Cobwebs and Strange

Crain was a little bit too early and a little bit too late. Earlier, they would have preceded the first Fugazi full length and been hailed as ushering in alternative rock. Later, they would have been considered a catalyst for whatever screamo is. But as luck has it, Crain released this, their first album in 1992. Speed was recorded at Inner Ear Studios (home to pretty much every Dischord band) and produced by Steve Albini. Since it’s worth noting the appearance of Albini, it’s also worth mentioning that he is above all else a businessman and has stated the he’s be willing to work for anyone with the funds. So his appearance doesn’t necessarily dictate quality, but it should hint at the sound. What Albini did manage to get down on record wasn’t exactly punk or metal or pop, but an early nineties amalgam. There’s almost funky drumming coupled with a brusque bass player and couple of noisy guitarists. Since Speed is an early ‘90s recording, there are marks of SST and the aforementioned Dischord bands everywhere. Most notably, the Minutemen are evoked consistently on the tracks “Monkey Wrench”, with the start/stop timing, the seven minute “Kneel”, “Ten Miles of Fiction” and “Ribcage”, which showcases a screamed chorus of, “Let me loose/Let me free”. Amongst the fourteen tracks, there’s no undeniable stand out, but only one complete loser. “Blistering” comes towards the end of the album with an enticing guitar part, but then surges forward with off key crooning. This band isn’t your life. And there’s a reason that Speed wasn’t repressed for thirteen years, but it’ll probably please you if you’re a fan of early-nineties-tiny-label-rock.

Tracklisting:

01. Car Crash Decisions
02. Monkey Wrench
03. Proposed Production
04. Kneel
05. The Dead Town
06. King Octane
07. Skinminer Pastel
08. News from Warsaw
09. Ten Miles of Friction
10. Ribcage
11. Fuckerman
12. Stabilizer
13. Blistering
14. Breathing Machine

I almost love this band, but it almost sucks. I attribute that to the fact that the brothers McMahon are mostly responsible for the writing on this slab. While the two are not given separate credits for each song in the liner notes, their voices and individual interests are easily heard. One of these fellows enjoys the false-seto and an occasional Julian Casablanca impression, like on “Island”. While the other brother lets loose with his version of the country/folk sound on “Somewhere in France” and “Cherry Orchard”. But beyond this simple split personality, the band cranks out some lack luster disco drumbeats and some Radiohead sounding drudgery. When they come out and simply let it fly the results are just short of inspiring. But when they go on a quest to be creative, they’re just short of awful. A few tracks evoke some early-era Pink Floyd (“Elected”, “Nudie Suit”). Most confusingly, though, are the steady flow of references to nudity, childhood and birth. Frankly, I’m not smart enough to make something up that’s interesting, so I’ll end this all by saying only that they have three guitars.

Tracklisting:

01 - What I Want
02 - No Danger
03 - Elected
04 - Father’s House
05 - Search For The Bees
06 - With The Birds
07 - Somewhere In France
08 - Island
09 - Cherry Orchard
10 - Nudie Suit
11 - Victory

The vast gulf between what Sex Mob and Radical Jewish Culture sound like when spoken as phrases don’t really reflect the music. While Bernstein led Sex Mob, and they were quite gritty, the hard bop and free jazz influences were apparent.

The label, Tzadik, working with Bernstein, has created a trio of recordings that collect various Semitic scales, melodies and general Jew ephemera while combining each with a junky jazz feel that more easily recalls coffee shops than schul.

It’s hard to gauge the interests gentiles may have in this series. The line-up here does include guitarist Nels Cline, which should draw a few uninitiated listeners. Despite this recording’s obvious market, the entirety of the affair is well structured and played.

Every track is seemingly (I’ve been remiss in studying the Torah lately) named for the disparate Tribes of Israel. And perhaps that’s the only distinction that these tracks need. “Yis May Chu” is present in a funk-rock manner and is probably the most recognizable melody on here to those who attend temple on Friday’s.

Beyond that though, these songs are structured in a fashion that increases the Semitic influence as each ensues. To begin the album, a guitar squeal flowers into the melody adding a ghostly texture to the traditional sounding progression and moving improvisational solos.

The improvisational aspect to this, and every Bernstein outing, pushes each track forward as the listener knowingly awaits whatever freedom the players can muster. That alone should be an incentive to listeners, but if not, just wait and Bernstein will probably be involved in another project not involving these particular religious or cultural aspects.

Tracklisting:

01 - Reuben
02 – Simeon (Yis May Chu)
03 – Levi
04 – Judah
05 – Dan
06 – Naphtali
07 – Gad
08 – Asher
09 – Issachar
10 – Zebulon
11 – Joseph
12 – Benjamin

To comment upon this group in an unbiased manner is ostensibly impossible for me. To extricate the sounds that I hear – the harmonies, the rhythms – from a time that, in my mind, is linked to them, simply can’t be done.

Whatever period of one’s life gets replayed incessantly in the mind, if you’re a music devotee at least, there’s a theme song that goes along with the images. I know others have made this same heartfelt and exuberant connection. But that just points to the fact that this music possesses the power to hold a literal and emotional meaning.

The reason that these meanings are possible most likely stems from the intense belief that this trio, whose only consistent member was Albert Griffiths, had the ability to enrich a mass of people who felt marginalized. Touching upon secular and spiritual life, Griffiths worked to give voice to points of culture that he felt were either misunderstood, ignored or exploited.

Since this disc is made up of singles, as the title clearly states, a quarter of the tracks represented here are versions, or dubs. Being arranged in such a fashion as to have each dub accompany the vocal track serves to exemplify a showcase style that Wackies exhibited, in contrast to a relatively recent reissue of the Mighty Diamonds’ Deeper Roots, which separates the versions.

Every vocal and every dub – save for “Don’t Fool the Young Girls” and its version – is rootsy and free from blemishes. The one exception wouldn’t be as blatant a departure from quality if it sat along side other artists or lesser tracks. Basically a weak Gladiator’s workout still surpasses a great deal of other Jamaican music.

