’s besides who is singing.

Some have claimed that after the more experimental explorations on their last disc Three-Four that this album is a step backwards. I wholeheartedly disagree. Like Sonic Youth who delve into more out there territory with their SYR series, RMSN explores more abstract sound-scapes. They now take their knowledge from those explorations and apply it to the full on rock of this current album.

“Axons & Dendrites” is a slowly building number. It starts off with the drums alone, followed by the other instruments. The song builds up to a crescendo just as the vocals join the mix. The best song on the disc is “untitled with drums,” which features the great vocal accompaniment of Fay Davis. It is a simple almost droney number. “I am not afraid for the future,” is about as hopeful as the lyrics on this disc get. The last track features a great lumbering Bass of the newest member of the RMSN brood, Todd Cook. I can imagine that when this song is preformed live that it can be extremely cathartic. This record matches the times we are living in…it is extremely bleak and filled with impending doom. Considering that the bastard Bush got “re-elected” maybe the dark mood is entirely appropriate. (1/4 Stick Records) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Animal Collective

2005-04-14T19:55:00.000-07:00

Spirit They’re Gone. Spirit They’ve Vanished.
Like all truly original work this double-disc takes a couple of spins before the music clicks with the listener. This band combines disparate elements of folk, electronica, and noise. The disc opens with an off putting squall of high pitched digital squeals and feedback. Patience is rewarded when the second track gets past the initial digital blast. “April and the Phantom” is an extremely poppy tune. An acoustic guitar plays quickly over a tight snare beat with whimsical electronics floating behind it.

The second disc opens with lo-fi electronics. The true gem of the second disc is “Essplode.” The vocals of this group are entirely strange, high pitched, woven with off kilter child like voices that some how gel with the musical tracks. Each piece of the music would sound totally wrong alone, but miraculously, when played together they sound just right. (Fat Cat) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links

Pavement

2005-04-14T19:51:00.000-07:00

Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain (L.A.’s Desert Origins)
It is kind of sad when records from when one was in high school are reissued. The early 1990s were heady times. Everyone thought that Indy-rock was going to blow-up big just like grunge (well okay maybe it was just me). I had the surreal experience of hearing one of the jocks singing “Cut Your Hair” in gym class.

This re-issue is beautifully packaged. It is a double disc with tons of extras and demos. It also comes with a nice thick booklet. It has tons of pictures, song lyrics, SM and Spiral Staircase reminiscing about recording the album & other ephemerae. The first disc contains the original Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain in order. What can be said about this record that hasn’t been said a billion times? This record has aged surprisingly well. I don’t think I gave Pavement’s as much credit as they deserved back in the day.

Besides all the “hits” of the original, the bonus songs are utterly hilarious and brilliant. “Haunt You Down,” is love song to the Mary Jane: “God bless that spleef in my mouth or should I say Jah baby?” The track features a low key guitar and a great keyboard sound. Pavement members were at their best when they were at their loosest. The best songs on were when they were just fucking around. “Ell Ess Two” is probably my favorite Pavement song. The version on the second disc is amazing--the way the song falls apart is what makes it great.
(matador) (Dan Cohoon)

a=1/f squared * archives * phonography * photography * links