Fatima Al Qadiri Brute LP (Hyperdub)
I completely appreciate the concept of electronic dance music as a beautiful, fantastic escape from reality, but it can be even more enthralling and interesting when used as a vehicle for evaluating and assessing the many horrors of society. Fatima Al Qadiri’s second album for Hyperdub, Brute, does just that, offering grim images of the police state and the ensuing sense of frustrating and despair in fighting it. The Teletubby in riot-gear on the cover is a potent image, both hilarious and disconcerting, and it suits Brute well – this is electronic music not for dancing so much as ruminating, music born of creativity but raised in reality. Musically, there are a lot of basic minor-chord changes and what seems to be factory-setting synth sounds – check “Battery” for a prime example of heavy synth-horn usage, as if you’re playing Zelda and just entered a particularly evil castle. Mixed with the samples of political commentary, glass-breaking, police sirens and cell-phone chirping, however, Brute conjures images of protests being unlawfully dispersed, oppressors oppressing and dissent stomped and covered up. I am not trying to glamorize any of that, but Al Qadiri has gotten me thinking and feeling about my complicity in America’s tragedies far more than any “ripped from the headlines” Vatican Shadow album title, which through her music becomes necessary and deliberate.
Arv & Miljö Svulsmen I Skyn / Essensen Av Denna Förbannade Stad 7″ (I Dischi Del Barone)
I Dischi Del Barone is nothing if not intriguing, a sort of European, 7″-sized analog to Kye’s adventures in sound, and as this new one from Arv & Miljö recently arrived (with a dedication to the great improv group Enhet För Fri Musik, no less), I was all ears. Good thing I was prepared, as “Svulsmen I Skyn” immediately thrusts the listener into some sort of unhinged aviary, sounding like you’re on a rocky cliff surrounded by nests the size of dog beds as large winged predators tend to their business. Except, in Arv & Miljö’s world, the whole scene plays out from inside a somewhat active parking garage. “Essensen Av Denna Förbannade Stad” opens with a steady stream of tape hiss that eventually gives way to undetermined rustling and maybe one of those birds from the a-side still soaring around, and just as soon as I expect something dramatic and intriguing to happen, the hiss is merely joined by some form of distant theme music, as if Vomir was watching an afternoon soap in the other room. Please keep in mind, I’m not speaking extremely colorfully about actual music: both tracks consist of little more than captured field recordings with what must’ve been very conservative editing. Certainly not for everyone, but then again nothing discussed on Yellow Green Red is for everyone, except maybe Agathocles.
Behavior 375 Images Of Angels LP (Iron Lung)
Iron Lung Records is truly one of the pillars of underground hardcore-punk and its associated strains (noise, post-punk, grind, etc.), the sort of label that this scene really can’t afford to lose, I’d even go as far as to say. That said, even Lebron airballs a free-throw every now and then, which is how I’m classifying the debut LP by LA’s Behavior. As I listen to their album, I can’t help but think these folks heard the Institute album and thought “we can do that!” and tried to write the most boring post-punk they could muster, low on ideas and full of positioned influences. Take a Crisis riff, remove two of its notes, play it for four minutes, and occasionally sing in an anguished faux-British tone. I love the most boring This Heat songs too, but something about trying to recreate them with the occasional Raspberry Bulbs moment in between just isn’t working for me, even though if I was reading this review right now and not the one writing it, I’d be thinking that it sounded right up my alley (funny how that can be). Once I hit the track that is a Jock Club-worthy techno beat with random percussion, I felt like I was listening to the top underground trends barfed back in my face, as if Behavior arrived to formally announce the end of this particular micro-zeitgeist, which the early Iceage-aping “–” that follows confirms. Perhaps this is all just a highly specific trolling of today’s underground scene, though, in which case I will strongly endorse 375 Images Of Angels in ten to fifteen years.
Benny Boeldt 8 Of Cups LP (Carpark)
Baltimore’s electronic scene always seems to err on the side of the hilarious, ranging from the slapstick excursions of Leprechaun Catering, Nautical Almanac’s circuit-bent flatulence and Dan Deacon’s hyper-modern goofballism to many stops in-between. There must be something about that city’s economic and social depression that makes these artists want to paint a giant tie-dyed Nickelodeon logo across its crumbling exterior, and Benny Boeldt fits in perfectly. 8 Of Cups makes me nostalgic for turn-of-the-century electronic music, when amateur enthusiasts started making music on computers, but it was never easy for them, prone to all sorts of malfunctions both hardware and software. I’m hearing the warm electronica fumbling of Global Goon and the Audio Dregs label, the choppy glitches of Kid 606 around that time, and perhaps Aphex Twin at his most playful and exhausting, along with a vague sense that Boeldt and Animal Collective might be mutual fans of each other. Rapid-fire bleeps give way to a quick sample from a Saturday morning cartoon, not unlike a Venetian Snares remix of an MF Doom instrumental – these tracks are full of friendly, welcoming tones, even if their momentum is as frantic and calculated as the tunnel traffic within a large ant farm. And does it hurt that Benny Boeldt kinda physically resembles Justin Bieber, were he removed from any sort of celebrity status and thrust into Baltimore art-warehouse living? No, it doesn’t.
Brood Ma Daze LP (Tri Angle)
Check out Brood Ma’s bio: “Brood Ma is a fractured, cybergothic nexus of tropes from weird literature, dystopian rave and high technology, presented in longform performances and recordings that resemble crisis scenarios as much as electronic mixes.” Go ahead, dear reader, tell me you weren’t down for a spin by the time it got to “cybergothic nexus of tropes”. I have to say, it’s a tad extreme, but whoever wrote that isn’t entirely off – Haze certainly plays out like a mixtape from the future, filled with coded warnings, cryptic messages and sound effects we don’t yet have available in 2016. In fact, the “mix” feel is so strong on this thirteen-track album that it plays out more like a series of carefully-crafted intros and outros, as if the actual track is seconds away from arriving, just until the road quickly swerves and you’re off chasing some other acid squiggle, grime beat or finely-serrated noise blast. I feel like I’m traveling through an off-the-grid modem for most of Daze, in search of illegal bitcoin, at least through its closing moments when some uplifting, Burial-esque segments materialize and I feel like I’m being baptized inside the Matrix. Seeing how the real world is turning out, a Matrix-based existence doesn’t sound so bad after all.
Cretins Meat 7″ (Deranged)
These guys decided to call themselves Cretins, with an image of grotesque prehistoric mutants eating each other on the cover of their EP entitled Meat… I’m expecting something severely damaged, not unlike Brainwashed Youth or A-Team, not the powerhouse steamroller hardcore offered here. These dudes can call themselves whatever they want, though, as they blaze through these six songs with fury and menace. Musically they’re like an extra-fast take on the retro-modern hardcore sound (not unlike, say, Blood Pressure or Concealed Blade) with a vocalist who reminds me of Framtid or the last Gauze album, the way in which his voice often sounds more like one continual guttural sound than actual lyrics. It’s a great style, utilizing an extended monosyllabic bark over rapid-fire hardcore with air-tight drum rolls and guitars that are more tuneful and thick than distorted and painful (which works in Cretins’ favor). They may want us to imagine them as a bunch of brain-dead, bottom-feeding carnivores, but as I listen to Cretins I can’t help but applaud their considerable talent and style.
Yves De Mey Drawn With Shadow Pens 2xLP (Spectrum Spools)
Yves De Mey is one of those European gents who I can only envision from his lips to his forehead, illuminated by a laptop screen in a darkened room, his oval-shaped glasses reflecting the Mac screen that lies before him. His music certainly fits in with contemporaries like Emptyset, Kerridge, Tim Hecker and Kangding Ray, electronic sound-artists with occasional acknowledgement of the dance-floor but ultimately obsessed with locating the bleakest, harshest soundscapes, like they’re all trying to sonically replicate Venus’s atmosphere, wherein a human body would implode as quickly as it would cremate. I’ve enjoyed De Mey’s music before, and he’s more stoically academic than ever here, opting for frigid, oscillating sine-waves, assembly-line static and a general sense of artificial dread. I’m often reminded of Emptyset’s most recent beat-less experimentation on many of these tracks, but I’m mostly drawn to Shadow Pens when some sort of pulse or beat enters the vicinity, like a giant metallic slug oozing ever closer. This is an album that unfolds nice and slow; it’s a bit more delicate than other players in the post-industrial electronics field (“Xylo” is what it sounds like when your deceased body is picked at by little Terminator crabs), and it’s been a pleasure to have in my home.
