Monthly Archive

The Sound Of Silver?  Well, I suppose a cowbell could be silver. 

LCD Soundsystem, last seen wanking on a treadmill for Nike’s coins with 45’33” (hat tip: Charlie Brooker), are back, begging our forgiveness for such ugly commercialism.  So let’s make them dance and sing for a bit for our amusement. 

“Be Lodger-era Bowie!” we say.  “OK”, they say, “just let me add another track to these already multi-tracked vocals and we’ll be right with you”.   Ahhh, Bowie.  We start to wonder where it all went wrong for multi-millionaire supermodel-shagging secret-of-perpetual-youth-knowing David Bowie, and a wistful expression crosses our face.

“Do “Losing My Edge” again, but with more cowbell” we demand, quite rightly. That’ll cheer us up.   They shake their silver, we low contentedly, but wonder what happened to all the hipster self-aware lyrics. 

“Be funnier!” we shout.  “We are North American scum!” they retort, and we laugh, although wonder whether the joke may be on us in a way that is too clever for us to understand, so decide to move on. 

“Do Roxy Music!” we say next, and they launch into “Virginia Plain”, but then realise they don’t know the words, so try one of the slower ones from the end of Roxy’s first.  We appreciate the effort, so we let them turn the page of our Bryan Ferry 2007 calendar even though it isn’t the end of the month.

The Sound Of Silver?  Maybe it’s a magpie thing….

Listen to lachrymose finale “New York I Love You” here

I was of course distraught the other week to hear of the death of everyone’s* favourite comedy dictator, and five times winner of the prestigious “hero of Turkmenistan” award, Sapurmurat Niyazov, who lost a long battle against cancer of the hair caused by excessive use of “Just for Barmy ex-Soviet Republic Tyrants” black hair dye.  Well, he didn’t have much choice but to try to maintain his ebony mane, what with having banned any depiction of himself with any visible strand of silver hair.   Obviously the gold hair atop the revolving gold statue of himself in the Turkmen capital was acceptable.

He had a fine list of important contributions to his nation’s rich cultural heritage, such as renaming towns, schools, months and a meteorite after himself; writing the national anthem, banning ballet and opera (“unnecessary”, he thought, which may not suggest a great affinity with the function of the arts), banning computer games, banning make-up on news readers, banning lip-synching in music videos…I need hardly go on.  If he couldn’t affix his name to it, he banned it.  Fortunately he hung around long enough to witness the completion of the results of one of his finest presidential decrees – the building of an ice palace in the Turkmen desert.

Well, I say completion.  The plans were gradually scaled back to the point they resembled a slightly glorified version of Streatham Ice Rink (albeit one you’d be less likely to be shot in).  It seems someone had pointed out that an ice palace would, ummm, melt.  I wouldn’t have wanted to have been the one breaking that piece of news to Sapurmurat.

Where is this all going?  Oh, yes, down some sort of ridiculously tenuous metaphorical route, which would necessitate my comparison of the new album by Rafael Anton Irisarri on the (quite brilliant already) Miasmah records to an ice palace, probably mentioning how its crystal cold notes resonate around its stately cavernous space, cut adrift, miles from civilisation.  Not that the self-styled “Father of Turkmen” would like it.  Not just because he didn’t write it himself, meaning it would probably be outlawed in his country.  But because he is dead.

Anyway, I decree you give it a listen.  Try Wither, Lumberton, and Fractal here courtesy of Miasmah.  You can buy it here, or at one of a number of fine online record emporiums.

*except those he oppressed, obviously

I stepped out early in the morning into a beautiful, crisp, still park.  The sun sat unmoving just amongst the treetops, shining white cold. This disturbed the birds, who hopped from one foot to another on their branches, wings hunched up round their necks for warmth, but barely budged them songwards.  I lost my place in life for a while. 

Other lives progressed with mild purpose. People on bikes rolled by, their chain scraping and sticking as they went; one chided me with their bell as I ambled without thought into their path .  In the distance I could hear a car and a refuse truck; those sounds bounced off my icy cocoon.  I remained until the wind began to eat holes in my cheeks, long enough to hear M Rosner’s Morning Tones revealing itself like blades of grass through melting snow on a winter’s morning. 

