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pipeline5.reviews
All reviews by Adam Strohm unless otherwise noted.
Acoustiphobia.Steffen Basho-Junghans.Bride of No No.C Average.Cock Robot.Chris Cutler and Fred Frith.Dial.Flying Luttenbachers.Carlos Giffoni.Godzik Pink.Kim Gordon, DJ Olive, Ikue Mori.Hatewave.Scott Helland.High Llamas.Hungry Ghosts.Joan of Arc. Reviews L-Z.
Acoustiphobia Volume 1.Sublingual
Acoustiphobia is a two-disc audio documentation of the third year celebration of the Sonic Arts program at the School of Fine Arts in Boston. Disc 1 features a live improvised performance by turtablist Christian Marclay, drum machine experimentress Ikue Mori and multi-instrumentalist Elliott Sharp. Their fifty-three minute performance consists mainly of storms of Mori's tribal beats, jingles, and squiggles laced with Marclay's warped background snippets, topped by whatever instrument Sharp is handling at the moment, be it an 8 string guitarbass, soprano sax, powerbook, or other electronics. Their music is spaced-out and scattered, meant to explore the relationship between acoustic and electronic sound, and, in that conceptual sense, fulfills its goal. The three performers present their own sounds both solitarily and disseminated with the others, allowing a chance to identify their own individual voices before the three mix with each other, experimenting with sound relationships and the juxtaposition of acoustic instruments mix with electronic ones. It's surely not a totally original concept, but the three happen upon some interesting aural situations. Aesthetically, however, I find the disc less fulfilling. Marclay is far too low behind the other two performers throughout most of the disc, eschewing (as has been his improvisational pattern recently) the jumpy, cut-up reconstructions of some of his best early work for a more ambient (and less individual) background sound. The improv session has its share of akward moments in which each performer seems to be alone in the room before altering their sound to be more in tune with the others, and, even at its most dense, rarely features instances in which the three musicians hit full stride together. Unfortunately, three artists who have proven themselves gifted and innovative leave us with yet another improv release which, though not unenejoyable, fails to gratify in any real sense. This conceptual/aesthetic problem is also present on the second disc of Acoustiphobia, which is a collection of student work form the Sonic Arts program. The pieces are extremely eclectic in both sund and instrumentation, but each is an experiemtn in instrumentation (some featured instruments are a popcorn maker, musical saw, and clock radio alarms) and/or the relationship to music and its surroundings (with installations in elevators and stairwells, and airducts). Most of the pieces, however, no matter how interesting conceptually, are less enjoyable in an aesthetic sense, although selections by David Weber, Yuki Yoshida, and Ben Fenton are notable exceptions. Many of the disc's pieces lose half of their effectiveness when isolated from their spatial aspects, whether they be an installation location, such as an elevator, or a listening device (a quadraphonic headset, for example). Together as a whole, although Acoustiphobia fails to be very stimulating, if, as it seems to be implied in the liner notes, the documentation of these compositions and experiments constitutes part of the importance of this release, then, of course, Acoustiphobia's archival purpose has been fulfilled.
Steffen Basho-Junghans.Songs of the Earth.Sublingual
Apparently, Steffen Basho-Junghans is an underrated legend in the realm of acoustic guitar, a follower of John Fahey and Robbie Basho (part of the inspiration for the inclusion of "Basho" in his name), who grew up in East Berlin listening to smuggled records passed among music aficianados. Song of the Earth is his first American release, a recording which was shopped around for over a year before finding its US home at Sublingual. Though the liner-notes' description of "wrong technique" experimentation (randomly tuned guitars, playing only with his fretting hand) are enough to spark a fair bit of interest in Basho-Junghans' work, Song of the Earth features little in the way of experimental sounds, and if he utilized any of these techniques, they're hard to hear. What this album is, however, is a journey through a land that must look a lot like the artwork adorning the album: lots of tan and brown with delicate, semi-transparent watercolors layered over the earthy tones. Basho-Junghans' guitar is one of many voices, form the cascade of jewelled notes that opens the album to strains of sitar-like drone to remnants of more conventional finger-picked folk. Tight strumming underlays wandering melodies, creating a eclectic collection of sounds and tones that showcase Basho-Junghans far-and-wide range of influences. Song of the Earth is an album of attractive acoustic guitar music, but, despite its eclecticism (which amounts only to eclectic guitar sounds, but, unfortunately, not eclectic songs), not much else, and though fans of the previously mentioned Fahey and Basho may possibly find a lot to love here, the corssover appeal of this disc is limited. Perhaps Basho-Junghans' more conceptual experiments, as of yet unreleased in the US, would be more captivating, but Song of the Earth, which starts on a good note, begins to wear out its welcome soon enough, as it becomes clear that the album lacks much differentiation in technique or sound, and though it may be enough to keep acoustic guitar fanatics salivating, the general fan of, say, Sublingual's usual fare, will most likely find a few songs or passages to enjoy, but will also find Song of the Earth an overwhelming (and overly-long) experience.