Den Mediterande Uttern När Jag Dör 7″ (Mediterande)
Really hoping this doesn’t come across as more of a taunt than a review, as it drives me nuts when someone reviews some instantly sold-out and desirable record as more of a means of bragging that they secured a copy than any actual critical insight. But I’m going to take that risk and review this obscurer-than-obscure one-sided 7″ by Den Mediterande Uttern anyway, a group who seemingly only semi-existed in the early ’90s, recording “När Jag Dör” (by Drajan of Brainbombs fame, no less) to be released some 25 years later in an edition of 100 (or so I’ve been told). Seems like a lot of trouble to go through for one song by one band that was clearly lost to the sands of time (did they even play a single show?), but as soon as I heard it, I realized that the efforts these Swedes went through to memorialize this “group” on vinyl were well founded. “När Jag Dör” is visceral guitar and slobbery punk vocals the likes of which I haven’t heard since Danny & The Dressmakers. The guitar is seemingly stuck on one chord, distinguished only by breaks in strumming, and the whole thing is about a minute (I tend to listen while in plank position – it’s a great song for exercise). It is now clear that punk reduced itself to the point of negative energy in 1991 when Den Mediterande Uttern recorded this tune for posterity, and I can’t wait to file it away and surprise myself all over again when I find it in a couple months.
DJ Fett Burger Burger Trip 12″ (Mongo Fett)
If you’re willing to accept someone named DJ Paypal as an artist worth respectfully listening to, surely you’ll be willing to give DJ Fett Burger a chance, right? I was completely open to hearing him myself, and thank God I did, as this is one of the most fantastic 12″s I’ve experienced this year thus far. “Burger Trip Original” is the a-side, and it is essentially one continual and fairly simple drum circle, at least until Fett Burger slowly shifts, reduces, tweaks and blossoms it into various shades of rhythmic bliss. It wraps with the sound of night-time crickets, and is essentially continued on the flip, “Burger Trip Meme” (what a title), where things get particularly intoxicated / intoxicating. For twelve more minutes, Fett Burger summons that percussive troupe deep in the heart of an unpopulated jungle, shifting filters and arpeggios as though the life of the party depended on it. I am reminded so strongly of Ricardo Villalobos’ work circa 2006-2009, where he would toss off some simple loop and mold it into the most beautifully extended trip into the beyond, like throwing down a chunk of clay on a wheel and shaping it into an exquisite vase, all while carrying on a lively conversation the entire time. Burger Trip might just be this decade’s “Fizheuer Zieheuer”, but even if it isn’t, I refuse to leave this party until DJ Fett Burger says it’s time.
Drose Boy Man Machine LP (Orange Milk)
Holy crap, this record right here! Drose is a band helmed by Columbus, OH’s Dustin Rose (hence the band name) and a couple buds, and while I really enjoyed their debut 7″, this album is a real achievement, the sort of thing that doesn’t come around too often. Imagine Slint at their peak, playing only Melvins anti-riffs with the menace of early Swans and you’re close to what Drose are serving up, although they achieve a flavor so distinct that I can really only attribute it to Drose. Or perhaps imagine the best possible Twin Stumps songs without any noise or feedback, just empty space bridging the cavernous drum thuds and single guitar chugs. Or Tool’s Undertow if it was released by AmRep and produced by Alvin Lucier? Rose sings like a pained inmate, like he’s trying to find a high note that doesn’t exist, so he just hovers above the percussion slams and guitars (or total lack thereof), and it’s utterly captivating. You wish for his escape, but then the camera pans out and you realize the stone vault he’s trapped in is three stories high with no ladder. These songs barely exist as songs, so much as moments of extreme emotion and the tension that comes before and after, and I wish there was a Behind The Music where I could witness their creation. Just when I thought the concept of avant-garde noise-rock was fully irrelevant, Drose quietly shows up and shocks my system with this masterful mix of restraint, poise and focus.
Dynamo Dreesen, SVN & A Made Up Sound Untitled 12″ (SUED)
Dynamo Dreesen, SVN & A Made Up Sound released one of my favorite 12″s last year, untitled as it was, so I did a double-take when I saw what appeared to be a new 12″ EP from these same three folks, also untitled, also quietly slipping under the radar of any music media that I follow. Good thing I tirelessly surveil new techno 12″ releases, then, as I hooped to it and snagged this one, on the SUED label that I have an increasing infatuation with. This new one is surprisingly more club-centric than the last, or at least the sounds are more familiar to my ears: the a-side track (three cuts here, all untitled) reminds me of Luciano’s Fabric mix from eight years ago, particularly his Los Updates remixes in the way the main groove is mimicked by the twinkle of electronic chirps, like drinking a lemon-lime soda that someone made for you from scratch using real lemons and limes (one day I hope this fantasy comes true for me). The b-side opener has a similarly sunny-day Cadenza vibe, teasing a 4/4 kick not unlike Villalobos seguing between cuts in a marathon set. The last track manages to drift away from the dance-floor into a syrupy realm somewhere between the purple haze of Actress and Lee Gamble, a pre-programmed Casio snap slowed to the lowest BPM allowable while Tod Dockstader-esque tones float and burst in the ether. Certainly not the 12″ I hoped it would be, but this trio has yet to let me down, what with their six hands patiently twisting knobs and punching pads.
Fried Egg The Incredible Flexible Egg 7″ flexi (Fried Egg Ltd.)
A band that shares the name with one of The Mad’s finest tunes, with artwork penciled by Lumpy, offering three tunes on a one-sided 7″ flexi-disc. Sure, why not! I’ve seen their name popping up on those Texas / Midwestern punk fest schedules lately, and figured I should bend my ear on the chance that they were exceedingly slimy or gnarly. Unfortunately, they’re pretty run-of-the-mill by today’s standards, which is to say quite good, just lacking that special something. The vocals are of the blustery loudmouth style, the riffs are fast and stompy (think Gag or JJ Doll) and everything is perfectly competent, it’s just that Fried Egg never take it a step further. Mystic Inane already own the concept of eating eggs within modern punk rock, and Fried Egg do little to claim it for themselves, even out-sourcing their art to someone who has successfully whittled out his own distinct space within punk’s historical ooze. Fried Egg are skilled players in a field that is already stacked with above-competent musicians; what we really need are a few more rule-breaking individuals with ideas all their own. There’s no denying this is an attractive flexi, though, right down to its silver-embossed label area… it just takes more than silver embossing to make your punk stand out.
Kerridge Fatal Light Attraction 2xLP (Downwards)
Samuel Kerridge is one of those British heavyweight electronic dudes I love keeping up with, and as he keeps the fairly reasonable pace of one album and a single or two per year, it’s affordable and fun, too. His last album, Always Offended, Never Ashamed elevated his monolithic industrial-techno to a higher plane, one conjuring images of endless grey hallways inside post-apocalyptic fascist housing complexes, and while I would’ve been happy for him to dwell on that sound for another album release, he has already moved onto a new direction with Fatal Light Attraction. The title sounds like it should be a My Bloody Valentine b-side or something, but this is easily Kerridge’s most frenzied and aggressive music to date, that live jungle 7″ notwithstanding. He’s traded in the glacial melt of previous work for a rapid-fire gating that is present on essentially every track here. Drum machines pop in and out, synths are set to stun and various industrial creaks and groans come quick and without warning – the album feels like Kerridge flexing his artillery, trading in his thirty-foot steamroller for a selection of crowd-dispersing riot arms, the sort of weaponry used to cause confusion and dispel angry crowds. Unlike actual war, there is no loss at stake with Fatal Light Attraction, just exhilarating jolts of pulse-raising, glitchy techno, and Kerridge continues to fascinate as his sound morphs like liquid steel.
