New Music: Von Südenfed, The Narrator

Von Südenfed - Flooded (Domino 2007)

Von Südenfed - Tromatic Reflexxions / Domino

So here's the honest truth: We could've covered The Fall's Reformation Post TLC, and this is proof that in hindsight things aren't always better. I'm glad we didn't, and anyway, critically reviewing a Fall album at this point is the equivalent of critiquing pints of Guinness at the Gravity Bar: You think the first one's good, but by the 26th you don't even know what the fuck is going on. You just know you'll have another.

But waiting it out proved to be rewarding for another, entirely unforeseen reason this time: That's where the bizarre world of Von Südenfed enters, and you can save the German cough syrup jokes, they're already played out. This is a marriage made only in old Fall fan heaven, because while lately The Fall have gotten away from their electronic forays, the one and only Mark E. Smith has been spending time with the dudes in Mouse on Mars. Here then is that collaboration, and it is something else. Imagine Varcharz with, well, a slurring English guy on the mic. Yeah, it's about what you're expecting.

Unless you weren't expecting it, of course. Those able to reach deeper into the memory bank and pull out Smith's guest appearance on Ghostigital's album In Cod We Trust last year will not be surprised by what they're going to find on the debut, two songs already up on their MySpace. A dozen tracks will litter this record all in all, and in the same way that Charlotte Gainsbourg's new 5:55 is really just her singing over Air, Von Südenfed is really just Mark E. Smith singing over Mouse on Mars. Not a bad thing, mind, but nothing totally unexpected. There, I'm already contradicting myself.

"The Rhinohead" has to be an amusing highlight in that it is positively one of the most upbeat and strange things I've ever heard from Smith (and I haven't been listening for 30 years, so I probably missed something along the way). A jumpy synth line essentially structures a Smith rant over a pop song in a grand eschewing of conventions. Or maybe it isn't. As ever, the decision is yours.

This tune right here, "Flooded," this one's more standard fare for the course. The swamped bass swivels like a subsonic siren as Smith talks up his night out fucking up the DJ or some such rubbish. Maybe Smith was the DJ? Sven Vath who? Try telling me what he just said from 2m50s-2m54s. Any guesses? After however many drinks he had, once again, it just doesn't matter. Listen to that bass enough times and your head starts to hurt. Smith is one of those guys who people will let off the hook because somehow he has not only managed to slur more words together on record than any other man in the history of music, he has also managed to score friends in much more precise places. This means Andi Tomi and Jan St. Werner, although for what it's worth... They loved him so much, there's already a second album and a US tour in the works. And The Fall are touring this summer too. Double bill? Shouldn't be too hard. Somehow, we go on loving. Madness. Maybe it's that snazzy straight-outta-'81 press kit they give us.













The Narrator - Start Parking (Flameshovel 2007)

The Narrator - All That to the Wall / Flameshovel

Now The Narrator and I, we get along okay. Always have, right back to that Youth City Fire EP in 2004. In those days my knowledge of the Chicago "scene," its legacy and its future was pretty limited. Gradually I came to learn about Shellac and everything Steve Albini ever got his grubby hands on and how that shaped the sound of the city and the country at large. Chicago's a big deal these days, but for an altogether different reason.

But let this be the first and last time you see "The Narrator the band" and "juke-house" in the same sentence together, because All That to the Wall is about as far from The Fader's favorite flavor as The North Atlantic, and if you didn't hear Wires in the Walls last year then you're missing out. I digress: What happened to that Narrator that sounded so hungry on 2005's Such Triumph? That was a band that had all the energy of a young Drive Like Jehu with a slightly twisty post-punk lean. "The Electric Slide" from that first EP had a bassline not unlike Interpol's "Obstacle 1," so clearly they were absorbing at least a little bit of influence from what was hot... But by and large, they were running their own race and with a solid label in Flameshovel were able to get some exposure.