Bride of No No.B.O.N.N. Apetit!.Atavistic
In certain circles, much has been made of Chicago's 1990's no wave revival and the bands that it centered on, many of whom have either split or fallen from critical favor in the ensuing years. Scissor Girls belong to the former category, a three-piece led by their bassist, Azita Youssefi, whose new outfit, Bride of No No, should ensure that she won't end up as one of the Windy City's forgotten heroes. B.O.N.N. Apetit!, the quartet's debut, is a puzzle of oddly-shaped musical shards, that, as a whole, create a confounding picture which breaks the borders of its normal, rectangular shape. B.O.N.N.'s stop/start constructions of bass, guitar, and drums re-invent themselves continuously in a way not unlike the (don't call it) deconstructions of fellow Chicago residents U.S. Maple, and although the similarities don't end there (distinctive, voice-as-instrument vocals, high/low guitar dueling), to delve any further into them would take too much well-deserved attention from Bride of No No themselves, who transcend any comparisons made with another group. What's important is Bride of No No's unique approach, a blend of rhythms and melodies that fold in upon themselves and tear away from each other to create a jarring and dissonant series of compositions that crackle and bubble like an unstable chemistry experiment that could explode at any moment. This feeling of imminent disaster is what provides Bride of No No with their greatest weapon. As J. Kienzler's drums set the rocky, unpredictable tempo, and the chunky, distorted crunch and icy slither of guitarists J. Graff and M.J. Carbon battle for supremacy, Az tops it all of with her heavy bass that refuses to play like part of a rhythm section and her operatic, slanted vocals. Everything balances precariously on the edge of a cliff that the band seems to know that they'll never fall off of. B.O.N.N.'s intricate structures flirt with rock and roll, before foiling it's advances at every turn. However, in spite of all of B.O.N.N. Apetit!'s off-rock instrumentation, it's Az's vocals that contribute the most to Bride of No No's distinct sound. Her elastic voice jumps from low to high register and floats in and out of tune like some of the best free jazz saxophone, trading the "lead" position with the guitars and bass just like another instrument would. And, though a more delicate ear might label these vocals "annoying," there are few moments on B.O.N.N. Apetit! in which Az's voice grates on my ears, this is probably purposeful, and it may also be due to the utilization of lyrics that sometimes seem trite or akward. B.O.N.N.'s twisted rock, though, surpasses any vocal or instrumental shortcomings it may have to make B.O.N.N. Apetit! one of the most interesting and promising debuts made by a "rock" band in recent years.
C Average.Second Reckoning.KRS
Though Olympia, Washington and Kill Rock Stars were once synonymous in most people's minds with angry women and the a new breed of feminism, both the city and label are branching out, stretching past Bikini Kill and Sleater-Kinney. C Average is probably the furthest thing from that scene as could be. This isn't a statement that implies sexism or philosophical differences in the duo, but means simply that their excursions into the dirty world of 70's classic rock have little in common with albums like Pussy Whipped and Dig Me Out, owing much more to the music of groups like Black Sabbath and Deep Purple. Their simple ingredients of double-tracked, distorted, wah-happy guitar and double-bass drumming produces a new breed of mostly-instrumental classic metal, albeit a slightly cheesy one, which, though indebted to its ancestors, doesn't take the time to slow down to rip them off too obviously. Second Reckoning's no-frills, dungeons-and-dragons rock doesn't look back, rarely stopping for air, chugging through racing power trips of rhythm-section heaviness and breaks and bridges dripping with guitar-hero blood and sweat. This straight-ahead approach rocks righteously, but the absence of any of the guitar extravagance that characterizes this genre is a double-edged blade. There's no wanking, no silly solos of tongue-wagging, eyes-closed revelry, which is a move in the right direction, but, at the same time, Second Reckoning leaves the listener little to sink their teeth into, making the album's sventy-minutes seem like much more, as most songs stretch past the six-minute mark without any horribly surprising or sunbstantial changes. Perhaps it all comes down to the age-old problem of whether a listener should be actively thinking about the rock or simply getting down the whole head-banging time. C Average would probably choose the latter and agree with Spinal Tap's "Heavy Duty": "Why waste good music on the brain?"