If the listener is familiar with either the group’s first studio effort, Trenchtown Mix-Up or their Live at Sunsplash - split with Israel Vibration - these offerings occasionally sound a bit slower than the later recordings. It’s not a re-tread; it’s just a re-arranging of classics that might not have been heard in any other way.

Tracklisting:
01 – Fling It Gimme
02 – Sonia
03 - Solas
04 - Dub Ina Babylon
05 – Version Ina Babylon
06 - A Prayer To Thee
07 – Version Of Prayer
08 – Boy In Long Pants
09 – Part Two
10 – Bongo Red
11 – Bongo Version
12 – Beautiful Locks
13 – Sufferation Version
14 – Roots Natty
15 – Rearrange
16 – Mister Baldwin
17 – M. Baldwin Part. 2
18 – Big Boo Boo Day
19 – Version
20 – Pretending
21 – Don’t Fool The Young Girls
22 – Version
23 – Happy Man

Nuggets and all of the KBD compilations have served to illustrate the point that, if your band has one really good song, it might only be part of a shitty album - that is if your band even got around to recording the ten songs it knew.

Rhino 39 can not be categorized alongside those acts though. Their various compilation appearances as well as their lone single point towards what could have been an indispensable artifact of the ‘70s LA/LBC punk scene.

Along with those released sides is an unearthed clutch of tracks recorded with original singer Dave Dacron. It’s always difficult to pin point the birth of a style, and some point to this work here as early hardcore. That point can be debated, of course, but Rhino 39 performing alongside Keith Morris era Black Flag serves as indisputable evidence.

Rhino’s songs range in theme from group think on “Xerox 12″ to the suggested murder on “Small Art”. It’s in this later song that the lines “Pull the trigger/In the schoolyard/Make yourself feel bigger” appear. The eerie similarity to the words of Darby Crash can’t be more apparent - in addition to hilarious. One aspect of this band that set it apart from its contemporaries, at least on studio recordings, is the inclusion of an electric piano. “Pack of Lies” instantly recalls past LA bands of an altogether different era and genre while still working forward to change how rock is played (i.e. fast and dumb).

The self-titled compilation assuredly isn’t geared toward casual punk listeners, but it has more than just filler that only collectors could want. And if nothing else, watching the performance video included on the second disc with its dusty images and sound from another source is pretty amusing.

Tracklisting:
Disc One

01 - Xerox 12
02 - Prolixin Stomp
03 - No Compromise
04 - Head Cheese
05 - Pack O’ Lies
06 - Small Art
07 - Manifest Destiny
08 - J. Alfred
09 - Turn Your Head And Cough
10 - Growing Pains
11 - Good Life
12 - Locker Room
13 - Pie Face
14 - All For Nothing
15 - J Alfred (Version W/ Organ at End.)
16 - Marry It
17 - J. Alfred
18 - Sleepwalking

Disc Two (DVD)

01 - Take Your Medicine
02 - Hurry Up And Wait
03 - Untitled
04 - Sleepwalking
05 - Tomorrow Morning’s Light
06 - Head Cheese
07 - Near Extinct
08 - Try To Hard
09 - Remember To Forget
10 - What Is Your Name?
11 - Unblues
12 - Bars And Bricks
13 - Minute By Minute
14 - J. Alfred
15 - Using The Night

Video: Live at Long Beach City College, 1979

Noise is the new pop. With the advancement of Ecstatic Peace, Thurston Moore’s new album being deemed excellent despite its deviance from the classic SY sound, Parts and Labor finding gigs for three plus years as well as the sought after Lightning Bolt vinyl releases being sold used on E-bay for the same price they were when new, all point to this love of noise. Even Mission of Burma got back together for an album and a tour.

L.A.’s I Heart Lung don’t sit perfectly in this category of noise, yet they aren’t a jazz duo, nor rock. And if one were to ask about genre, either guitarist Chris Schlarb or drummer Tom Steck might guffaw that question, look off dreamily into the distance and wish that it wasn’t even asked.

Between the two that make up I Heart Lung, label boss Schlarb seems to have the more extensive musical history. Even though Steck claims to have been “ a closet drummer for about 20 years”, he wasn’t able to become involved in musically interacting with others , but he knew he’d work well with Schlarb.

“I had been a huge fan of Create (ed. a previous project of Shclarb’s), and Chris’ way of playing. I knew that we would be great together, because we approached our instruments in the same spirit. There was a fortuitous event with performance artist Murray McMillian which employed 12 improvising musicians, of which we were both selected. I knew that that would be my chance, and the synergy that followed came as naturally as I knew it would.”

Past projects of Schlarb’s range in scope from Castanets and Bizzart to the Vanishing Voice and solo guitar outings, like his impending Twilight and Ghost Stories on Asthmatic Kitty. But perhaps due to this combination, veteran on the scene and veteran behind the scenes, I Heart Lung works.

Of course there are difficult passages to get through on their latest release, Between Them a Forrest Grew Trackless and Quiet. Even though the duo has gotten press from the likes of All About Jazz and some other high brow scribes, the inclusion of this group in a conversation about a specific idiom may be confounding. Now, there is horn present on this album, navigated by Peter Chan, but does that make for easy categorization? Schlarb explains:

“Well I took to calling what we do “drone-jazz” but that’s a pretty vapid explanation. In some ways I think we are still looking into it. We never talked about what the group could or would become and Tom and I have a very natural way of playing with each other. I think our sense of rhythm is strikingly similar and that leads to some interesting passages of syncopation. Likewise, neither of us are traditional jazz musicians. We’re both musical bastards making bastard music.”

Bastard music, unlike that of Les Claypool’s (ed. see Suck on This), still garners a fan base. Even a small group of people can voraciously support and devour every exertion of effort by a band.

“We toured the country in 2005 and played almost 30 shows in as many days. We had the pleasure of playing at Tonic in New York which was a joy for both Tom and myself. We have toured subsequently albeit more modestly.”

With this kind of network set up and theoretically repeatable, Steck ruminates, “it seems the venues are shrinking. And let’s not pretend that there is any money in any of this.”