So what happened here? The difference on All That to the Wall is both in the tangible and the intangible. Their old drummer Dave Turncrantz left during the recording of this one, so slimmed down they decided to fetch help from a few local friends. Russian Circles, The Oxford Collapse, Bound Stems... The shortlist is about that long, but the long of it is that there were eight outsiders helping the core trio of Sam Axelrod, James Barron and Jesse Woghin. Maybe all that hanging out did something to them, because no longer does this band sound like the hungry post-hardcore prodigies they once did. All That to the Wall sounds a lot like, well, an indie-rock album. It's not generic in the sense that you know who this is most of the time. Things are cleaned up quite a bit for this record, but the basic chord-plucking melodies are still there. The guitar crunch that would've been so eager to jump out of a song like "Breaking the Turtle" restrain themselves. Like Earth in some ways, this album is a lesson in conservation and in restraint. It's still got some yelping, it's still got some dischord, but really it's a good solid rock album and little more.

I don't blame the guys for not changing the world; isn't everyone else out to do that these days? But The Narrator sound like they're moving around in the space they inhabit comfortably. The epic "A Decade in Kentucky" is the album's longest song, but it's worth it with the feedback and the crashing cymbals finally leading into an uptempo punk rock song we've kind of come to expect. Don't count out The Narrator if you even knew about them in the first place. These guys aren't in a funk, they're not fizzling out, they're not breaking apart. They're just growing up like the rest of us. You can only do loud for so long, can't you? And finding those quiet moments amid the noise is part of the new-found joy of The Narrator's sophomore effort.

Radio Show Playlist 4/18

6a:
1. Pixies - Subbacultcha - Trompe Le Monde (4AD 1991)
2. Welcome - All Set - Sirs (Fat Cat 2007)
3. Watchers - Superbad (live) - Rabble EP (Gern Blandsten 2006)
4. Pop Levi - Dollar Bill Rock - The Return to Form Black Magick Party (Counter 2007)
5. T. Rex - Born to Boogie - Tanx (Rhino 1972)
6. The M's - My Gun - Future Women (Polyvinyl 2006)
7. The Twilight Sad - Talking with Fireworks/Here, It Never Snowed - Fourteen Autumns and Fifteen Winters (Fat Cat 2007)
8. Arbouretum - Pale Rider Blues - Rites of Uncovering (Thrill Jockey 2007)
9. Mavis Staples - 99 & 1/2 - We'll Never Turn Back (Anti- 2007)
10. The Emotions - Peace Be Still - Music from the Wattstax Festival (Ace/Stax 2003, recorded 1972)

7a:
1. Lymbyc System - Astrology Days - Love Your Abuser (Mush 2007)
2. Broadcast - Echo's Answer - The Noise Made by People (WARP 2000)
3. Four Tet - Hands - Rounds (Domino 2003)
(If you listened from here on out, I apologize for it's terribleness... it was one disaster after another, and I couldn't get back on track for the life of me.)
4. Gabor Szabo - Dear Prudence - 1969 (Skye 1969)
5. Glenn Jones - Heartbreak Hill - Against Which the Sea Continually Beats (Strange Attractors 2007)
6. Kenny Burrell - Everyday (I Have the Blues) - Blues: The Common Ground (Verve 1967)
7. Cadence Weapon - Oliver Square - Breaking Kayfabe (Upper Class 2006, Epitaph 2007)
8. Prefuse 73 - Plastic ft. Diverse - One Word Extinguisher (WARP 2003)
9. Jorge Dalto - I've Got You On My Mind - Chevere (United Artists 1971)
10. Vieux Farka Toure - Ana - Vieux Farka Toure (World Village 2007)
11. Domenico+2 - Aeroporto 77 - Sincerly Hot (Luaka Bop 2004)
12. Harmonettes - Can't Go Halfway - Cult Cargo: Belize City Boil Up (Numero Group 2005)

New Music: Lymbyc System, TTC

Lymbyc System - Astrology Days (Mush 2007)