Cock Robot.Electric Young Men.Self-Released
Adam's mom found this CD in the mail first [via the "mail goes to parents before Germany" fowarding system we're using - Adam]. Curious, she listened to it and swiftly put a stop to its wacky, zany, wandering, jumping sounds and robot-dork vocals. Maybe it's just me, but I'm surprised she didn't like it. Cock Robot, with probably one of the best band names to hit the college circuit, comes across as a sloppier, noiser, electrofied Come On, a They Might be Giants in a blender, an early home-Casio based German industrial Tommi Stumpf type of band. Electric Young Men is a fun, somewhat, cheesy romp through a basement playroom designed for kids, but used by adults. Cock Robot is yet another college noise band, but certainly with its own personality, and enough guts to capture it on CD. The band's members, M.P. Lockwood and Carl Diehl, who met as members of the Syracuse noise scene, seem to be dedicated to preserving DIY nerd-noise at its purist, by unapologetically using whatever they can find to support the melodies in their heads. Broken equipment, a toaster (considered a member of the band), and yard sale microphones all seem to have a lot of control in the sound these guys were trying to make. A sound that people are either bound to love, hate, or wonder about, the simplicity and fun behind it all makes it a rather simple and, dare I say, cute album. Really, I think a mother with any patience would take the time to notice the kids having a good time in the basement, and appreciate their creativity. [lori felker]
Chris Cutler and Fred Frith.Two Gentlemen in Verona.ReR
Chris Cutler and Fred Frith have been partners in sound exploration for many moons, with a history stretching from Henry Cow to the Art Bears to more recent collaborations, such as Two Gentlemen in Verona, a live recording of a duet Cutler/Frith performance. The men man their usual battle stations, Cutler controlling percussion, both electric and acoustic, while Frith manhandles his guitar almost scientifically. Contained in a cute little drama motif, Two Gentlemen... is, aside from the performance's encore, a stretched-out improvisation by two men who, even when improvising, play so tightly that it"s hard not to belive that they have a telepathic connection which they use to guide each other through the concert. Cutler's disconnected and somewhat numerous sections of steady beats and electronic cooking keep the music flowing, and provide a stable platform for he and Frith to build upon, but, even when Cutler's ground beat drops away, some hidden rhythm binds the two together, manifesting itself in the warbles of Frith's guitar or occasional vocals just as often as it pops up in Cutler's playing. As usual, Frith's instrument refuses to act like a well-behaved guitar should, instead it warbles in foreign tongues, both human and android, East and West, flowing and staccato. The duo shifts effortlessly between beautiful meditative relflection and flurries of rock-like energy, always seeming to speak the same language and predict each others' ideas. This doesn't mean that Two Gentlemen... is predictable, but that it rarely, if ever, gives off that feeling of on-the-edge imminent collapse that can make improv so exciting. Frith and Cutler seem almost too comfortable in both their individual technique and with each other, which, on one hand, ensures that they'll sound great as single musicians and as a whole, but, on the other hand, produces a performance that lacks much in the way of any really visceral excitement, even when the music gets loud or raucous. It's this feeling of restraint caused by the duet's comfortability that is the music's only major hindrance, and, the give and take caused by their musical expertise, leaves a listener with two angles from which to examine Two Gentlemen in Verona: whereas it fulfills expectations as an exhibition of fine-tuned instrumental mastery, it leaves something to be desired in the fire-and-brimstone department, and whether the proverbial glass is, therefore, half-full or half-empty depends on the perspective from which it's viewed.