He’s correct, there isn’t monetary reward in playing free music. Again, to broadly group IHL into a category rife with jazzbos, Albert Ayler saw little or no fame during his lifetime, only to have his back catalog re-issued and highly sought out. But with the majesty of the internet, bands may have an easier time gaining fan and media attention.

Recently, a release from the Sounds Are Active label, which is run by guitarist Chris Schlarb, has garnered a bit of comment from musical pundits. “I’m glad Thurston and Byron (Coley) enjoyed the film. I don’t want to be presumptuous but I think perhaps they saw the film in the continuum of underground music and were able to connect with it on a historical level.”

The film Schlarb refers to is 40 Bands/80 Minutes. Performances are turned in by a variety of bands from the LA scene, but each is only given a two minute window in which to perform.

“Sean Carnage was the sole impetus behind the event that led to the film. He has been on the front lines of the L.A.underground music scene for years now and is a true maverick. I knew a few of the other musicians from years of band-hopping but most of the bands in the film were completely new to me at the time of the event and during the making of the film,” Schlarb continued.

Despite the fact that such a large number of bands, including I Heart Lung, performed, there is a certain amount of similarity that runs almost to the point of sameness. Can L.A., thought of as a haven of new musics and individuality, have spawned and encouraged so many like minded bands?

“In some ways it’s easy to see variations on themes after you get half-way in. However, to say they all sound the same would be to ignore a number of truly individual acts,” Schlarb points out.

He’s also pretty quick to single out HEALTH, engaged with a US tour as we speak. Schlarb makes a good point. HEALTH’s adherence to more jangley sections throughout their work, as well as a mono-tone delivery and a focus on simplistic repetition as opposed to theatrical, metallic/post-hardcore guitar parts, or just plain noise, does set them apart. But not by too much. Not in the same manner that I Heart Lung stands out from this performance DVD.

It is possible that amongst the many reasons that IHL stand out from other L.A. area bands on the DVD and beyond is the fashion in which the duo work to create their sound. The preparation that goes towards any effort of this duo might hedge towards a valid elucidation of how these excursions are created. Not to beat a dead, or dying genre, but the team of Teo Macero and Miles Davis pioneered a musical concept that basically necessitated re-thinking music. By improvisationally performing (or jamming) with a group Davis ended up creating hours upon hours of music that simply could not be released. Together, Macero and Davis began editing down sections of these epic explorations into more concise segments. Throughout the early and mid-seventies, the album output of Davis continued growing, until eventually he became a ghost and disappeared due to circumstances too intricate to delve into. But without question, his playing has left indelible marks on more musicians than not, in one way or another. When confronted with the question of, would I Heart Lung function with this type of recording process, each player took different a stance.

“I have never thought of what Tom and I do as jamming but that’s a matter of personal semantics I suppose. I actually think the set up of I Heart Lung prohibits a kind of “jam” mentality: you can’t sit on a chord progression and churn out pentatonic scales with a rhythm section holding down a grove or harmonic structure.”

“Because it’s just drums and guitar we have to move constantly. Very rarely do I feel comfortable when performing because I subconsciously assume the responsibilities of a non-existent band.”

“Our next album, Interoceans, has turned into a more Macero-like project however. We have been working on expanding and reducing a number of studio recordings for almost two years. My hope is that we’ll be done by years end.”

Taking Schlarb’s tempered response into consideration, the emotion and brevity in Steck’s answer points to the concept of opposites pushing each other towards new frontiers that neither expects.

Steck begins, “Editing after a musical experience is a kind of violence,” which is a beautiful statement about the belief in the musical interactions and the duo’s ability. He continues by clarifying, “We are not against adding layers. I don’t think we are even against editing, but the integrity of the performance is paramount.”

Performance is paramount. It is true. Creation in a vacuum obviously doesn’t stand in live situations. And the life of this band live, presented on Between Them a Forrest Grew…, is proof of that. In conversing about the life of his label, Schlarb explains that he’s always busy, working with something, some group, some release that he believes in. And for what? Certainly, he can’t receive kudos as he walks down the streets of the LBC. He works for himself , because as he admits, “I am horrible judge of what the public thinks.” Even so, with the output of IHL being what it is, and growing, the listener can conclude independently whether this is beautiful music or noise. But if it is noise, than it’s probably the new pop and no one knew.

Whatever manner in which you want to refer (not reefer) to these Canadians lends no insight into what this music was, is or will become. In  the Future has the ability to touch upon every music you love and probably some that you really don’t ever want to think about. From a referential stand point, one must know that Black Mountain and Pink Mountaintops share members – and I’m sure comparisons can be leveled, but really it won’t matter.

Even the unsettling, yet plain cover art seems to recall bloated bands, or maybe Uriah Heep, but a bit less colorful. And if you like Uriah Heep, all the better. If you like T-Rex, that’ll bolster your ability to appreciate this disc. Mentioning every musical reference point, for any band currently, seemingly becomes an exercise in time murder.

The sticker that arrived on the jewel case along with this disc states that Black Mountain are “Psych-and-prog-spiritual pioneers.” I believe that if you refer to musics that have already been created, merged, exploited and regurgitated, there can’t be new pioneers. Obviously, Black Mountain suffers from an overtly constructed image, or their handlers are a crew of stoned-dolts.

I’m not really afraid of anything from Canada except for D.O.A. and Wayne Gretzky. But the positioning of this group as bringers of apocalyptic doom, potentially depicted on their discs cover, is immediately refuted during any keyboard line from “Stormy High” or “Wucan” (which does have a very surprising and pleasant kraut feel).

Some of the bands’ offerings stray from their overwhelmingly proggy posturing. There’re a few enlivening points when it seems as if the group wants to launch into country-rock mode. The problem with this and a good portion of the album in general, is that lyrically, much of this disc deals with being trapped and needing to escape those that intend to do you harm. Unfortunately, the culprits often time end up being witches or demons, which are way less scary than D.O.A. or Wayne Gretzky.