Lymbyc System – Love Your Abuser / Mush

Partially because of time constraints and partially because I like to hear albums pumped through their large speaker system, I have quickly gotten in the habit of spinning my newly received albums during my allotted playtime at Reckless Records. On Friday morning I slid in Lymbyc System’s debut full-length for Mush Records, Love Your Abuser, and was enjoying their captivating melodious music when a customer asked me what was playing. I excitedly told him, and he remarked how much he was digging it and asked what this particular kind of music is called. When I told him it would pretty easily be categorized as post-rock, he just kind of stared at me with a confused look on his face. I then noticed he had pulled an Incubus album from the shelf and decided it was best to start from the beginning, because hey, we all got to start somewhere so why not share a little knowledge and maybe I will spark a more exploratory music fan. (Actually, I can still remember the day my fellow Audiversitarian Jordan explained to me the very same concept). So I detailed how in the late 80s/early 90s alternative rock took stranglehold of the mainstream, and in reaction a new movement began attempting to counteract the easily definable brand of rock by infusing a large amount of influences like krautrock, jazz, ambient, prog, classical, math rock, avant-garde, dub and IDM into an epic statement of instrumental prowess. I talked about Spiderland and Tortoise and Labradford and how the antithesis of the compact rock of the time was too patiently string it out into complex structures with lyrical melodies, and how it eventually became the norm itself and was also dismissed by a new movement in the early 00s. But sadly after all the explaining and detailing, he wasn’t even able to buy Love Your Abuser, because all we had was the promo copy I was currently spinning and it was not for sale. It is really a shame too, because Lymbyc System is a very promising young voice in the rebounding genre and I would have loved to cast him off on his burgeoning musical voyage with them to lead the way (but don’t worry, we special ordered it for him and his trip is merely delayed, not canceled completely).

The core of Lymbyc System is a pair of brothers from Tempe, Arizona, Jared and Michael Bell. Molding their sound since 2001, they have whole-heartily embraced the aforementioned post-rock sound and further infused it with a healthy dose of one of its side products, folktronica. Like most albums in this field, Love Your Abuser is the result of many a rehash with each recording laid down by the Bell brothers, reconfigured and re-recorded and overdubbed, and then re-reconfigured and re-recorded and overdubbed once again, and then re-re-reconfigured… you get the idea. Some of the source material is nearly impossible to decipher listening to the final product, which skips and sweeps and sashays and stutters and swirls in an invigorating blend of soul-sighing melodies and unconventional structures. The groundwork was mostly created with vintage keyboards and wonderfully time-unperfected equipment adding a lovely layer of crunch and crackle to the sugary sweet center. The Bell brothers, talented musicians in their own right, also got a little help from their friends with the similar-minded Dylan Cristy of The Dylan Group and Mice Parade laying down some vibes and Jimmy Lavelle of The Album Leaf, Tristeza and The Black Heart Procession providing his noted forte, which also saves me some time from listing reference points to Lymbyc System’s sound. Really though, the album Love Your Abuser reminds me of the most is the sorely overlooked Easy Pieces from the short-lived Lateduser (featuring Andrew Broder and Martin Dosh) released in 2004 on Merck. Both albums build strikingly moving melodies out of profuse textures and unconventional instrumentation that create nearly tangible atmospheres without meandering on for too long. And that is one of the defining characteristics of Love Your Abuser: quickly making its point and constantly moving to the next thought. It’s a post-rock album that does not muck around too much in slowly drifting ideas, which is a rarity. These songs are rich tapestries of finely interwoven textures that let you discover a new layer with each spin, just like my newly guided friend is going to do when he peels off each layer of post-rock’s history. If he can’t start from the beginning, he may as well start from this excellent summation of ideas that proudly has its roots in such an interesting genre.






TTC - Quand Je Claque des Doigts (Big Dada 2007)

TTC – 3615 / Big Dada

Outside the U.S. market, the sponge-eared kids of France make up the second largest audience for hip-hop and it’s many stemming byproducts. In fact the evolution of hip-hop culture in France is almost an exact parallel to its rise to popularity here in the states, really just a short lag in trends separates the two markets. Hip-hop first appeared in Paris in 1979 with a large number of devoted radio stations emerging not too far behind in the early 80s. Not unlike the jazz scene in the 60s, the French welcomed American rap stars with open arms throughout the 80s long before their home audience did, and they eagerly awaited each concurrent trend within the genre confines. Rap hit the mainstream in both the U.S. and France in the early 90s, both succumbed to controversy as it grew more aggressive and anarchic (ahem, gangsta) as the decade plugged along and finally a very productive underground emerged on each side of the Atlantic in the late 90s/early 00s. In fact, a lot of heads feel the French language is better suited for the lyrical style since it naturally flows much smoother opening up a new world of possibilities for rhyming. And as the last few years has seen an increasing dependency on electro-trashy beats and avant-club music in the American underground, so has it in France (or probably the other way around) and a group by the name of TTC is leading the pack with their contagious analog synth bounce and multiple personality dynamic.