Dial.Distance Runner.Cede
With any band, there are obvious points that almost any critic or
listener will focus on, and, in the case of Dial, the obvious points of interest lie within the band's line-up, both in respect to who's in the band (former Ut-ster Jacqui Ham), and who isn't (a live drummer). Though, on Distance Runner, it's easy to forget that Ham leads the band (her unattached vocals appear sporadically and her guitar is quite anonymous throughout the recording), the fact that a drum machine handles the percussion duites is, thankfully, hard to ignore. Repeatedly, guitarist Rob Smith's manipulation of his Alesis HR-16 proves to be the most provocative part of Distance Runner, as the machine erupts in haphazard bursts of ferocious electronic gunfire and spastic, uneven backbeats. Combine this wizardry with the ominous grate of Dom Weeks' synth, and there is some fun electronic artistry to be heard. Unfortunately, Distance Runner is a compilation of sorts, spanning 3 years and 3 different line-ups (only Ham and Smith are on each track), so that the best songs on the cd, the ones which
include Weeks, are littered between some of the other less-pleasing ones. For the most part, the atmospheric and abstract improv-based compositions on the disc are quite listenable, but, as a whole, they seem to drag and the cd's 64 minutes seem like much more. However, when enjoyed in smaller doses, Distance Runner proves to offer quite a few highly fulfilling moments that make it worth a listen.
Flying Luttenbachers.Alptraum.UgExplode/Pandemonium
From their first live rekease, Live at WNUR, released in 1992, the Flying Luttenbachers have changed their line-up and style of music like other bands change guitar strings. The only things that have remained constant are their adamant refusal to bow to "jazz," and the definitions and conventions that go along with the term, and the man with the hair-horns behind the drum kit, Weasel Walter. It's Weasel who orchestrates the line-up changes, mixing and matching musicians to find the optimal group with which to realize his current vision of jazz destruction. Weasel Walter's fickle and always changing taste has taken the band from the early days of Ayler-covering avant-jazz with Hal Russell to Destroy All Music's punk-jazz enslaught to the metal-influenced grind of Revenge, and we've been calling it jazz the whole time, which is one of the beauties of the group. Now, in a sense, it's all come full-circle. Alptraum, a live compilation spanning seven months and three line-ups, shows a new kind of Luttenbachers (a line-up, incidentally, that's already been dismantled to make way for a new FLs trio), a group whose improvised attacks contain strains of aesthetic elements from nearly every Luttenbachers era. Throughout much of Alptraum, the music is steered by the clatter and clamor of Weasel's drum kit, full of small drums and broken cymbals, the sound of which is oddly reminiscient of his work on the group's debut. Michael Colligan's reed work is a bombardment of industrial clangs, scrapes, and squeals that a very fitting accompaniment to Weasel's drumming. Though the group always includes at least one other musician (mostly Kurt Johnson on contrabass, but also Fred Lonborg-Holm on cello), much of Alptraum sounds like duets between Walter and Colligan, as the strings, though amplified and distorted, are hard to hear, and, especially in the frantic back-and-forth bowing of Johnson, seem almost unable in many places to keep up with the others. The group as a whole sounds somewhat disorganized, not in a way that demands more practice, but in a way that's more the result of some sort of musical personality clash. The all-important unstated and undefined group repore that can make or break improvisation is often missing here, resulting in a lot of sounds that never quite gel. That isn't to say that Alptraum lacks great moments. Instead, many of Weasel's "everyting but the kitchen sink" drum solos, whether sparse or clamarous, are usually quite good, and the single-note call-and-response between the bass and sax near the middle of "Swarming Cats" is one of Johnson's best moments. Colligan shines as well on the prementioned track, full of sputterings and squeals that build up like a pig being tortured until, after a moment or silence, Colligan glides into a restrained and almost meditative line, that, before long, develops into the squealing calls that it arose from. Each of the musicians featured on the album have a wide range of musical weapons, but all seem to rely on one or two too often, and, on the disc's first four tracks, moments at which it all comes together are slightly less frequent than the moments at which it doesn't. But, the disc's last track, the twenty-minute "Green Glow," faetures Walter, Colligan, and Lonborg-Holm in a trio that seems tp finally tap into the potential of Alptraum's aesthetic. Weasel's drumming is in apolcalyptic top-form, Lonborg-Holm's cello torture is finally a voice to be reckoned with, and though Colligan's work here isn't his best on the disc, it seems well-suited with the playing of the others. The production of this track is rich and fuller than before, and the song's twenty minutes work better on the whole than the twenty-six that have come before them. This last cut is a redemption of sorts for Alptraum, and though it's less-than-perfect, brings the album to a close on a good note. Perhaps the upcoming, limited-edition Trauma Lp will be a better representation of the power that this now-disbanded line-up could sometimes summon, but, if not, we're left with Alptraum's hit-and-miss documentation of an era now gone.