Tracklisting:
01 - Stormy High
02 - Angels
03 - Tyrants
04 - Wucan
05 - Stay Free
06 - Queens Will Play
07 - Evil Ways
08 - Wild Wind
09 - Bright Lights
10 - Night Walks

The young Cale Parks has played in enough bands to convince you that he’s in his late 70s or so. He’s been a part of Aloha, Cex, Joan of Arc and Pit Er Pat. And while, after that list, you may feel as if you have some sort of concept of what his solo album will sound like, you’re probably really bloody wrong. But first, considering the fact that all the noise on here was recorded by one individual, the question arises; why are these tracks given such names? I don’t aim to answer that, but I will say that there needs to be some low end rhythmic activity on some of ‘em. “Tiny Theme” is lily white Kraut rock, yes that’s right, the Midwest has made Kraut rock more white with the lack of low end depth. Not a bad track, just a little bitta something missing. Seeing as this was recorded by one person, the songs do tend to be a bit self indulgent. Not in an ‘80s metal guitar solo kinda way, but in a self pleasuring manner. The inclusion of sporadic female vocals on “Galaxy 8180” adds a bit more depth and width to this release. And after taking in all that there is on these twelve tracks, it’s easy to understand that Parks is well versed and entertained by disparate musics; the inclusion of a few unabashedly electronic numbers is proof of that. While the approach and attempt to get all those genres in there is admirable, a focused attack on electronic music might have yielded a stronger outing.

Tracklisting:
01 - Pretty Boring
02 - Galaxy 8180
03 - Tiny Theme
04 - Halls Of Avalon
05 - I Am The Arm
06 - Late Show
07 - Wet Paint
08 - Me At Home
09 - The Garden Is A Maze
10 - Fearsome Opponent
11 – Moccasin Bend
12 - Beat Masheen

If you like one of these tracks, you like them all. It’s like a mini-symphony, without the old, European rigidity. Circles feels like it was perhaps recorded in Oregon, inside of a tree or some such. The instrumental nature of this album, Scacco playing guitar and piano, makes it very hard for the listener to discern one track from the next. Maybe it’s sound-track music. But it is rather impressive that this entire recording, save for the bass parts, attributable to Tim Delaney, came from a single persons’ mind. All the light and airy instrumental sections as well as the negative space (or silence if you’d like), echoes and occasional glitch-pop production came from one, singular perspective. Scacco’s talent was evident enough to Scott Herren (aka Prefuse 73) to take her on tour as well as put out this slab. Just one warning though. If you’re driving and feel moderately tired, do not put this on. It may, in that one situation, cause death.

Tracklisting:
01 - Reeling Then Again
02 - Imitation Of Happiness
03 - Quiet Light, A
04 - Heirlooms
05 - Love’s Journey
06 - Sketches Of Lines In Spiral
07 - Moving Thought Meditation
08 - Meditation
09 - Love’s Reprise

Over about a five year period of recorded activity, The Functional Blackouts were able to create a trebly mixture of punk and noise that knowingly could only have culminated in a break up. Well, that’s what happened, but if some other avenue would have been explored, listeners may not have been privy to The Very Best of the Monkees. Not necessarily a “Best of…” compilation, this collection aims at bringing unreleased versions of album and singles tracks to a full length format.

The bands’ entire first single is represented here, which betrays the groups initial leanings towards a more garage inflected sound. However, since we are talking about the FBs, the overwhelming surge of disheveled punk overshadows the precedings. Somewhere between Bedroom Disasters by the Reatards and Erotic Grit Movies by the Piranhas, the FBs belie a Midwestern sound. Thrown in is a Cabaret Voltaire cover as well as a song titled “Frustration”, which may be considered lacksidasical based upon the fact that the one hit (that term being applied liberally) from SF’s Crime holds the same title.

Similarly, “Stab Your Back” from The Severed Tongue shares its’ name with the first British punk single by the Damned. Regardless of that, this, the second FBs full length, originally released on Chicago based Criminal IQ in 2006 and repressed by Dead Beat, continues in roughly the same direction. The production quality, while still remaining in proximity to the basement improves on Monkees efforts. Musically this disc incorporates more explorations of noise. “Heavy Breather”, getting two treatments, clocks in at more than half of the forty-five minute slab and offers at best a difficult listening journey through experimental noise. The FBs being label as an experimental punk band though, or whatever genre name may be applicable, seems to be a misnomer if compared to Pere Ubu, Devo or any other early punkers with penchants for a shambolic rock. What the FBs do best is play primitive punk for the modern loser. Stripped down guitar lines, horrific if not occasionally ridiculous lyrics and painfully screamed vocals enrobe this disc.

Understandably, playing straight punk can at time become tedious, but listening to faux sonic avant-punk can be just as trying. The songs offered up amidst their last album are as rewarding as any other punk release circa ’06. Unfortunately, listeners can only hope that the Daily Void improves to the point where there isn’t a distinction between their recorded past and that bands’ future.

(This originally appeared in the Cleveland Free Times)

Apart from the singles that voracious, nerdy collectors seek, this first proper album from Perth’s Scientists represent a water shed event in the development of punk and underground music in Oz. If at some point the compilation Pissed on Another Planet has become accepted as the encyclopedia of Scientist history, this early era of the band seems misrepresented. On Pissed, these tracks appear out of sequence and are interspersed with singles and other album tracks. The evolutionary point that Pissed misses is that, this initial album was recorded as a trio, unlike a fair amount of tracks that have in the past accompanied the thirteen tracks that make up the Pink Album. Kim Salmon, who alternately sounds like Jake Burns and Dan Treacy, created a sound from what he discerned was punk. Working on the model offered by Jonathan Richmond, who happens to be echoed lyrically in almost every lyric, and other simplified rock of the mid ‘70s, Salmon gushes songs about girls, being a loser and enjoying science as a way of dealing with the feeling of being cast aside. Despite the future fame, cult or not, of the Saints as well as the Birthday Party, the Scientists have lived in a lull, not working full time, but being given popularity bumps every so often with a release or two and a spot opening for U2 during an Australian tour. This resurrection brought around by Anthology Recordings, an all re-issue, digital label has done the reassembly needed to introduce new fans to an excitable, innocent and confused sound of down under rock.