Signed to Ninja Tune imprint Big Dada in 1999 after dropping off a single at their home office, the emcee trio of Tido Berman, Teki Latex and Cuiziner along with their usual helmet-clad DJ, Orgasmic, are releasing their third full-length in four years. Like Ceci N’Est Pas un Disque and Bâstards Sensibles before it, 3615 has completely different appeals depending on your geographic location. If you are sadly stuck in solely the English language like myself, a TTC album is more of an aesthetic attraction. The emcees each have their own personal flow: a raw, crunk-influenced, guttural flow, a more straightforward NYC/east-coast scheme and, my personal favorite, the over-emphatic, kooky, comedic relief voice that really rounds out their appeal. They trade free-flowing Beastie Boys-like rhymes, at least in vibe not necessary lyrically, over electro-euro-trash beats built from analog synths and basic drum machines giving the overall sound a very throwback vibe that rings more an updated 80s party-hop than anything. Joining DJ Orgasmic behind the decks are renowned electronica artists Para One, Tacteel, Modeselektor and Tido all providing their own two-cents, but keeping with the overarching musical theme. Though I have absolutely no idea what in particular they are spitting about, some of the translated track names include “Rub Your Ass on the Ground” and “Strip for Me,” so you have to think it’s got a club-ish swagger to it; maybe not in a Lil Jon way, but definitely the underground equivalent, perhaps a Peaches or the likes. When TTC does it right and matches the quirk level on both lyrical flow and backing track, like the click-and-spring bounce of “Quand Je Claque des Doigts” or the stuttering synth sass of “Une Bande de Mecs Sympa,” it’s undeniably infectious; you are going to dance, laugh, and join in on all the fun-loving exuberance no matter what they may actually be rapping about. But every few tracks you get a “Turbo” or “Ambition” where the synth cascades are over-emotional and even though it’s in French, you can tell it’s cheesy. Thankfully though the prior outnumbers the latter and you get a great pop-club album that is primed for your next rent paying keg-party. Loud, silly, boisterous and even a little thuggish, 3615 makes for an over-enjoyable gulp of party-hop much like that third Jäger-bomb that most likely wasn’t a good idea, but fuck it, you don’t have to work in the morning. And if you are one of the many laptop on-the-cutting-underground-edge loft-party DJs, stick this in your rotation because your hipster crowd will eat it up no questions asked.

Used-Bin Bargains: Jan Dukes de Gray

Jan Dukes de Gray - High Priced Room (Decca 1969; re-released on Wounded Nurse 2002)

Jan Dukes de Gray - Butterfly (Decca 1969; re-released on Wounded Nurse 2002)

Jan Dukes de Gray - Sorcerers / Decca, Wounded Nurse

For me, used-bins aren't just about perusing the local record store or mining your own massive vaults or reading Wax Poetics or even hitting up your favorite torrent hot spots. Sometimes you have to go to places even more mundane than that to find some of the best stuff. Lately, the LiveJournal psych_folk community has been really spot on with some great finds and the latest I've had the pleasure of hearing is Jan Dukes de Gray, a short-lived English band on the famous Decca label. Two of those songs are presented here from their debut and showcase a duo that was about to grow into something otherworldly but had not yet reached full fruition.

Michael Bairstow and Derek Noy were the brains behind the Dukes, two multi-instrumentalists with their origins as rivals of T Rex before they went glam. Not much has been documented on the rivalry and it's supposed that Marc Bolan's origins in London in the 60s probably sprung from the same sort of collective that Bairstow and Noy come from. But as Bolan and his cohorts went glam as time went on, Bairstow and Noy went ever further into the acid-psych realm. Sorcerers was just the start: At 18 songs and with none longer than the concluding track "Turkish Time" at a mere 4m51s, Sorcerers was a gentle, plucking approach to rapid-fire ideas, bubbling out of the times that produced more psych-anything per capita than at any other point in, well, the history of the world.