Carlos Giffoni.Electro-Neptuno.Freedom From
Electro-Neptuno, Carlos Giffoni's first solo venture away from the Floridian trio of Monotract, is an eclectic casserole of fifteen songs; intimate four-track recordings featuring (much in the spirit of Monotract)songs based both in electronics and guitar instrumentation. The bulk of the cassette, however, is made up of Giffoni's electronic work, a distorted slew of warped sounds and samples, textured pitch-shifting, and ever-shifting incidental beats. On Electro-Neptuno, Giffoni exhibits both some of what makes his work with Monotract enjoyable, but also some of the things that can also hinder them. A sense of inclusiveness and open-minded experimentation (Giffoni, as well as using more traditional electronics, samples a Streetfighter video game, language-learning tapes, and ICQ messages) that make the cassette interesting, but as one song blends into another, and Giffoni's D.I.Y./minimalist tendencies peek out and take precendence in the music, Electro-Neptuno, even with its undeniably eclectic sound, turns into an album, that, regardless of each song's duration, ends up simply existing, not eliciting a strong emotion in either a positive or negative way, or inspiring much of a desire to seek it out and listen again. This isn't to say that the tape isn't a good listen, but, instead, that it just doesn't have much of an effect.
Godzik Pink.Es Em, Ekel Em.5RC
In an era where everyone wants us to believe that rock is dead,
Godzik Pink would like us to accept that their additional of a saxophone offers yet another post-rock alternative to the "tired" recipe of guitars, bass, and drums. Unfortunately, though Es Em, Ekel Em features some interesting songwriting and, in theory, could be pleasing to the ear, Godzik Pink never manages to convince this listener that they have any definite answer to the musical question of "What's next?" The seven songs on the cd never seem to live up to their potential, their inherent compositional merit nullified again and again by trite guitar/sax conversation, choppy instrumentation, and flimsy production. Ara Shirinyan's garage-surf guitar tone frequently clashes with the smooth-jazz sax of Jonathan Silberman, and it is this akward pairing of instruments at the forefront of Es Em, Ekel Em
that detracts the most from the listening experience. It's easy
to see how Godzik Pink could, in the future, capitalize on their
positive points and put out some good records, but Es Em, Ekel Em is simply seventeen minutes of frustrating letdowns.
Kim Gordon, DJ Olive, Ikue Mori.SYR 6.SYR
Kim Gordon has always been the least "busy" of Sonic Youth's members in a musical sense. While Thurston Moore collaborations overflow in stores' cd racks, Lee Ranaldo solo albums are released slowly but surely, and Steve Shelley's worked in groups like Dim Stars and Two Dollar Guitar and created his Smells Like Records label, Gordon's been relatively quiet outside of Sonic Youth in comparison. There was the Harry Crews album and tour with Lydia Lunch, as well as her recent Free Kitten project, but little else as far as cd or lp releases. It's somewhat fitting, then, that the first non-SY release on the band's SYR label is a Gordon side project rather than a work by one of the band's other members which might find an easier release. SYR 6 features Gordon letting go of the punk influence which seemed to fuel the engine of Free Kitten. Instead, she, along with former DNA drummer Ikue Mori and New York's DJ Olive, dive right into a study of improvisation, both instrumental and vocal. Mori and DJ Olive fill their expected roles, with the former using her drum machine to produce aural bubbles of twinkling, miniature beats and static thumps, fading in and out while DJ Olive's ambient (or, to be mroe proper, I suppose I should say "illbient") swaths of sampled sound drift to-and-fro behind the other music. Gordon drives simple, repetitive guitar through the middle of the mix, creating an axis around which the rest of the music swings. Her vocals are what's in front, stream-of-consciousness strings of repeated words and phrases. These voicings seem to act as another instrument in a jazz-like manner, with more importance placed on their rhythm and fragments of melody than the content of the lyrics. And, in this sense, no problems arise, but, unfortunately, it's all but impossible to remove the meaning of the words from their cadence, resulting in word combinations and textual themes that are often strikingly akward or annoying (Kim urging Donald Duck to "Get Minnie!" is probably the best example). When Gordon's vocals drift along with the music, sharing prominence with the music (as in "Fried Mushroom"), they work well, but on most tracks, they're mixed to the front, sticking out like a sore thumb and magnifying their more irritating or questionable qualities by focusing attention on them. Unfortunately, it's this focus on Gordon's vocals that proves to hinder what might otherwise be a more listenable disc of improvisation, casting a cloud of superficial annoyance that manages to obscure SYR 6's more intresting musical improv.