Jared Leibowich Welcome Late Bloomers LP (Sundae)
After three well-reasoned and distinctive albums with his band The Zoltars, vocalist and songwriter Jared Leibowich sets out on his own for the first time with Welcome Late Bloomers. No offense to the rest of the Zoltars, but Leibowich’s defeated voice and soft presence were really the draw of that group, and this solo album continues in the exact same fashion – I presume there are different rhythm players or something, but the music is essentially as soft and slow as before, interchangeable with The Zoltars. Previous Zoltars albums always sounded like the record you put on after some sort of intense emotional turbulence, like an hour after your partner storms out of the apartment for good, or on a lighter note, after wrapping the perfect present for a loved one late Christmas Eve night, sipping coffee in silence. Should I be writing Hallmark Family movie scripts or what? If you’re not already familiar, imagine the most straightforward Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy tunes performed at dusk to an audience of published authors, or some sort of mix of Bedhead and The American Analog Set with your most demanding science teacher singing the blues. It sounds good, I know, and so does Welcome Late Bloomers.
Lutto Lento Mondo Hehe EP 12″ (Transatlantyk)
Couldn’t forget to tell you about the other newest Lutto Lento EP, now could I! I’ve had a great time listening to his fascinating, perplexing take on tech-house in the past few months, and this six-track EP is largely responsible. On Mondo Hehe, Lento comes out of the grimy hiss of Whips and exposes a sense of humor hinted at on Dog Leaf, weaving bizarre samples into potent dance-floor exorcisms. The title track bubbles up some melodic percussion with what sounds like an eccentric tiki bar owner showing you to the VIP hot tub. Make sure you grab a random cocktail on your way! It’s followed by “Til Tomoro”, which pulls a B-52’s sample into something both funky and ethereal, like Powell for the cool-down tent. The rest of the EP boasts mighty grooves, recalling Sis’s playful exuberance and Floating Points’ desire of depth (bookended with beatless intro and outro tracks, just as he did with Whips). Baring any grievous bodily harm to myself or Lutto Lento, I’d say I’m in it with him for the long haul.
Lumenlab Radical 10″ (Aagoo)
Lumenlab is the work of Mexico’s Diego Martinez, who attempts to fuse grindcore vocalizations with abstract noise-scapes and goth-night EDM. No, this isn’t an April Fool’s review to see if I can trick you, this is actually a thing that exists, and it took an indie-punk label out of New Jersey to release it. What a world! “Granola” is the a-side track, a melange of electronic noise and Throbbing Gristle-esque sonic disturbances, with what sounds like a Nine Inch Nails demo cassette feebly trying to push through the mix. That is, until it turns into what sounds like an electro Despise You to wrap it up. If you can work up the courage to flip it over and continue, “Sin Medios” is a buzzing hive of MIDI bleeps and Nintendo warp-zones, eventually joined by a pummeling Atari Teenage Riot-style beat. “Radical” finishes off the EP and sounds like Extreme Noise Terror’s vocalists and Atom’s package, a combination so clearly mismatched that it’s simultaneously amusing and repulsive, like watching someone eat a vanilla ice cream cone topped with ketchup. That’s Lumenlab for you!
Machine Woman For Sweden 12″ (Peder Mannerfelt)
“Machine Woman” sounds like it should be some lost Italo classic on the ZYX label or something, but that’s just part of what attracted me to this 12″. The very-cool Peder Mannerfelt releasing it on his own label was the other reason, and I’m glad I scoped it out as this is a fantastic EP of vibrant techno machinations. It comes in a variety of entertaining conditions: well-oiled (opener “Very Kind Human Being” feels like “Shake” Shakir at his most industrial) or brittle and distraught (“Yes 10.06.15” is the sound of a factory press slowly taken off life support). Machine Woman (real name: Anastasia Vtorova) has a real knack for locating unmusical snippets and thrusting them into a mechanized holding pattern, at times recalling a fully gray-scaled Actress or Shed at his most playful. Six varying tracks on For Sweden, all of which stand proudly alongside Ikea and The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo as notable national exports.
NASA Space Universe 70 AD 12″ (Feel It)
As if their name didn’t give it away, NASA Space Universe are certainly of the more eccentric hardcore outfits of the past decade or so, but never to the point of sacrificing their sound to other genres. It’s my understanding this is to be their last record (although I swear they’ve already broken up before?), and it’s a fine send-off, a tight n’ tasty ten-song 12″ EP. The drums are almost consistently galloping, with riffs that recall vintage Poison Idea and even the menacing stature of Die Kreuzen (a comparison I don’t take lightly). That’s probably also due to the vocalist’s kerosene-soaked vocals, which chemically irritate each track in short bursts. They’ve got just enough in the way of unexpected song-structuring to call to mind Double Negative as well, while remaining firmly planted on hardcore-punk’s hallowed ground (the guitarist doesn’t alter his tone once on the whole record, as far as my ear can discern). Only makes sense that a band that sounds this combustible has burnt out (even if their eight-year tenure outlasted the average lifespan of most hardcore groups), and I hope they succeed in whatever further exploratory missions their vessel pursues.
Oaf Cheat To Survive 7″ (Deranged)
Pretty good name for a hardcore band, “Oaf”, don’t you think? It offers a nice mental image, particularly as I spin these four songs, previously released digitally by the band, now offered the stamp of vinyl approval care of one of Canada’s most lauded (and hated, depending who you are speaking with) modern hardcore labels. My enjoyment of Oaf extends beyond their name, as they play a very clunky form of heavy hardcore – imagine Hoax with even more Rat distortion pedals (check the mosh breakdown to “Jewel Of Africa” and tell me I’m wrong), less musicality to their riffs (chords alternate, descend or ascend in the simplest of ways) and a vocalist who has a similar snarl to Hoax’s Jesse Sanes, with just the right smidge of echo-distortion to make it snap. Ildjarn’s riffs played by hardcore kids has yet to sound bad, as far as I’m concerned. I had hoped the title was about using the Konami code to beat Contra, but from the lyric sheet it’s about doing heroin, ostensibly glorifying self-destructive behavior (hardcore’s current trend of “being bad” is starting to get a little tiring) while the rest of the lyrics take a macroscopic view of modern life’s burdens. Even oafs have bad days, after all.
Pact Infernal The Descent [Chapter II] 12″ (Samurai Horo)
Okay, so you might remember me complaining my way through purchasing half-a-dozen or more Demdike Stare 12″s over the past couple years, but it’s been a while since they’ve put anything out, and well… I miss them. That’s probably why I picked up this record, the second 12″ by “mysterious” experimental techno group Pact Infernal. Whoever these folks are, they’re doing it the Demdike way, with five ominous dub-techno horror-soundtrack cuts that borrow from a broad range of styles to create something that just might be blacker than Blackest Ever Black (and that’s black, baby!). Foghorn bass meets Bollywood drums and the elevated chants of a Buddist monk colony gone rogue, and as you wait to see The Emperor lift his hood to reveal his grotesque visage to Lord Vader, it turns out he was actually just Moritz Von Oswald the whole time. Beautiful vinyl presentation on this one too, as the a-side features a white splotch in the center of the record, solar eclipse style, which amazingly doesn’t bleed through to the b-side. A nerdy record no doubt, surely appealing to anyone who proudly collects Headless Horseman records, and I’m not too insecure to admit that Pact Infernal greatly appeals to me as well.
Ploy Sala One Five 12″ (Hessle Audio)
Hessle Audio has been quiet as of late, after releasing some of their least-acclaimed 12″s (which were also some of my personal favorites – I’m looking at you, Elgato and Joe). I’m glad the crew is back, though, particularly as this new EP by the mysterious Ploy serves up some potent, crème de la crème progressive techno. “Sala One Five” sets it off quickly, a deep cut of modern tech-house with depth charges, morse-code percussion and ambient washes of sound all working together like underpaid Amazon employees getting you your toothpaste eight hours after you clicked your order. Flip it for “Move Yourself”, which takes hold of the dance-floor with total confidence, looping some hand percussion while the bass note pours outward as if you opened the bathroom door after the tub flooded. Closer “Helix” is no slouch either, with a sense that it’s “Move Yourself” played backward through a rainforest mist, beautiful and full of danger. I’m impressed not only by the user-friendliness of Ploy, how he comes across as an easily-digestible take on the sounds of Hodge, Batu and Alex Coulton, et al., but also by the way he manages to utilize each frequency to keen effect: the bass, highs and mids are all carefully rendered. Recommended!