There’s a difference in sound quality that one can hear when listening to the horn tonality and general overall production in jazz from previous eras and current technologies. Rudy van Gelder recorded jazz masterpieces in his living room for Blue Note Records for long enough to make current recording procedures seem rather ridiculous. And while this Dave Holland lead group most certainly sounds slicker and well produced than bands from decades ago the recording sports good players and polished production. Critical Mass is comprised of original tunes from each member of the group and is still able to maintain a certain kind of cohesive feel that makes the album sensible. More often than not the main statements in each track are standard in nature, but occasionally the soloists have a chance to get free. On “Vicissitudes” a Latin tinged melody and rhythm is exploited by Chris Potter as his sax gets a good work out. Apart from Holland himself, who shares as much space on bass as any melodic instrument, Steve Nelson and his vibes really go a long way to making this album distinctive. From the first track, “The Eyes Have It” to “Secret Garden” the vibes go off on some tangential journey, but Nelson always has the sense to regroup and come back from that place he goes amidst the solos. A well rehearsed group on Critical Mass makes listening more interactive than on normal albums, even if the production values are more pop related than jazz.

“Gotta Mac-10 to whack ten politicians…”

A few years ago I borrowed a 12” called “Movements” by Cyne. And on the second side? Obligatory remixes. But, two were by Seth P. Brundel. And finally he releases a solo album. Subtle innovations are copped by Monsieur Brundel, so the music doesn’t sound solely hip-hop related. It’s not a third stream, but it’s a tributary. The one complaint I have is that on every damned track there’s awful drum production. Any slight that I could possibly conceive of would not fully convey the horror that these drums visit upon me.  Even with robo-drums, though, this album is warm, but not hot. The raps are above boards and the production comes close to being unique. Alotta politics fly from the mouth of Brundel, but really the most touching track comes in the form of the “Self P.”  Disregarding the fact that this one’s an introspective downer, it stands out amongst the rest of this slab.  I guess that there has to be a battle rap, and we get it on “Ego Fuel” - it’s typical faire.  Some psychedelics, interestingly enough, show up with the references to The Doors and Floyd on “Absolute Power”.  Included are enough backwards guitar to be interesting and not annoying.  Good release overall, but ya’ll need to work on the packaging.

Originally released more than a decade ago, Chicken Scratch possesses an indisputable ability to make a tangible cross section of Lee Perry fans cringe. Of course, only those fans who can not appreciate a good ska beat will feel that way. Unfortunately, that proportion of fans probably makes up the bulk of Perry listeners. Deep roots, echo chamber sound effects and crashes are expected from any Perry release, regardless of how early the recordings may be. Chronologically, these tracks represent some of the earliest sides from this would be Jamaican musical giant.

Backing him throughout these offerings are graduates of the Alpha Boys School: better known as the Skatalites. Supplementing the historical aspect of Perry’s career, the Skatalites early on in their short lived initial phase were a house band, albeit one of the best ever assembled. And here we are given the chance to listen in on the prototypical motions of the group. “Feel Like Jumping” should be familiar to anyone who has entertained the notion of purchasing a pork pie hat, considering the music is also used for “Fat Man” by Derrick Morgan. Similarly, “Tackoo” is also the Alton Ellis tune “Ska Beat”, from Skatalites and Friends at Randy’s. Given these recycled rhythms, it’s interesting to hear Perry make use of a familiar tune and experience his oddly pleasing voice, though he may not adhere to the singing standards of either Ellis or Morgan.

Again, for those looking for dub, it won’t be located here. What is similar between this and later work by Perry, or anyone else from the island, is the inclusion of religiously themed lyrics. Between “Rape Bait” and the groaning proclamation at the beginning of “Roast Duck” are songs like “By Saint Peter”. Traditional themes of sixties Jamaican music are explored as well: like family trouble and having problems with those damnable rudies.

Outstanding, this release is not. And in-fact, if this happened to be led by another personage, there ostensibly would be little interest. Even with the additional tracks that supplement the re-release and the strength of the solitary standout, “Hand to Hand”, there are incalculable better ska discs to spend that i-Tunes gift card on.

Om definitely doesn’t suck. But at the same time, that’s about all they got going for ‘em.  Sure, they give up forty plus minutes of sludgy drum and bass rock music geared towards those of you that enjoy substance abuse; but interest in that cannot be sustained.

The album is aptly titled, seeing as each song exercises about the same tempo, shifts and mood. The bass-lines aren’t exactly the same, just eerily similar. If nothing else rarely in recorded music is the distortion on a bass turned up so high. The sing/speak method of vocals are employed, but frankly who can say if it’s even a worth while exertion of energy to decipher what Al Cisneros is saying.

The reason that this band was allowed and most likely encouraged to explore these exercises in sludge is resultant of the duos past musical relationship. Cisneros and drummer Chris Hakius were formerly members of the late ‘80s/early ‘90s band Sleep. Now, what Sleep is remembered for is smoking copious amounts of weed and playing really long hard rock songs, affectionately and sophomorically referred to as stoner metal. Other members have gone on to form bands including High on Fire, a current darling of hard rock connoisseurs.  Regardless, Variations on a Themeis just that. A statement reiterated as many possible ways as the duo can muster. Now there’s nothing wrong with it, but it’s not a stretch to venture playing these tunes is more entertaining then listening. Highly recommended if you’re stoned all the time and like hard rock. But, if that’s not you, then perhaps you should go pick up The Monkees reissues that Rhino put out. Killer.

According to their website, there is an official discography. But honestly, how accurate can it be if the recording life of this ensemble dates back to ’94? Allied to the new wave of private press pseudo hippies, Sunburned has worked its’ way to a relatively strong following amidst the media drooling over the likes of Wooden Wand and Akron/Family. Consistent touring and recordings documenting free form performances and or jams sit Sunburned squarely in a position to grow their listener-ship. Releasing a disc, Z, earlier this year on Thurston Moore’s Ecstatic Peace label, probably doesn’t hurt either.

As for Fire Escape, the band is joined by Kieran Hebden (Four Tet). And while sonic manipulations have always been apart of Sunburneds’ oeuvre to some extent, Hebden makes his presence felt. For a band that even apes the Dead’s artwork, utilizing a producer aligned with IDM seems like an odd posturing. Of course there are those listeners that will undoubtedly get into this disc as a result of Hebden’s production. But why him? And why Now?