Hatewave.s/t.Tumult/Up Jumps the Devil.
Upon first hearing that Weasel Walter was in a more ?traditional? sounding metal outfit, my interest was sparked. Knowing of his affection for decent metal and his abilities as a drummer, I was quite curious to hear HATEWAVE. And luckily, after attending a FLYING LUTTENBACHERS show, I was able to pick up a copy of this LP [cd now available on Tumult]. Seeing the packaging, although appearances can surely be deceiving (especially at a time when this sort of thing has been done far too many times by bands without even the slightest sincerity), made a good first impression-they were unmistakably death metal, all the way: pictures of mangled corpses, a photo of the band looking the way they should (Weasel himself appearing as if he had just stepped off the set of Night of the Living Dead), and contrived deathly song titles. ?Desire to Kill?, ?Slit the Catholic Throat?, ?Violencium?, and ?Evil to Behold? are just a few titles? with lyrics to match. And what about the pointy HATEWAVE logo, complete with upside-down cross and bat/creature as necessary imagery? After all that, expectations for the record were pretty high, to say the least. Thankfully, from the first few notes to the last, my expectations were met. Contained on this album is some great, ?classic? death metal. ?Classic? in the sense that it sounds as if it were from a time when this music was actually enjoyable and done with much more sincerity. Death metal, sincere? Sure. These songs are composed and performed very well, the way this reviewer thinks this type of music should be played. The way ?death? and ?black? metal has evolved (for lack of a better term) leaves much to be desired. If you prefer to listen to MORBID ANGEL?s Altars of Madness (possibly TERRORIZER?s World Downfall), or even some of SLAYER?s better albums, HATEWAVE is right up your street. In fact, there are many similarities to the aforementioned Morbid Angel album-especially in regard to guitar tone and the overall feel of the songs. They are brutal in a way that doesn?t rely on guitar or bass tone heaviness or speed-for-the-sake-of-speed; it?s all in the execution and conviction of riffs and such. And there?s plenty of double bass drumming and blast beats, too. All the bits (and pieces, living or dead) work, making for quite a solid album.
But that is not to say HATEWAVE are merely reiterating classic or traditional death metal values. They are very much their own entity, with hints of playful experimentation, on side two especially. And at the very least, they are a welcome, refreshing, addition to a music library that doesn?t contain much death metal post-1992. [brad heiple]
Scott Helland.Space Age Tranceology.Exotic Aquatic
If the title of this disc doesn't go far enough to describe the music on it, the description of "acoustic ambient instrumental space folk" and tracks titles like "Epiphany Trance," "Hesitant First Steps on the Desterts of Mars," and "Soldier Souls Hovering over the Murky Depths" draw the picture even more clearly. Space Age Tranceology, the fourth release by New Yorker Scott Helland (whose previous claim to fame was high school collaboration with Lou Barlow and J. Mascis in Deep Wound), is forty-two minutes of ambient guitar dreams whose purpose is to take the listener on a trance-like journey through the environments described in the wordy titles of each piece. Each selection unfolds in a subtle manner, built around flexible ribbons of "human looped" guitar with occasional percussion and keyboard. The songs evoke a Deep Moods feel of cheap New Age meditation, and whereas there is plenty of pretty music on the album, most of Space Age Tranceology is an attempt to transport the listener with music that, for the most part, fails to really move. It would be hard to argue that Scott Helland isn't adept at making beautiful music, but the beauty is largely superficial, without much substance or power. And though the repetitive nature of much of the album might bring about a state of trance, it's much more likely to be the sort of glazed eyes and wandering minds than inner peace and thoughtful introspection. Perhaps the thought behind Space Age Tranceology was that if the music was kept simple, it would make for easier "transport," but, at least with this listener, the lulling sounds of Scott Helland's guitars provide little more than the hollow, soothing quality of background-music relaxation cds like Mystical Call of the Loon and , thereby working against the "purpose" of the album by making active listening nearly impossible and failing to inspire the other-worldly images alluded to.
High Llamas.Buzzle Bee.Drag City
I'm not going to mention the Beach Boys. I'm not going to mention the Beach Boys... The High Llamas, out of England and headed by Sean O'Hagan (formerly
of Microdisney), has been making full length albums since 1992.