Prison Moan Prison Moan 7″ (Negative Jazz)
I literally had to do some Googling to determine the name of this band (looks like Prison… Menu? on the cover), but I have nothing but respect for the tiny empire of Negative Jazz so I harbor no resentment. I won’t be forgetting this band’s name anytime soon after listening to this EP anyway, as they’re one of the many utterly gnarly modern hardcore bands coming around these days, and particularly taut in their execution. Just throw on opener “Parasite Hole” and tell me everyone in the room didn’t stop talking in the middle of their sentences. I’m gonna dare to say that Prison Moan rage in that feral, unhinged sort of way that made Mecht Mensch so instantly superior, and even as many bands are aiming for (and frequently succeeding, at least on technicality) this sort of sound, Prison Moan never revert to easier or less-aggressive measures for the duration of this 7″. They’re a Cleveland band, so I was waiting for that one moment of willful stupidity to kick in, but there are no songs about eating boogers, or hilarious samples, or poorly-scrawled porno art to connect them to the city of Bad Noids and Homostupids. Nah, Prison Moan are only interested in the basest essence of violent hardcore music, bless their souls.
Red Hare Lexicon Mist 7″ (Dischord / Hellfire)
After watching Burn knock the crowd unconscious last month, I am a now a firm believer in the abilities of semi-famous hardcore dudes over forty when it comes to kicking ass, and it’s with that recent memory that this Red Hare single sounds both urgent and familiar. It certainly doesn’t seem to be under the influence of any hardcore post-1996, but rather indebted to the majority of Red Hare’s previous existence as Swiz, alongside bands like Verbal Assault and Soul Side, who either you were there to experience firsthand and will cherish forever or might be able to will yourself to enjoy if only hearing for the first time today. The riffs are upbeat and not entirely removed from Kid Dynamite’s more mature offerings, with spoken / sung / occasionally-screamed vocals that fit the bill nicely. Plus, these songs have titles like “Silverfish (Ungodly Grace, This Is Our Curse)” and “Faced (The Root Of My Confusion)”, which no hardcore band in their right mind under the age of 25 would consider using. And to wrap it up, they cover a Lungfish tune on the b-side, as if they weren’t already Dischordy enough. I’m not saying you have to love your elders if you exclusively listen to Zouo and were born in 1994, but Red Hare makes it clear that you’ve gotta at least respect them.
Katsunori Sawa Secret Of Silence LP (Weevil Neighbourhood)
I came across Katsunori Sawa on a recent mix Kerridge put together (of music that essentially sounds like Kerridge), and Sawa’s sound was distinct and crafty enough that I had to seek out more. Lucky me then, that he just released his first album last December and it’s a durable and impressive record indeed. Sawa’s music is undoubtedly hard techno with flourishes of both dub and industrial, but his knack lies in the mix of both organic and inorganic sounds, deftly revealing the similarities between both. A kick straight out of Audion’s sampler will lock a track into place, but the sound of a refrigerator door slamming on your fingers quickly joins it; perhaps the hissing steam from an engine mixes with a nimble, plunging groove that has me thinking of something Surgeon would release if Ostgut Ton approached him for some tracks. A cut like “Immediate Awareness” isn’t anything new, per se, but even after severe industrial-techno exhaustion has set in, I can’t help but feel invigorated by its luscious swells as it goes from up-tempo slammer to crunchy dubplate headbanger and back. I have to say, I hadn’t spent any time checking out Japan’s experimental industrial-techno scene (it has to have one, right?), but Katsunori Sawa and his Secret Of Silence might very well be my gateway drug.
Sheer Mag III 7″ (Wilsuns / Static Shock)
Has there been a more meteoric rise in underground rock than that of Sheer Mag in recent times? They barely scuffed their amps on the cement-dusty basement floors of a West Philly punk house before Rolling Stone was requesting their rig rundown and Pitchfork was marveling at their lack of a publicist, and while I’m sure their haters are eager to hate, I can’t find a fault with Sheer Mag – they’re a great rock band that sounds both classic and new, and this new 7″ EP continues to showcase this fact. Four more tunes here, and they don’t deviate even slightly from Sheer Mag’s winning formula of Thin Lizzy and Budgie riffs scraped down into power-pop formation, as though The Speedies and Nasty Facts got into denim and corporate beer instead of makeup and spiked bracelets. If we want to get nitpicky, I thought the second Sheer Mag EP went a little too far into tin-can lo-fi territory, really pushing the limits of what constitutes a public-ready recording (particularly for a band whose songs deserve to be properly heard), but they scale back on that here, hitting the sweet spot that sounds like a distant AM radio station played through a hand-me-down boombox, some sort of special transmission from yesterday that only now has arrived. Of course, this review is entirely subject to change if photographic evidence appears of Anthony Kiedis wearing a Sheer Mag tee at a Lakers game.
Strutter Strutter 7″ (Beach Impediment)
What do you do with your spare time if you’re a dude in Austin, TX who plays in a hardcore band? You play in other hardcore bands! Strutter features members of Vaaska, Impalers and Glue, and if you were to listen to this above-average debut 7″ EP, I can’t imagine you’d be shocked to learn of this particular family tree. Strutter, from the KISS-inspired band name to the combustible songwriting, seems to come with a level of snotty antagonism not necessarily found in their other bands. A large part of that is due to the vocalist’s slightly-echoed sneer – it’s impossible to hear this whiny scream without imagining his mouth in deep frown formation, and it suits the punchy, in-and-out tunes nicely. I’ll admit, I was expecting at least some sort of musical nod to cock-rock from the band name (maybe a swiped Ace Frehley riff or two?), but this is more fine modern hardcore from a group of people (and respectable record label) that clearly know it well.
Tang Soleil Outboard Sensory Median Response LP (Dusty Medical)
As you might’ve noticed, I’ve sampled a ton of garage-rock bands over the past few years, and I’m sad to say that in many cases, the bands don’t give off the impression that they are particularly having a lot of fun. You can hear the difference between a band that is truly excited to be alive and one that is simply recording their songs as a means of documentation (or simply because they think it’s what bands are supposed to do), and I’m happy to report that Tang Soleil are the former, a band that exudes glam-rock attitude as they shimmy and shake through a mostly-empty room. They’re like a scatterbrained Big Star at their best, sacrificing huge hooks for kooky interludes but not to their overall detriment. Classic proto-punk garage songs can only be written so many times, so it’s great to hear Tang Soleil approach those same riffs with the careless / carefree attitude of Los Cincos. They’re almost like the rambunctious modern companion to Spacin’, as both groups look to the past but infuse it with a working knowledge of three-plus decades of experimental DIY basement psychosis, where you can take a Sweet or Milk N’ Cookies melody and slap it upside the head with R. Stevie Moore’s quirky sensibility and Madlib’s ADHD. Sounds messy, but Tang Soleil are wildly competent at this distinct brand of incompetence, and I wish half the attention aimed at safe and respectable genre-revivalists landed on these lovely dopes instead.
Tyrannamen Tyrannamen LP (Cool Death)
From the records that I come upon, Australia seems like this last great vestige for rock bands, where all sorts of young men and women gather together in groups of three, four or five and practice their guitars, basses and drums together, as if Diplo and Skrillex were never born. If I’m wrong, please don’t spoil my fantasy – I want to imagine bands like Tyrannamen getting together after their day-jobs as baristas and journeymen carpenters to rock out the way Mother Nature intended, in the name of The Replacements, The Monks or The Reatards, as the case may be. I mean this guitarist’s name is Angus Lord for crying out loud! They are a strongly capable band for the task at hand, often slipping further into power-pop shoes (think Tours or Purple Hearts) than punk boots, but it suits them well, clearly grown up enough to no longer mosh but not too old to fondly reminisce. I don’t hear any particular huge hits here (“Ice Age” probably comes closest), but they’ve got a good thing going nonetheless, especially if you’re stuck here in the United States with a co-worker who insists on blaring Deadmau5 for hours on end. Give ’em a denim cleanse care of Tyrannamen.