Fans of Mountains’ Sewn (also on Apestaartje), fans of Tape’s sublime Rideau,  fans of brillantness; you will all find lots to love herein.  Listen to the wonderful wonderful “Kobenhavn” here.   Buy it, love it, here

Some things that happened to me while I was listening to this album on my iPod today:

1) My tube train stopped between stations.  It was a very full Victoria Line train, head in armpit stuff, nil possibility of me being able to get my newspaper anywhere within my field of vision, never mind get a pen out to do the crossword.  After a considerable wait, an alarm began to sound.  A slow, insistent alarm, the type that says “now don’t get too worried, but you should probably have a look at this.”  I wondered what the noise could be.  I glanced around.  No-one else seemed more bothered than you would expect someone to be when stuck in a rather hot carriage for an interminable period.  I turned the volume down on the iPod.  The noise ceased immediately.  That was Track 3, “We Love You Michael Gira”.

2) I eventually left the underground, mildly irritated, and headed for the bus.  Very stop-go, they’ve been replacing some Victorian water mains round here for months now, digging chasms in the ground and installing temporary traffic lights while they do so.  The gossamer drones of last track “Forgetting You Is Like Breathing Water” began to build in intensity and rise both in pitch and volume.  It became quite intense.  I closed my eyes, and let the sound flood the darkness.  The sound kept building, getting really quite loud, and finally began to grate mechanically.  I realised the track had finished, and I was listening to the sound of the driver pointlessly revving his engine.

I’m pretty sure John Cage would approve.

Ranging from the bottom of an overpowering Tim Hecker guitar crackle canyon (“cities collapsing”, as my friend Andrew always says whenever he hears something like this) to the high atmosphere jetstreams of Eliane Radigue or a 12K type like Richard Chartier, Theory Of Machines has more depth than anything I’ve heard all year. 

Listen to the short and brutal “Coda” here
Listen to more at Ben’s myspace.
Watch a clip of Ben Frost and other Bedroom Community types live here.
Once you’ve done all that, you can buy it here.

Last year, Rune Grammofon released a couple of records which were placed quite handily in my end of year rundown, and a bunch of their artists were involved in my favourite gig of the year.  Nothing out of the ordinary there – if I’d made a similar list in 2005 I’d probably have had the likes of Supersilent 7 and Arve Henriksen’s Chiaroscuro at the top of the list.  The fact that I was born with an extra ventricle means I am biologically able to reserve a special place in my heart for their output.  I’m probably going to name my first born child Rune in their honour, and then climb a mountain in the himalayas, and plant it head first amongst the rocks at the top with a Kim Hiorthoy-designed flag fluttering from its ankles.

But I might just keep the abortionist’s number close at hand for now.  The new album from Shining is probably the least good thing RG have released in a while.  Shining appear to have so much that they want to fit in to this record that it all ends up a bit of a stylistic jumble, with occasional moments of thundering mathy-prog guitar lost amidst some meandering non-contributory improv doodles and vocals which sound like the incidental music from The Simpsons’ Tree House Of Terror series.  “1:4:9”, in a blatant attempt to appeal to my rampant ADD, features all of the above in its five minutes.

I’m not saying it is a bad record; it isn’t – nothing with this many ideas can be bad (except the occasional smart-arse dictator).  Just don’t come here expecting yet another RG classic, ‘s all.  Still, new Arve Henriksen up next.  My heart is all a-flutter just thinking about it.
See what you think.  Listen to “1:4:9″ here.  Listen to some more of it on their myspace.  And on their right pretty interweb.  Tell me I’m wrong.  Again.

What is it with all these weirdy alt-folk types creating unseemly bunching in the virtual ticket emporiums of this land this year?  First Ms Newsom caused tremors with her Barbican event a few weeks back, then Will Oldham sold out a bunch of shows, added a new one, then sold that out too, all in less time than it would take me to gaffer tape a mid-sized long-haired cat to my chin.   Oh yes, plenty photos of Billy’s rather fine face foliage to follow….

Although I’ll keep you waiting with a brief note about Oldham’s support, Scout Niblett.  I’d had my ears pricked by her version of Donna and Althea’s “Uptown Top Ranking” some years ago, and was always going to be disappointed by its inevitable non-appearance in her skank-free set.  Still, seeing her shuffle about on drums, and hearing her flay her guitar raw, sounding like the more wounded parts of the Polly Jean back catalogue, made for a filling entrée.