Buzzle Bee, their first release on Drag City seems to be an extension
of their repetoire which tends to deal with a comination of world
beat, french electro, and psychedelic 60's pop sounds. The album
is charming and comfortable, dreamy and sweet, a sound often likened
to 60's soundtrack music. Unfortunately, the sound sometimes comes
from that background, and stays there, not commanding too much attention.
The album certainly creates an atmosphere that does cross a bridge
from 60's LA, to 70's England, to modern day France, and it does
it nicely, but that's just it: nicely. To give credit where credit
is probably due, the High Llamas are said to have great technical
pop sensibilities ala Brian Wilson (oops!),preserving, elaborating
upon, and restructuring pop as we know it. However, they say that
the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and so even though Buzzle Bee has both interesting and professional
parts, the whole gets a little stuck in what appears a bit cliched
and lackluster to the average listener. Lori
Hungry Ghosts.Alone, Alone.Smells Like
Coming from a continent that is covered by extensive uninhabitable wilderness, it's no surprise that the music of Australia's Hungry Ghosts is reflects the sparse, open spaces of the Australian desert. What's unexpected is how their debut album, Alone, Alone, seems just as influenced by the American West as protrayed by ghost town tour guides and John Wayne films. Sounding like a Mogwai/Morricone lovechild, this trio combines the meditative ebb and flow (with occasional crescendos) of the former with the sun-bleached twang of some of the latter's most well-known work. The product of this consumation is an atmospheric blend of strings, guitars, drums (and some well-placed accordian), an album serious and brooding in tone. Alone, Alone can be as warm as the campfire, but also as eerie and dark as the night that surrounds it, as evidenced in "Float," while songs like "Trying to Lift a Rock with a Bottle on Your Head" and "I Don't Think About You Anymore, but I Don't Think About You Any Less" exhibit a restrained mix of joy and sorrow that, at times, sounds not unlike the traditional music of Eastern Europe. It's no surprise that the disc's last track, "( ) Blackout," is perhaps its best, with a menacing and dissonant climax that offers the most unique sounds on the album. Though it's almost undeniabley haunting (And to think I was going to try to avoid both the Morricone refernce and this haunting/ghosts pun...but both seemed to fit in a way that I couldn't ignore) and beautiful, Alone, Alone can feel as long as some of its wordier song titles, and listening closely enough to the album to really enjoy it can feel like a commitment of time and attention that it can be hard to muster up the excitement for.
Joan of Arc.How Can Anything So Little Be Anymore?.Jade Tree
This is the final release for Chicago?s Joan of Arc, which features Tim Kinsella of the legendary Cap?n Jazz, a ship that launched one million (bad) imitators (I apologize for the nautical reference). Utilizing pop sensibilities, intricate song writing, and experimental electronic devices, Joan of Arc creates an interesting and new sound out of what could commonly be seen as the sort of stale emotionally driven side of brooding indy rock of this fashion. None of this is missing on this release, but there is a sense that something quite different is taking place. The album starts out as one might expect a Joan of Arc CD to begin, a lulling soundscape of traditional rock instruments and electro-weirdness. But the disc on the whole, while retaining a Joan of Arc flare, is pretty different from their norm. One highlight of the EP is the song ?Most at Home in Motels?, with its acoustic guitar intro, and slightly skewed pacing. As the song progresses, the ghosts of electrofuzz creep in and out. The harmonic vocals betray a sort of peaceful feeling that doesn?t match with the strange tempo and synthetic pace of the tune. The crowning achievement on the disc for me was the track ?What If We Are Not After All, All Destined For Greatness?? which again has a feeling of a slow plodding folk tune, and starts out almost exclusively with acoustic guitar and bass. In the lyrics, one can see why comparisons between Tim Kinsella and Will (Palace) Oldham are often made (whether or not they are merited). The EP was pieced together by Kinsella on a computer after the group?s final tour, taking fragments they had recorded while producing the album "The Gap", and that shows. But it does not show in a bad way; so don?t let that deter you from looking at the disc as the whole product of a collective creative force. One negative thing was the overabundance of sampling of some small children that don?t really add to the overall interesting factors of the release, nor do they endear us to these slightly annoying moppets. In fact, skip track 3 all together, though you might want to hear it once for posterity?s sake. As one kid says at the end ?it?s not that fun to be a loser, but I can take it.? The kid before him says ?it feels very fine [to be a winner], I love it.? With this release, Joan of Arc go out as winners. mgc3