The answer to those questions may be found in the form of “Parakeet Beat”, which is all percussion, loops and production. The troglodyte inclinations of this band, and others of their background, do point towards an eventual percussion jam, which “Parakeet Beat” is, of course. The pronounced affinity for krautrock from both producer and musicians here also contribute to the success of this track, which seems an odd high pointconsidering the instrumental limitations. A scant two songs latter, the title track confirms any inkling related to the players’ angling at repetitive white-folk, electro funk.

Other sections of the disc display Sunburned in its natural habitat, but ever once in a while, the listener may want to re-examine a specific section to find whether it was a musician making that noise or Hebden inducing sounds. The band, here on Fire Escape, takes a step, regardless of how minute it is, towards a new music, or at least a new avenue for them to spread their hedonistic lifestyle to accepting audiences.

Dead Beat Records has relocated to good ole Cleveland, Ohio. And regardless of their office being in my hometown, they continue to release punk and garagey related ventures. Amidst some of the more standard music this imprint works with are a few idiosyncratic and unique acts.

The Daily Void have been culled from the disbanded Functional Blackouts, who over the relatively short while they were performing, created a dense aura around themselves: playing house shows throughout the Mid-West and the like.

With the demise of the FBs, Dr. Filth and cohorts sought to continue their legacy of disheveled punk with a slight evolution. The sound of DV is obviously in some way tied to the FBs, but not as fulfilling. It’s still punk and the music still attempts to relate a bleak future through each tune. There is a tangible difference. The same propulsion is present. The band is fast, sloppy and rugged but the sense of experimentation and lack of care is missing. Even their name points to a perception of life that may not result in maximum effort.

If you think shit doesn’t matter, why bother exerting yourself?

Where as each FBs’ release moved forward in some way, adding a new layer of post-punk nihilism and noise, this initial release from the Daily Void seems like a step back to a more basic and primordial time. The music is still balls out punk, but doesn’t maintain the urgency that the Functional Blackouts were able to bring to the fore.

“Tapewurm” does possess a great deal of noise atop of the steady punk beat and even a bit of rhythmic variety, but unfortunately, there really isn’t a succinct statement of their work. Instead, what becomes apparent is an obsession with insects. Comparisons and blatant statements like, “You’re not a man/You’re an insect”, do point to the prevalent perception of humanity as scum, but where in punk is that lacking?

The arduously screamed chorus of “Die Stiletto” works to cement the lack of concern for life, and it’s convincing. Considering the past association though, this delivery of not quite standard punk seems a bit centered. The future may not look upon this as kindly as previous FBs releases and E-bay certainly won’t find anyone to hock The Identification Code for holiday prices anytime soon.

(This originally appeared in the Summer ‘07 issue of Skyscraper)

Considering that Dins stands as an un-touted moment of perfection amongst all of the psych schlock that appeared within the last few years, Early Violence only serves to explain where the band came from. The assertion of Dins main idea, prehistoric drumming coupled with repetitive but intelligent guitar lines, is present even at these early dates. What the band has come to embrace in their live shows is augmented by additional influences. “Killer” gushes forth ‘80s British adulation with rudimentary keyboard and electronic sounding drum programming. Punk rears its head a bit during some of the guitar focused moments, but never over takes the proceedings. Early Violence displays a band trying to work out which of their influences should take over. Obviously there’s the omnipresent Spacemen sound, but ‘70s NYC rock is a touchstone as well. Having figured this, naming a song “Days”, which Television did as well, and playing it for 7 minutes amidst the worst recording of the scattered selections seems a bad idea. The 8 tracks only add up to thirty-five minutes and every listener will find at least one song a throw away. Unless the copy of Dins you bought is worn out already, you probably can wait to find this used in the discount bin.

(This originally appeared in the Summer ‘07 issue of Skyscraper)

However Sub Pop ended up with a tripped out, pysch-inspired bunch of Italians on their label is probably a good story. As it is though, the 2005 release of Valende easily established this group as the one of the foremost purveyors of Pot Head Pixie rock and goofy sing-alongs. Not that their music shouldn’t be taken seriously, but the twisted church music of “Twin Ghosts” and the Munster’s theme music of “Telephone Ringing” could be looked at as less than philosophical. Unlike the past, every song on this slab was recorded solely by Marco Fasolo who has shed the rest of the group in the studio. This begs the question, how crazy/talented is Fasolo?  He staked out a house and record at-least five tracks for each song while maintaining some semblance of order in the music. At the same time though, he was possessed enough to howl like a fucking rabid dog on not only “Take My Hand” but also on “Quarter To Three”. Each track does possess a very disconcerting amount of playing in unison that really does make sense after discovering that it was the work of only one man. The creative and sporadic passion contained on The Midnight Room (best displayed on the angry instrumental “Granny’s House”) suggests that Jennifer Gentle will continue to mine the depths of Fasolo’s abilities.

(This originally appeared in the Summer ‘07 issue of Skyscraper)

The February release of Abandoned Language has been quickly followed by the odds and sods collection that is Deadverse Massive. Interestingly enough both releases have been distributed by labels that mostly specialize in devious strains of rock. Unfortunately, even with the exposure to a wider and different audience Dälek hasn’t seemed to find the acceptance that other underground rap acts have found. Regardless of their fortune, this collection spans a 7 year period and includes a few remixes created just for this release. The lead off “Megaton” has been placed at the head because it exemplifies the groups sound, but apparently prefigures any major release. Sadly enough, between that first track and the following instrumental “Angst” with its slightly less abrasive sound and bigger groove seem to be the highlights. Obviously, with the lyrical ability of dälek there are noteworthy tracks and lines like “speak the truth in question/jagged tongue is weapon” from “Desolate Peoples”. A female vocalist appears on a couple of remixes. Without any notation as to who she is, one can only ponder her identity as well as why the group decided to include such an exploration. This all contributes to the catalogue that dälek and Oktopus have been building for a decade, but only points to where they were going as opposed to exhibiting their previous glory.