Kurt Vile / Steve Gunn Parallelogram LP (Three Lobed Recordings)
This hand-crafted and limited LP was issued as part of a mammoth five split-LP set by Three Lobed, and while I believe you had to purchase them as a set initially, individual copies have wafted out into the general public like weed smoke in front of these artists’ respective practice spaces, and I was lucky enough to catch a sniff. You might’ve seen this one and thought, “Eh, probably some tossed-off b-side material by these two going-for-it professional artists”, and while I can’t say you’re wrong, it’s a record I find myself enjoying nearly as strongly as any of their marquee releases. Kurt Vile takes to Randy Newman and John Prine covers with his usual breezy confidence, as well as a new variation of his “Red Apples” tune and a song called “NPR Reject” consisting of his voice, his banjo and Mary Lattimore’s harp. This is Kurt as I love him most, picking up different instruments as he feels, covering the tunes of others, covering his own, channeling the music in his mind freely and with little studio interference or big-budget consideration. Steve Gunn drops a gorgeous Nico cover on his side (with Vile adding guitar and synth) and follows it with a ten-minute long “Spring Garden”, which feels like classic Red House Painters if they had an intense Grateful Dead infatuation and weren’t led by a weird bully. There’s a reason these two American white-guy guitarists are getting some dap while thousands of others ain’t, and it’s a true pleasure to have the opportunity to check in with them like this.
Waveless Spirit Island 12″ (Deranged)
Sure, there is a glut of hardcore bands today who are very good yet very forgettable, but I often think it’s gotta be more fun to be in one of those bands than the shoegaze band that exists among them. At least you can jump around and don’t have to be sad and introspective all the time (or worse, pretend to be sad and introspective), right? Waveless might have difficulty escaping the “token shoegaze” tag with this Deranged release, but these five songs are really quite attractive and enjoyable no matter how they were financed to vinyl (although a split release on Scion / Vice might test my tolerance). Even the strong American Tapes vibe of the artwork (did John Olson do the lettering?) can’t conceal the luscious dark-chocolate they’re playing, as Waveless do an exemplary job of putting songwriting first, production second – these are songs that could be covered by other artists, tracks that I’ll hum no matter how many effects they do or don’t employ. In that way, I’m reminded of their contemporaries Wildhoney, which is nice, as well as oldies like Medicine or Ride, particularly on a track like “Dark Day”, which cuts the gloom nicely. Certainly recommended for anyone who owns more than one Nothing colored-vinyl variant, but those who simply appreciate moody, disaffected indie-rock won’t be disappointed either.
Why The Wires Flame Failures LP (One Percent Press / Jetsam-Flotsam)
Picture this: a bearded man in a band t-shirt, tattoos on his arms, clutching a saxophone as he screams along with the lead singer in a catharsis as emotional as it is sweaty. If you’ve attended “emo-core” shows and can recall a time when the term “scenester” was used in place of “hipster”, you can probably picture this man well. In this case, he’s a member of Ithaca, NY’s Why The Wires, a band that boasts an average band member age of 37. That certainly makes sense with the scope of this band, who recall a rough form of underground rock, before distinct boundaries were formed between emo-core, indie-rock, post-rock and punk. As I listen to their sincere and forceful songs, I’m imagining Sweep The Leg Johnny if they did an album for Donut Friends, or perhaps some sort of mish-mash of Bluetip and Drive Like Jehu. I appreciate this band’s commitment to performing music they all clearly enjoy without aspiration of capturing the underground zeitgeist or becoming rich or famous (or even breaking even financially or obtaining four figures of social media followers). They perform their music with commitment and passion, an honesty that this particularly strain of music requires and for which all bands should strive.
Woodboot Crime Time LP (Space Ritual / Erste Theke Tonträger)
I keep having to remind myself not to type “Workboot”, because that seems like a comparatively natural term (and better band name, if you ask me), but these party-punk maniacs are Woodboot. They’re Australian (who isn’t these days?), and they use the Shatter font for their band name, which is practically its own sub-genre of punk at this point (Shatter-core?). They look humorously drunk / evil on the back cover, and carry that vibe to their songs, co-opting the classic Killed By Death poise that mixes cynical humor and cartoonish hatred, as evidenced by songs like “(I’m Gonna Push You In Front Of A) Car”, “Spike Bat” and “Suicide Solution” (nope, not a cover somehow). Musically they veer as garage-influenced as The Time Flys and as hardcore-influenced as Germs, but lacking the eccentricity or over-the-top attitude of either. Even the song titles seem to aim for Buck Biloxi’s level of petty nihilism but miss the mark slightly, never quite attaining the wild menace for which I assume they’re striving. Still, perfectly fine punk record for party animals of both the poseur and self-destructively-life-shortening varities, that much is true.
An Ultimate DJ An Ultimate DJ? 12″ (PRR! PRR!)
As far as crazy musical nations go, Belgium is often overlooked, might you agree? They don’t have nearly as much flair as say, the Japanese or French, but any country that spawned Dennis Tyfus is alright by me, not to mention whoever the weirdos behind An Ultimate DJ are (a trio of DDDJ Coquelin, Maoupa Mazzocchetti, PD Cloarec, of course). This 12″ is pretty much exactly what I want to hear right now: completely numbskulled, hardware-based techno primitivism… antagonistic dance music of limited means and vibrant personality. A-side “Sondages” is like a European answer to Beau Wanzer’s “Balls Of Steel”, as it is little more than a gritty analog-house workout with multiple interruptions from a man speaking a language I do not understand. Simple and aggressive, and yet instantly recognizable to my ears. The flip is entitled “GO NUTS!” and amazingly opens with a couple minutes of someone loosely covering Chris Isaak’s “Wicked Game” on acoustic guitar (that’s right) before giving way to a wobbly hard-techno track with overloaded bass, rapid-fire hits and a BPM that excludes sober people from dancing. If I owned a record store, I’d make sure to stock it full of nothing but records like this.
Billy Bao The Lagos Sessions 2xLP (Munster)
Adding to the Billy Bao pile of sonic confusion, here’s his newest album, recorded in Lagos with locally-sourced musicians and released by a Spanish garage-rock label. Only Mr. Bao could do this, I tell ya! Much like his other recent release, the Communisation EP, this one grabs from all of Mattin’s musical interests and splices it all together – you get free-range field recordings, cavernous drums emanating from some dark corner, radio interference, and of course, blistering noise-rock. Just when the barely-there blips that close the A-side have you questioning your listening habits, the B-side opens with a Brainbombs-esque slammer that will wake the neighbors, which abruptly transitions into a street interview. It’s clearly Billy Bao’s form of a sonic postcard, revealing his days and nights in Lagos and the alienation, fear, excitement and vigor that came out of them. I’ll admit that I assumed Billy Bao’s relevance in my life had essentially expired, but these new records (Lagos Sessions in particular) are entertaining and discomforting in the way that only Billy Bao knows how.
Blood Pressure Need To Control LP (Beach Impediment)
I just took a quick tally, and at least 50% of all Beach Impediment releases feature some sort of evil skull or demon-monster on the cover. Bravo! There’s a psychotic reaper on the cover of Need To Control, and he is the harbinger of the punchy, rapid-fire hardcore that is Blood Pressure’s MO. They have a new singer now (the enigmatic Ed Steck off writing poetry in some warmer climate I believe), replaced by a guy who sounds almost exactly like Ban Reilly in his Boston Strangler guise – it’s really an uncanny similarity, which I suppose isn’t too uncommon among classic-sounding hardcore vocalists. The music, however, is indebted to no region in particular, stomping through New York, Boston and Detroit circa 1982 with brief layovers in the UK and Sweden for good measure. These songs are complex but never overbearing, and the only guitar solo arrives as a hive of noise while the vocalist repeats “you’re full of shit” (I for one can’t help but believe his sincerity there). Blood Pressure really stepped their game up here, as Need To Control works not only as a filler-free 45 RPM hardcore LP, it’s a distillation of hardcore’s most infallible sounds – if there was ever a case to be made for creativity not being an integral component of modern hardcore music, Need To Control would be exhibit A.
Julian Casablancas & Jehnny Beth Boy/Girl 7″ (Cult)
Who exactly is supposed to buy this $18 one-song 7″ by Julian Casablancas and Jehnny Beth? Wait, I guess it’s me! Totally stupid record here, but I’m not gonna lie and say I don’t heartily enjoy it. Together they sing Sort Sol’s “Boy/Girl”, with Beth and her beau Johnny Hostile (who is inexplicably not a mid-’90s WCW under-card wrestler) handling the bass, drums and vocals. Casablancas sounds less like himself than ever here, mumbling through the track not unlike Elias Bender Rønnenfelt, and Beth seems to be purposely singing the wrong notes, with half the intensity of any given Savages tune. Clearly they knew how to handle this song, as it sounds great, just goofy and punk and glorious. The b-side is a “Johnny Hostile remix” (how many times do I have to keep typing this guy’s name) which pulls the live band for a recently-thawed electroclash costume change (and amazingly has a mere 21 views on YouTube as I type this, which is probably less views than the photo montage from your grandma’s 80th birthday). I get the feeling I am the only person listening to this music, let alone enjoying it, and yes, I do feel a little smug about it.