Bonnie Prince Billy made his entrance looking uber-redneck in beard and ill-fitting cap.  He spent the evening rummaging in the recesses of his back catalogue like a tramp head-first in a dustbin digging out haute cuisine.  As if I was watching Dylan, I had to desperately try to keep up with all of the reworkings.  And to confuse me further, I’m certain some of the songs aren’t his – he announces one as being his brother Ned’s, and I swear I heard a John Martyn cover in there too in his shouty “John The Baptist”.  And there’s even some Canned Heat Willie Nelson with “On The Road Again”.

The combination of unfamiliar arrangements, wilful obscurity, and my ever-diminishing memory prevents me listing much of what he played, but here goes.  In between all the covers, a couple from The Letting Go were stripped of their string and female voice clothing (although Scout reappeared to sub for Dawn McCarthy on “Strange Form Of Life”), and given some neat-fitting if decidedly louder attire – “Wai” sounded a different song altogether.  It was a far cry from the last time I saw him in London - solo and orange-trewed at the Barbican.  The older material included the menacing “Today I Was An Evil One” from I See A Darkness, the booty-fixated “Ease Down The Road” and “After I Made Love To You”, and also from that album, a quite stunning “Lion Lair”.  I’m fairly sure I heard those.  Did I hear “All Gone, All Gone” too?  Who knows.  I can tell you that amongst all that I heard some commendably fine drumming from the improbably youthful-looking Alex Nielsen.

Requests for “Blockbuster”, “Just To See My Holly Home” and to play at some rather misguided chap’s wedding were deflected with a twitch of the beard and some good humour.  Much as I’d imagine any offers to buy tickets for this from those present would have been, given the holler Oldham was afforded at the end.

Ok, so Sonic Youth could release an album of them just dicking about, and I’d still buy it (what’s that you say?  They did?  And it was called Goodbye 20th Century?  Oh, I have that).  So an album of Geffen era b-sides and rare gubbins, surprisingly heavily weighted towards the more recent end of that period, is easily limber enough to shimmy under my quality control bar, despite all those creaking joints.

After the disappointingly insubstantial Rather Ripped, I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed The Destroyed Room (what’s that you say?  I am telling you?  And this is me doing it?  Oh, I didn’t realise).   From the minute the unmistakeable chordings of “Fire Engine” run off the edge of the road with siren ablaze, I’m hooked, right until the very end of the “Diamond Sea”’s twenty five minutes of guitar scrub.  Even if the latter doesn’t differ all that much from the original version of Washing Machine (trivia: released on my first day wasting my life working in a record shop) for the first quarter of an hour.  Hell, I can even forgive the minute’s worth of fluffy Kim-goes-country of “Razor Blade”, and the bleepy farts of “Campfire”, if it means getting a consistently interesting and diverse seventy minute SY record.

They are at a fascinating point in their career now.  They have parted company with Jim O’Rourke and with Geffen.  They are involved with more side projects than ever, and I sometimes get the feeling they enjoy those a whole lot more (e.g all Thurston’s free improv shenanigans).  If they could recharge or reboot or rewire or whatever it is that avant-rock types need to do, and come back with a new direction, or guitar tuning, or something, anything different, there is still a chance they could become quite popular, this lot (what’s that you say?  etc etc etc).

Listen to the ace “Beautiful Plateau” here.
You can buy it here too, if you like.

The Exploding Star Orchestra is a newly discovered formation in the Chicago Underground galaxy.  Cornettist Rob Mazurek appears to be stargazer-in-chief, and various Tortoises are of course involved (John McEntire, John Hernden, Jeff Parker).  In total, 14 musicians, excluding the electric eels, are involved in this nebulous concept album about, as far as I can work out, the transformation of a stingray into a star.  Birds are involved in the story, as are those eels.  I’m not sure that knowing any of this helps, but it gave me a laugh typing it.