(This originally appeared in the Summer ‘07 issue of Skyscraper)

Dedication to a single form goes a long way when you’re a band like the three piece Stinking Lizveta. Arriving on the scene more than a decade ago and releasing a number of full lengths, this band has doggedly stuck to the concept of metallic rock music incorporating various other rock related elements from the expanding life of the cannon. Hired gun Steve Albini is behind the boards on this one, which honestly probably doesn’t matter. By this point with the legions of producers and bands like this, recording a ballsy live sound isn’t any longer a task or a surprise. Even as this album covers a lot of ground within the arena of rock, each track, which is void of vocals, ends up sounding like the previous one. Save for the almost Stevie Ray Vaughn like blues jam of “Cyclops”, SL attacks their new set of songs with focus. The slower tempos of “Willie Nelson (Tired of the War)” and “Secrets of the Past” do show the band has a bit of versatility. But the title track as well as the opener “Gravitas”, are grand statements of guitar wankery. Perhaps Yanni Papadopoulos is overly sure of his six string prowess, but that’s why people listen. Come for the metal riffs and stay for the random Minutemen funk rave up of “Requiem for a Rock Band”.

As far as re-releases go, very frequently, the packing is ignored. In the case of Satta that has been avoided. The cd cover most would associate with this disc is a close up of Bernard Collins, Donald Manning and Lynford Manning, who make up the vocal trio that are the Abyssinians. Across the cover of this new Heartbeat edition, the trio is shown near what appears to be an underground waterfall. Whether or not the image is authentic is secondary to the fact that it adds to the mystique of the men that it aims to represent. 

Packaging aside, this set has expanded the ten tracks that make up the original “Satta” to include an additional 8 songs, including a vocal and a dub version of “Leggo Beast”. Forgetting the supplementals, “Declaration of Rights” begins the disc and urges, much in the same way Tosh and Marley do, to “Get up and fight for your rights my brothers”. Immediately predating the Clash’s “Know Your Rights” on Combat Rock, the song makes clear the political and social stance of the group.

 A religious fervor, starting with the next track “The Good Lord”, and continuing through “Forward Unto Zion” is blatant and could not be more apparent as the group croons “Send us home to Zion city/For we drink milk and honey”. Further allusions to the Torah, the Book of Jeremiah specifically, abound as in “Abendigo” where three men are “condemned to be burned in the furnace” as a result of remaining stalwarts of their faith. 

If one fault can be pointed out, and there may only be one, during “Y Mar Gan” the keyboard production, while being a few years ahead of its’ time, sounds less organic that on any other track.

 The ’76 debut of the band remains a classic within the roots catalog, and even if you think you aren’t familiar with this vocal trio, you’ve probably heard the “Satta” rhythm more times than you can count, which as it turns out, isn’t such a bad thing at all.

The one aspect of musicality that this thing lacks is also what makes it great. The singular vision of an overly meticulous enthusiast, critically arranging and re-arranging every second of each track lends Andorra a tremendously compact and creative vision. At the same time what makes music a remarkable art form, as well as communicative device, is that the idea of one talented musical explorer can be bounced to another and augmented. These nine songs, no matter how many times you may want to listen to them in succession, have not really had that chance. The Pink Floyd of “Sandy” may have ended up having a bit of a Zappa inflection. But, that can never actually be figured. Even so, the placement of the drum pattern and phasing, functioning as another voice amongst the varied pallet of sound already administered by Dan Snaith, didn’t come from disparate sources. It came from him, as did the delicate concern exuded by the music as well as the vocal and lyrical intonation, during “Desiree”. The entirety of this disc emanated from a single source, and we have that to be thankful for.

The first full-length recording from Tarantula A.D. is constructed in a manner that most reading this will find pretentious at the very least.  Those people are probably right.  Even if one was to simply judge this release by the art work displayed on the front insert, the same conclusion would be reached.  In the construction of this album, Tarantula A.D. has recounted the rise and fall of an empire through song titles relating to mostly instrumental work.  There are guests that contribute vocals, but there aren’t words coming from Inouk front man or from Devendra Banhart, who for some reason is generally regarded highly, but just moans to accompany the music.  The sounds on the first track, song titles and cover art fooled me into thinking there would be a good amount of metal on this release, but I was wrong.  Only does the band sporadically lurch into metal gear, choosing mostly to create airy, piano focused ambient sounds.  The vast majority of this could and mostly likely should be contributed to film scores.  Either way, the band is focused and well rehearsed.  Stalwart standout, “Palo Borracho” includes classical sounding guitar along with a melodica and percussion to create a rather Latin tinged track.  Unfortunately, the album ends with Banhart warbling his Marc Bolan impression and concluding an otherwise impressive album.

Yes, I concur, the singles by the A-Frames on S-S are pretty decent and with the creation of AFCGT, there’s no lack of newly recorded, skewed rock on the market. But the third full length, the second on ITR, from the Intelligence includes some dingy fuzz with a thick layer of pop melodicism that isn’t always proportioned well on recordings being birthed from this genre.

The skronk of AFCGT recalls everything from Can to Zappa, but leaves out the ample pop needs of the listening community. That being said, Lars Finberg recording the Intelligence in a studio for the first time, brings about Deuteronomy, whose title itself is a bit mysterious. The name comes from the fifth book of the Torah and seeing as if you combine the number of full length albums between the A-Frames and the Intelligence the resultant integer being five, it all make sense. Kinda.

What doesn’t seem to be sensible is the pervasive point of view that this group is a pre-programmed exploration of sound. While Finberg does work alone, the albums that have resulted seem to be full fledged rock ensembles. Granted, few tracks sport a full line-up, but if you’re listening at home you probably just won’t know.

Hot Rod Tod. Where’s he been? Not on this disc, but HRT and Finberg share similar vocal styles and deliveries as evidenced initially on the lead off “Moon Beeps”. That alone doesn’t make the album, perhaps it yields a bit of endearing sentiment. But unfortunately the female whoa’s on “Dating Cops” stomp that feeling from one’s ears. With that being the low point, Finberg’s ability to work within a genre, no matter how loosely defined, while shifting tempos as well as mood is exceptional. The elastic bass, so often associated with funk, gets some play here as on “Bad Sirens”, where the Intelligence sounds alternately like an ‘80s punk band and the Strokes.