Counter Intuits Monosyllabilly LP (Pyramid Scheme)
Much like the debut Counter Intuits album, this one arrived pretty perfectly – I heard vague murmurs that an album was on its way, and then a week or two later it’s here, fresh and ready to be enjoyed. While this one lacks the hilarious Pyramid Scheme discography advertisement, it’s a strong reminder that Ron House and Jared Phillips have that natural Ohio blood in their veins, where rock n’ roll isn’t a destination so much as a journey that is constantly undertaken. I should probably go back to their debut for a side-by-side comparison, but Monosyllabilly strikes me as even less interested in melodies and chords – most of these songs get by on a rotten jangle that offers no sense of harmony or tunefulness, just rhythmic guitar sounds. It’s as if they removed the music notes in post-production, although we all know that isn’t the case (and the production is naturally quite minimal and decidedly hands-off). My favorite tune is “Password (Is Password)”, and it’s actually got a catchy little skip to it, as House announces his login information to anyone within earshot. His lyrics are as sharp and directed as ever, casually skewering Record Store Day and anything else that sticks in his craw. Unlike one of those freaks that waits in line for eight hours to get a 4×10″ box-set of acoustic Soundgarden outtakes, I will cherish my Counter Intuits records regardless of its eBay value.
Ian William Craig Cradle For The Wanting LP (Recital)
This isn’t a trio of dudes named Ian, William and Craig, this is one man with three first names operating all by his lonesome. He works exclusively with the human voice (his own) and a reel-to-reel tape machine with which to process it, and the results are really quite marvelous. Imagine William Basinski’s Disintegration Loops in song-size portions, with a gorgeous choral of voices as the original sound source, slowly folding over themselves like an origami master handling a fleece blanket. Craig’s voice appears to have some sort of classical training, as his melodies recall faintly-recognizable church hymns; devotional chants that express loss, longing and tenderness without an understandable word. I might place his vocal tone somewhere between Jeff Mangum, Antony Hegarty and Jamie Stewart, but that’s a wide chasm I’ve just opened up, and his voice bears no trace of indie-rock – I just don’t know a lot of choral singers whom I can reference. Craig does with his voice what Fennesz did with his guitar on Endless Summer, warping its known qualities and bending the way your ear processes a familiar sound, but with a warm, loving touch and a beautiful sense of freedom. Much like myself, Cradle For The Wanting is gorgeous.
Den Sorte Skole Indians & Cowboys 2xLP (no label)
Never in my life have I dug around record crates searching for samples or beats or whatever else producers like to use, but I admire those who really have a talent for making something entirely new and exciting out of old, forgotten parts. Den Sorte Skole are a German duo who build their music entirely from samples, and the world they’ve created within Indians & Cowboys is entirely their own. They really run the gamut on this dense album, cramming a few dozen samples per track (ranging from Yoko Ono to This Heat to Speed, Glue & Shinki to Conrad Schnitzler, etc.) with dazzling results. The album opens with a huge post-dubstep slam paired with an in-the-red guitar blast, and from there travels through realms that have me imagining the Hessle Audio team remixing kraut-rock classics, or a busier Nicolas Jaar trying out his own personal Avalanches technique (particularly when a buttery-smooth blues singer arrives over a glitchy beat as sitars and synths sputter by). Or perhaps, Den Sorte Skole are the inverse Girl Talk, expertly splicing tracks you’ve never heard into something that doesn’t resemble any of the originals in the first place and quite possibly transcends them all. Just take a look at the lengthy sample annotation on their Discogs page, download the album for free off their site if you don’t want to shell for the already-collectible vinyl edition and prepare to be transported.
En Kernaghan Band En Kernaghan Band LP (Ever/Never)
Ever/Never digs deep into Australia’s rotten crevasses for this one, a reissue of a highly-limited demo tape from 2014 by a young man named Ethan Kernaghan. How they came across this one is beyond me – maybe one of the Yankees at Ever/Never got a job teaching American English at a suburban Australian high school? – but this fits right within the label’s MO, as this is a prime slice of disregarded, ragged rock music that snubs its nose at punk just as much as it seeks entry into its canon. The one-sheet (which very well might just be an elaborate joke – I can never tell anymore) explains that En Kernaghan Band is covering Cramps and Pussy Galore songs here, surely among some originals, and I’m willing to believe it, as this is some raw, gristly honky-tonk punk befitting those names. The ostensible four-track recording is quite perfect for the sound En Kernaghan Band is after, with a nice sense of analog fuzz and humble means, and the vision of one-person / two-person noisy garage-blooze remains intact. Of course, I should also mention that many of these songs come with Krishna-devotional lyrics (quite possibly sincere?) and the main guy in the band, featured on front and back covers, looks like a teenage Iceage fan. Truly a confusing personality and record, but that’s just the way Ever/Never likes ’em… hoping they find an ex-NYHC youth-crew guy who makes digital reggae with his estranged daughter next.
Kobosil We Grow, You Decline 2xLP (Ostgut Ton)
Young Max Kobosil is primarily a working DJ, from what my research tells me – if he’s not entertaining club crowds in Amsterdam, Lithuania, Belgium and Georgia this week, he’s probably in his hometown of Berlin at Panorama Bar or Berghain, where he is primarily stationed. The man clearly spends more hours a week with loud throbbing PA systems and electronic synths than your average office worker does their email, and while you might think that sort of first-hand experience and knowledge would lead to an album of unrepentant peak-time bangers, Kobosil treats We Grow, You Decline more as a solitary sketch pad or reflective retreat. I’m kind of surprised at how little this album bangs, quite honestly, but after settling myself in for that slight disappointment, I’ve found plenty to enjoy here. It’s a fairly quick album, at only nine tracks (some of which are three minutes or less), but Kobosil seems content to skulk in the low tide, where undertows are frequent and tsunamis are rare. “When I Speak” is hypnotically stoic, like a puzzle game on the most difficult setting, and my favorite cut “You Answered With Love” pairs a curious two-note melody with an antagonistic ghost-in-the-machine to excellent effect. An understated record for sure, one that shares its amusing and thoughtful personality if you stick around long enough to get to know it.
Laurice G.A.Y.D.A.R. LP (Mighty Mouth Music)
Mighty Mouth did us all a great service by bringing the music of Laurice to the limelight with two retrospective LP collections full of insanely infectious glam-rock psychedelia (and I say this as someone who only wears glitter a couple times a year, max), and now they are taking things even further with a new album of Laurice studio material. Naturally, I was hoping for Laurice’s Darkstar, but he opted for an album of raunchy novelty songs instead. Go figure! G.A.Y.D.A.R. was apparently initially written to be performed by “a gay punk artist”, but I presume they declined, and I can’t blame that unnamed artist, as these songs are decidedly corny and kitsch, like the worst moments of Wesley Willis, Tim & Eric and Bruce Haack combined with Blowfly’s lyrical aesthetic. I have to say, I appreciate that Laurice side-steps the obvious double entendres and dirty metaphors and usually just goes straight to the carnal, with lyrics clearly outlining his admiration of someone’s big dick, or in the case of “Busted”, “Down at the local bar / had raunchy sex with James / in the backroom on the downlow”. The blatantly direct lyrics matched with Jerry Lee Lewis riffs played on a hand-held Casio aren’t without their charm, but when it comes to the actual songwriting at hand, Laurice has traded in his epic, instantly-gripping prowess for kinky laffs, and I suppose he has earned that right.
Leon Leon 7″ (SmartGuy)
There are but a few modern-day rockers who can tie their track-jacket over their shoulders and wear it with flair, Leon Stackpole being one of them. You might know him best as vocalist of Ooga Boogas (I certainly do), and it’s nice to hear him step out on his own here, four humble tracks that offer no pretense, just some sharply-tailored good times. They are charmingly small songs, which remind me of Mark Perry at his most regal, or perhaps Harry Nilsson, had he lived a previous life as a garage-punk hooligan. The Ooga Boogas’ tune “Sentimental Stranger” is rebooted here with “Sentimental Stranger II”, breezier and less inclined to sit up than ever before. I generally don’t get that excited about music that sounds like it’s deciding whether it should take a nap now or ten minutes from now, but Leon is the type of charmer who will have me sleeping with my sunglasses on after serving me some of the best sangria I’ve ever tasted, and I need at least one musician in my life like that at all times.