The first section begins in terrific Eric Dolphy/Andrew Hill/Bobby Hutcherson fashion, with tricky sections of jagged ensemble rhythm and some tremendous flute (Nicole Mitchell).  The end of the track is predominantly the Tortoise types going at it in typical Tortoise style, getting themselves all worked a la “Glass Museum”.  The end of the first section is where the sampled eels come in, a fascinating and spooky section of echoing tones, like treated scraped and plucked violin strings.  The album orbits around “Black Sun”, a gorgeous understated solo Jim Baker piano piece.   If you think the final section’s title “Cosmic Tomes” suggests the Arkestra, you’re not light-years away.  It begins with an intense Ra-esque ensemble piece, with some strong free-blowing cornet from Mazurek, before taking a more surprising excursion into Music For 18 Musicians style rhythmic repetition.

We Are All From Somewhere Else reminds me a bit of the interesting Matthew Shipp-helmed Blue Series stuff from a few years back which, for better or worse, seemed always to be trying to create new jazz forms by realigning stars from disparate constellations.  Powered by its eel electric, this burns brightly enough to be seen with the naked eye, at this time of year at least.

Listen to Cosmic Tones, Part 2 here
Buy it from amazon here

I’m not sure I want to start reviewing Boris albums.  I reckon they can write, record and release an album in less time than it takes me to review it.  I’ll never keep up on my own.  I’ll have to employ an assistant.  They’ll be a better writer than me.  I’ll get jealous, and start sabotaging their reviews by inserting rogue grocers’ apostrophes.  They’ll get the hump and leave, and I’ll be back to where I started, drowning in an ever-rising sea of Boris CDs.

Following hard on the heels of a million other Boris records comes Rainbow, a collaboration with guitarist Michio Kurihawa from the brilliant Ghost.  Even from a band like Boris who haven’t exactly dug out a cosy self-contained niche for themselves, this is a bit of a stylistic departure – generally pretty calm and unhurried, with only brief flashes of white-hot psych-guitar.  I hear a lot of mid-1970’s krautrock influences: the title track has a hazy Future Days-era Can feel to it, with hushed drumming under otherwordly whispered vocals; similarly, “Fuzzy Reactor” is like Slowdive strolling through Neu!’s “Seeland”. 

Ah, but those flashes.  The decaying drone rumble of sometime Boris collaborators SunnO))) threatens lift off on “Rafflesia”, before Kurihawa’s scorching guitar powers it to the moon.  “No_1 Sweet No_1” is adrift in a maelstrom of crude and crunchy garage rock, both lashed together and ripped asunder by howling guitar assault.  This is awesome stuff; made even more frightening when you realise that Boris will probably drop another equally good record in a matter of minutes.  Situation vacant: apply here.

Listen to “Rafflesia” here
Buy it at Boomkat here.  Hurry, stocks are very limited!

I picked this up at the Noah Howard gig last week.  It doesn’t matter how often I see Chris Corsano live, he will always have two or three new records to sell me.  This one was on the generally pretty ace Important Records, so I figured it would most likely be worth ten of my GBP.  I was right.

So, other than me, anyone for another noise supergroup?  Corsano and Trevor Tremaine (Hair Police) on drums.  Brian Sullivan (Mouthus) on guitar, Carlos Giffoni on electronics.  Even the artwork and mastering are by noise artists – Dominic Fernow (Prurient) and James Plotkin – if only they could have arranged for Merzbow to work in a record shop and sell it to you, that would probably have reached noise artists max-out.

Sorry, I’ve distracted myself by thoughts of Merzbow working in a record shop.  Clocking in.  Selling Girls Aloud CDs.  Fiddling with the in-store music system’s speaker connections until they only emitted piercing white noise.  I’d employ him in a second.

Back to Infinite Death.  You can tell by the title and the personnel exactly what this is going to sound like, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling.  It may help (although most probably it won’t) if I tell you that Track 1 was recorded in the studio, and leaps from the stereo like an army of Lightning Bolt-drawn Ninjas.  Track 2 was recorded live, and sounds like Wolf Eyes being dismembered in a warehouse with hammers and chainsaws and thrown at a wall.  It makes a good Sunday morning 9am wake up call, I can tell you.

Listen to an excerpt of Track 1 here, and of Track 2 here.
Fling some of your GBP (or even better, USD) the way of Important Records and you can have your own copy.