The media, in general, has hailed this as an insightful melding of sound, noise and style. No one will be so bold as to disagree, but this won’t make too many top ten’s. Either way, once it goes into the ole cd player, if you didn’t just rip it, it’s not coming out for a while. Or at-least, not until you find your copy of We Are Electrocution.

After my first sampling of this slab I sat down and listened to the Beach Boys’ Smile and Wild Honey.  As a result, I feel that I understand the duo that is the Mystic Chords of Memory a bit better.  Soft and succinct surely came across well for the Beach Boys, so former Beachwood Spark Chris Gunst gives it a stab.  Gunst must be credited for crafting solid songs and being able to evoke warmth through speakers, which at times becomes a difficulty due to the proceedings being detached from the listener. The lyrical content that flies digitally off this slab, when it makes sense unlike the line “I became a lobster and he became me”, is slight and at times a bit lacking.  “Soul Through the Bullet Hole”, with a hint of lo-fi, hip hop style drumming and the final relaxing instrumental offering of “Pi and a Bee” don’t sound similar to the vocal numbers, but languidly reign when compared to other tracks that constitute the rest of the slab.

This Japanese band wants their metal to be so intense that it hurts your insides. Partially, Bathtub Shitter attempts this by utilizing two vocalists; one with a deep voice, one with a ridiculously high pitched voice. So, really, the band comes off as somewhat of a gimmick or a joke half the time. But the rest of the time, the band is tight and horrifically brutal enough to be ahead of the newer crop of grind acts.  They’ve been around for about a decade, so they’ve had time to hone their craft and become a rather good metal outfit. Most of these tracks will end up sounding similar to one another, unless you are a metal connoisseur. But, there are a few stabs at experimentation though. “Shit Drop” has some really beautiful acoustic finger picked guitar, while “Stihs Latem” is backwards and oddly enough comes across as more metal than the last decade or so of Metallica. All of this just makes me more curious about the cultural exchange between the USA and Japan. Regardless, the lyrics are convoluted expressions of angst that would probably come across more intelligently, in their native tongue, which really isn’t the point. Buy it for the titles, listen to it for the high pitched screamer, enjoy it for no other reason than it’s metal.

Between running a label, turning knobs and playing guitar in Create (!) as well as I Heart Lung, Chris Schlarb may not have too much time for sleep. That’s probably why this disc, the soon to be released Twilight and Ghost Stories, sounds like a score to the calmest dream you’ve had months.

The ten, un-named tracks that work as one, curiously have little overt direction, something that, similarly can be found on I Heart Lung’s latest release. The one obvious concept that holds this work together though is the recording and incorporation of a rainstorm that Schlarb had the foresight to nab one day. The concept works in a similar way to drones that fill space in Eastern music and allow different players to have a go at soloing. There is rarely a moment of silence on this disc, but the music itself is hushed and whispered, being paired with the sound of rain.

All of this being said there are some stunning musical moments.

About a minute and half into track four, a further distillation of the discs’ mood is proffered in the form of an IDM setting. As with other figures found throughout this album, after hearing a brief statement one may want it further explained musically, but alas, this section only lasts about fifty seconds before the track is again taken over by the somnambulant sounds of the rain.

A bit further along, on the sixth track, we hear Schlarb picking a pre-war blues style guitar line, one even reminiscent of Richards creating something for Jagger. The idea, while unyieldingly sentimental and obtusely attractive remains a foot stomper, only to move on to one other related section. That other section though…well, it’s still fucking swell.

This disc can not and should not be used at raucous parties. It just wouldn’t work. But if you need some music to listen to before drifting off, making love real slow or riding the bus on a rainy day, go get it.

Despite the seemingly ever shifting line-up and specific musical avenue that múm trods upon, it’s able to sustain an ever expanding international following. But that’s the power of intelligent music (not intelligent dance music). Like every other band this millennium, múm defies categorization, incorporating seemingly unmusical elements and instruments into the complex arrangements of its songs. What this album does that past efforts have not, is to smooth out the electronic elements and create a more generally palatable disc. The recent and populist reverence lent to Piazzolla is found on “A Little Bit, Sometimes”, but also recalls pleasant enough childhood moments. The one throw back presents itself in the form of “Dancing Behind My Eyelids”, which possesses enough heavy handed drum programming to please any devout electro-fan. Most of this offering though sounds less paranoid than “Eyelids” and in fact often sounds almost organic, save for the fact that the instrumentation is of course anything but. The lead off track blossoms with a light melody and the pleasing tones of Eastern percussion. Die-hards rejoice, skeptics may nitpick, but there’s enough creative forethought on Go Go to make the album an appropriate, more gentle and mature re-working of a style that is definitively múm.

John Zorn at a Jazz festival doesn’t seem out of place. But even though his name adorned the bill, he was simply seated in the theater, as any other spectator might. While he wrote each composition that was performed, it was the trio of Dunn, Baron and Patton who mounted the stage. Much like with the name Zorn, the name Patton is accompanied by a certain set expectations. Of course those expectations don’t generally fit the sense of decorum that goes along with most Jazz fests. Alongside, and more impressive than Patton, Dunn (Mr. Bungle) and Baron (Naked City, Masada) were allowed to showcase their talents and to work out their metallic, yet musically rich rhythms. Obviously, the draw to this show were the names Zorn and Patton, but the Dunn/Barron teaming created such a complete and burdensome sound, that it was difficult to believe that only two men were responsible for the racket. At times, Patton’s hollering, taking his shirt off and animalistic crouching near to the ground with maniacal sneer fronting his facade seemed to over shadow the musical performances. The physicality of Patton leads to the question, is he a performance artist? What he coaxes from his throat seems to be the aural equivalent of free jazz, which to a certain extent is a spectator sport. And perhaps in this situation, Patton is the actor to Zorn’s playwright. Regardless of the answer, the sheer comedic fact that the festival coordinator, emblazoned with a sport coat and slick, adult hipster hair introduced this group from the stage of an aging Seattle landmark was almost worth the $32 dollar ticket price.