Alec Livaditis Clear And Cloud LP (Kye)
In this era where every artist, new or old, is available to be heard at any moment’s notice, free of charge, there’s nothing I value more than actual curation – I want to find entities I can trust, those who are connected locally and/or digging deep in the trenches of the internet, corresponding with interesting people, and putting together sounds and ideas they find truly exceptional. I can’t think of a better example today than Kye, whose roster seems tied together only by their sonic fearlessness and the peculiar taste of the man behind it… I love that I can check in with any new record, almost surely by someone or something I’ve never heard of, and find myself transported to a strange new place. It’s like locating a new closet or hallway in your own home. Anyway, Alec Livaditis is a great example, he being a cellist playing around the Athens, GA area with other like-minded folks, and this, his debut album, features two side-long live recordings. He’s joined by a guitarist on “Clear And Cloud”, which plays out like a conversation between skittish strings, plaintive moans and atonal feedback. It’s a colorful banter, naturally resulting in more questions than answers, particularly as the other folks in the room chatter incessantly, seemingly immune to the music that surrounds them. “Through The Open Window” pairs Livaditis’ cello with clarinet, bass clarinet and violin, and it’s more beautiful and soothing than the former, with an equally unhurried pace and vivid phrasing. It’s one of those records I had no idea would impact my life as greatly as it did until I heard it, which is why I keep buying records, in search of the fleeting sensation that fills Clear And Cloud.
M//R No Tag No Food 12″ (Details Sound)
There’s no easier way to make a sick first impression than to sport a bold hat, which is certainly the case with this recent M//R 12″ on Details Sound. Once that hat hooks you in, these four tracks keep you in place, be it sinking into a beanbag chair while high or in the middle of a commercially-zoned warehouse turned illegal-rave long after midnight. “No Tag No Food” has me thinking of Westov Temple or M Ax Noi Mach in the way the beat casually bludgeons, but it’s quickly infused with various chemtrails and disembodied vocals, building to something on the lower end of the techno BPM scale and more satisfying because of it. “Grimy Window” sounds like an investigator digging through the charred remnants of an acid-techno track in search of clues, definitely the sort of track you’d expect Bones and Booth to get intimate with (I’ll save the rest for my erotic fan-fic blog). “Canto” is the sound of poisonous bubbles popping in the sky while you scamper without an umbrella, and “Idyll” is the icy outro, specters gliding past your body as you search for the one unlocked door that will get you back outside. No Tag No Food is certainly rooted in today’s “forward” techno scene, while still dancing with its own expressive signature, and it’s my favorite M//R outing to date.
No Parole No Parole 7″ (Mad At The World)
Proudly working-class street-punk here from No Parole, five guys who follow the tried-and-true tradition of standing in front of a brick wall for their band photo. Four songs here, all of which recall the more melodic-punk edge of Headache Records or Vulture Rock. They play slower than most punk bands, and the vocalist’s belligerent bellow had me wondering if maybe I wasn’t playing it on the wrong speed, but I suppose that sluggishness lends itself well to a band whose message seems to be “I’m exhausted and life sucks”. Definitely the sort of band I would’ve expected to see as the local opener for The Unseen or The Wretched Ones back in 1998 or something, and it’s nice to know this style hasn’t died out entirely. Really could’ve done without the naked Sailor Jerry-esque woman on the insert posing as the No Parole logo, though – alongside chain wallets and baggy plaid shorts, nudie tattoo-guy art is a tasteless relic that should’ve been long since retired.
Not Waving Animals 2xLP (Diagonal)
While I sit here patiently awaiting the debut Powell album (your guess on its release date is as good as mine), I figure I might as well check out Not Waving’s new album, seeing as Powell is wholeheartedly putting himself behind this release and the Diagonal label has yet to drop a stinker. Wasn’t sure what to expect (and the name has to be a This Heat homage, right?), but Animals is a great snapshot of Diagonal-style techno circa 2016. Which is to say, it often sounds like a more populist Powell, a Powell that isn’t afraid to adhere to Ableton’s 4/4 grid while still integrating bizarre spoken-word snippets and acoustic instruments. A track like “Tomorrow We Will Kill You” exemplifies this, with a slow-motion EBM backbone laced with an electric bass squiggle reminiscent of Powell’s no-wave sampling habits. Opener “Believe” practically feels like a pitched-down outtake from Powell’s Club Music in the way the main pulse and drums collaborate somewhere between late ’70s Sky Records-esque kraut-rock and moody Belgian EDM (picked up faster on “I Know I Know I Know”). Somehow though, I wouldn’t accuse Not Waving of copying Powell, so much as arriving at a similar destination through his own means, one where the day-glo MS Paint vomit of the cover speaks as much toward the future as it does a nostalgic past. Powell’s probably on to some new sound entirely by this point anyway, so it’s nice to hear more of it now, no matter what the source.
Nuel Hyperboreal LP (Further)
Further certainly has its share of techno iconoclasts, one of my favorites being Italy’s Nuel. His debut album Trance Mutation was almost shocking in its refusal to partake in the industrial techno workouts with which he first made his name, opting instead for a subtle, slow-burning suite of acoustic meditations, not entirely unlike a “world music” CD you’d find on the counter of your local free-trade coffeehouse. I wasn’t expecting him to repeat himself here, and he certainly doesn’t: on Hyperboreal, Nuel sits down with his friend Neel’s Ekdahl Polygamist (that’s a synth) and busts out these six tracks in a few hours. Moving past the fact that a techno guy who goes by Nuel is close friends with a techno guy who goes by Neel, this album exists on an alternate course from the rest of modern electronic music, much to my delight. Each track sees multiple processes traveling outward, sometimes forecasting a conflict that never arrives (“Steppin’ Stone”), other times a digitally-rendered aviary (“Polaris”) or the oppressive weather systems of our sister planet Venus (“Hyperboreal”). It’s ambient music for inhospitable terrain, like a particularly beautiful amino acid that would melt your skin upon contact. After a few listens, you’ll either build up some newly found tolerance and bask in its glow or suffer from a strange and mild form of mental stress, and I implore you to take the chance.
Patsy Eat It / Insidious Kind 7″ (Total Punk)
If there’s a punk band that can steal one of “Weird” Al’s most popular song titles and run with it, it’s gotta be Patsy, who commit two more songs off their 2015 demo to vinyl care of Total Punk. “Eat It” is a rollicking number, careening around familiar curves while vocalist Candace repeats the title with little respect to the rhythm of the music. Pretty sure she has a few other non-“eat it!” lyrics in here too, but who’s to say for sure? “Insidious Kind” is both faster and shorter, with Victims-esque guitar surgically conjoined to a modern hardcore-leaning sound, which of course works wonderfully. Very simple, bread-and-butter punk here, but in the best possible way, songs that seem obvious and familiar because they are great and unadorned. I’m hoping Patsy finds it in themselves to do a little touring soon, as I know of a handful of quality basements near me that could benefit from a Patsy performance.
PCPC Ramsgate LP (Dull Tools)
I’ll admit I was hoping for a Primitive Calculators / PC Music collaboration here, but I’ll take one from Parquet Courts and PC Worship just the same. These two groups apparently joined forces at Ramsgate Music Hall back on November 24th, 2014 (excuse me, 24th November, 2014) and ended up with a clear, smartly-mixed recording of the session, resulting in the LP I hold before me. As Parquet Courts seem to have made it their mission to annoy as many of the fans they’ve gained through their palatable indie-rock albums Sunbathing Animal and Light Up Gold as possible, this record supports their endeavors, comfortably switching gears from extended Velvets-y big-band stoner groove to skronky freakouts within the same set. The b-side opener “Lost In The Drain” almost feels like an indie-rock version of Landed, in the way a rudimentary guitar lunge is slowly beaten into the dirt, which of course I appreciate. Half of Ramsgate feels composed, half loosely improvised (“I’ll repeat this riff and everyone can follow along” vibes), but their inherent skill at both methods results in a cohesive sound, like a secret show at an exclusive small-cap venue where only cool things happen (if at least one band member wasn’t wearing sunglasses, my mental image is off). Ending on a “Born To Be Wild” cover, it’s nice to know that indie-rock bands can still enter the hype vortex and come out the other end with their enthusiasm and wonder toward playing music undiminished.
Piñén EP 2015 7″ (Hurricane)
You won’t often hear me extolling the virtues of raw hardcore-punk that eschews the guitar / bass guitar / drums format without good reason, but Piñén make a good case for hardcore minimalism. From what I can decipher, they’ve got one guitarist, a drummer and vocalist (who may or may not play one of those instruments) and they stack up with the best standard-issue lineups thanks to a seemingly unending well of rage and energy. Musically, they sound very “now”, with slowly descending stop-start riffs and sped-up street-punk pogo drumming (there truly is an oompah-beat renaissance in hardcore right there now), with strained vocals that seem desperate to not be drowned out in the mix. Very crude presentation, which of course is what makes Piñén so good, as their crude sound seems like the only logical conclusion for this band, not a self-stylized product to keep up with the times. It’s in the details, like the single cymbal hit punctuating each bar in “AntÃtesis”, and while I could try to intellectualize this music further (probably a huge mistake), I’ll simply reiterate that Piñén is a shining example of the excitement and spirit that a direct and unsophisticated punk band can create.
Soda Without A Head 12″ (Dull Tools)
The band is called Soda, a substance that I suffer a tumultuous on-again-off-again relationship with (I’ll have a crappy Sierra Mist and swear the stuff off, then a bottle of Cheerwine makes its way into my hand and I’m back at square one), and their music suits my frustration well. This isn’t effervescent sugary pop, so much as the queasy caffeination that comes with a Coca Cola bender, rock music that sounds both out of its head and trying not to scream. Maybe it’s all that flange on the guitar? I’m reminded of the broody indie-punk vibes of labelmates Heaven’s Gate here, as well as some sort of meeting point between the 4AD and Homestead Records catalogs circa 1987, when everyone was getting into poetry and REM and goth and slower songs without realizing what would eventually come of it. Soda is from Florida, and knowing that, I hear some of the more noisy-sad music of Florida’s modern underground here too, like I can picture Merchandise’s David Vassalotti laying down guitar tracks on Without A Head after writing a sad paragraph in his personal diary. “T.V.” might be my favorite track here, and that’s because it feels like Collective Soul’s “December” bent over and spanked, which is what we all want to do with that horrible band. Drink up!
The Soda Boys Burgers And Fries / Dog House 7″ (Total Punk)
The Soda Boys “Burgers And Fries” is essentially an American meal no one can rightfully take umbrage with, so right off the bat I’m willing to hear what these four guys (all with corporate-soda-based punk names) have put together for us. “Burgers And Fries” is a pretty basic, upbeat garage-rock number both in music and lyrical tone, basically the theme of an Archie comic given a leather jacket with smartly-chosen pins. “Dog House” opens with a guitar solo that just barely rips before jumping into another entry-level punk tune, not entirely unlike The Oblivians, Live Fast Die or The Time Flys, just with any of those artists’ personal uniqueness subbed out for soda-based lyrics. About as disposable a punk single as they come, although that seems to be part of the point, and the fact that their little insert advertises that you can “send $4 for the 2nd pressing of the demo tape” warms my heart far more than any Bandcamp URL. These guys have nothing to do but think about soda and write slightly different versions of basic garage-punk songs that have been written a thousand times over, and it remains a far better option than playing organized sports with adult coaches, now and forever.
The Sprawl E.P. 1 12″ (Death Of Rave)
The Sprawl is a new collaboration between Mumdance, Logos and Shapednoise, Shapednoise being the odd man out in this crew of club-minded, bass-banging bros. I can’t tell if he is guiding The Sprawl, or merely part of the excuse for the other two guys to get full on post-post-modern, into the realm of beatless, off-the-grid sonic flora. Imagine Arca as the sound of shopping mall Muzak in 2099, and The Sprawl is what you hear in the subterranean custodial areas beneath, where giant drains sift out waste from waste-water, WiFi hubs overheat with radiation and drones produce scripted social-media advertising. This record is very much about the sounds, their shapes and frequencies and presentation, and evaluated on that level it’s an entertaining EP; I love wondering if these guys were trying to emulate the inside of a hornets’ nest or a German-engineered dishwasher (or the former inside the latter). Personally, it never really does much for me to see this sort of thing performed live, as there is little in the way of performance, and I am too busy watching other peoples’ reactions to non-musical music to concentrate on it myself. That’s why a product like this is key, so that I may lay on my rug sideways, stare at the ceiling and let The Sprawl sonically interpret the internet.
Whatever Brains Whatever Brains LP (Sorry State)
Whatever Brains are seemingly doing all it takes to remain an overlooked gem within the underground punk landscape: they don’t seem to tour much, their PR is non-existent (at least within the side of the internet I click on), and this is their fourth self-titled album on Sorry State Records, a label generally associated with straight-forward, reverent hardcore-punk. Meanwhile, Whatever Brains have been slowly carving out their own little tunnel under the street, integrating electronics into their off-kilter post-punk as though it was the only way things could be. I feel like I say this every time, but this new one is probably their best yet – their downer, dryly-sarcastic, Fall-indebted moves are still intact, but expanded to new realms that recall the effects-based rock approach of Girl Band, the queasy stumble of The Rebel and hell, even a foray into Mi Ami’s percussive no-wave. A lesser band could make this into a mess that no one would want to clean up, but Whatever Brains almost have a This Heat-ian ability to make you feel as though the strange ideas they’ve forged have been there all along, waiting for you to listen. I swear they even borrow one of Vessel’s homemade synths on “Let’s Find A Cop”, a tune that sounds fresh from Pop. 1280’s playbook. I can’t imagine lots of people are thanking Sorry State for sticking with this weird-ass, vaguely-unpopular band for so many years, so allow me to publicly express my gratitude as I give this album yet another spin.
JT Whitfield JT Whitfield LP (Rural Isolation Project)
JT Whitfield is serving some carefully-crafted domestic sludge here on his or her debut album on the Rural Isolation Project label. Theirs is wide-open, caustic bass tones and industrial murk, slowly leaning toward the disaffected sounds laid down by Kerridge, Talker, Grebenstein and many other Downwards-associated acts and their spookier aliases. A few years ago, this sort of thing would tail into the mechanical lurch and scrape of Wolf Eyes ala “Stabbed In The Face”, but now it’s 2016 and bass-centric industrial-noise leans toward an eventual or supposed 4/4 kick, not so much a beat to dance to but a pulse by which to survive. The Rural Isolation Project label has only released Quttinirpaaq albums thus far, and I wouldn’t be surprised if I found out that Whitfield was a member of the group, as they both reside in Austin, TX and Whitfield’s toxic tones often feel like they would fit comfortably within one of Quttinirpaaq’s molten grooves. You be the judge!
untitled compilation 7″ (D.I.H.D. / Nostorca / Logcabinrecordings)
This record has pained me for a couple weeks now, like seriously caused me legitimate anguish… because it’s a compilation with no title. How was I supposed to list it? List all four band names, and then use their four band names again as the title? Couldn’t one of the people involved come up with something, like maybe New Brunswick Art Supply or New Jerseys’ Still Kinda Got It I Think? These four groups are all on the cool side of lo-fi arty, they all reside around New Brunswick, NJ and they all sound similar but different, and it’s a fine sampling of one of New Jersey’s best locations for sandwiches that consider french fries to be a valid condiment. Shadow Band kicks it off with a gorgeous Nico-esque sunrise, the sort of thing Espers would’ve listened to while cooking breakfast, and they’re followed by King Darves, whose album on De Stijl was a fine example of booming-baritone folk (which his track here continues to demonstrate). Things get a little more chaotic on the flip, with the lowercase-adamant quit starting it off with a barely-alive dual-guitar and drums jam; Human Adult Band wrap it up with a hearty groove that has me imagining a failed genetic splicing of Sonic Youth and Tad. Would make for an excellent four-band gig for sure, and until that caravan tour happens this compilation is an excellent consolation prize, at least if you can figure out a proper way to file it.
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