I've taken to Sorcerers in recent days partly because it is just the opposite of its successor, the sprawling and now-legendary Mice and Rats in the Loft in 1971. Sorcerers is the work of two talented musicians with a bevy of ideas floating around but no idea yet of how they want to showcase it; as such, a variety of sounds permeates the album and it all starts with the trippy cover-art, which doesn't stand out in any particular way when put in context but which fits the album's lack of coherence and thematic elements well. It's the disheveled whimsy of the bongos of a track like the meditative "Trust Me Now" or the dual-lead vocals in "High Priced Room" that are presented here that give this album its charm. "High Priced Room" is the fourth track on the album but it's the first to use these layered vocals for an almost Middle Eastern effect. It's the pan flutes and the nonsensical (or "enigmatic") lyrics that follow up with the title-track, but these sorts of shifts are expected from an album that had 11 songs on its a-side alone. "Butterfly" is tucked far away on the b-side, fading in following "City After 3AM" and, like other tracks on the album, setting a mood of drug-tinged optimism.

But vocals aren't key; in fact, instrumentals often allow breathing space for the listener to take in each instrument almost individually, as it's happening. With barely a celeste, sometimes no percussion and only a few acoustic guitars to guide them, Bairstow and Noy created a rich album to listen and inhabit. Unfortunately, Decca didn't agree: Though they were moving away from the sounds that they were promoting with Jan Dukes de Gray by that point anyway, getting ditched by the label before their second album must have allowed them some kind of creative freedom.

Maybe this is fodder for another edition of Used-Bin Bargains, but in case we never get there, here's the short story: Bairstow and Noy went off the deep-end for 1971's Mice and Rats in the Loft, but they didn't do it alone. With renewed help from another label, Transatlantic, and a fresh drummer in Denis Conlan, Mice and Rats in the Loft was an explosive sonic tour de force that featured only three epic songs in the entire a-side "Sun Symphonica," "Call of the Wild" and the title-track closer. Generally hailed as the band's finest work and one of acoustic psych-folk's hallmark albums (whatever that's supposed to mean), Mice and Rats in the Loft marked the final album for the band. They disbanded shortly thereafter following an obvious lack of commercial appeal that even Transatlantic didn't want to deal with.

Sorcerers remains barely available, only in bootleg form really... But if you can find it in a used-bin, consider yourself a lucky one: Psych-folk elitists (and ex-Decca executives) may not prefer Jan Dukes de Gray's first album to the second one, but having even one is enough to raise a few eyebrows. Though it is unfortunate they lasted just two albums in two years, the band remains massively influential and can be heard in the sounds of modern acid-folkies all over the country. It would've been tough to guess what was to come when Sorcerers first hit the shelves almost unnoticed in 1969.

Singleversity #6

Audiversity’s weekly column on random music in a predetermined number of words between 1 & 150. This week's randomly generated number: 86.

(Ed. - Originally this was called Threeversity, but in the spirit of simplicity we've decided to retroactively relabel all of these posts. The content remains unchanged.)

MA:
(#86 of a random playlist generated from my ever-changing database of 12,500+ songs)



Goddamn. It’s 8:30p Friday night. I’m listening and writing and happily propping my feet up after two straight 10 hour workdays and less than 5 hours of sleep between. The clock is already ticking on tonight’s potential sleep since I will be loading in WLUW’s Record Fair at 7a tomorrow, and then helping keep it afloat for the next 48 hours. It Just Don't Stop. Thanks Roots, I need this, even if your Illadelph problems circa ’96 were a bit more substantial than my current bitching.

JR:











Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso UFO - Hello Good Child / Does the Cosmic Shepherd Dream of Electric Tapirs?

I just discovered a treehouse in my backyard. Toru Okada had his well and I have my treehouse overlooking an abyss of urban development. It really is like sitting on the edge of the world. Nights like these deserve proper mood music. "Hello Good Child" is a cosmic duet between Tsuyama and Cotton Casino's vibrant souls, floating along all spectral, holding hands in the fifth dimension. It's an anthem to the stars, perfect for skygazing and giving yourself over to the awesome majesty of outer space.

PM:

Hague native Danny Wolfers aka Legowelt looks innocent enough, doesn't he? If only he knew what night terrors he's probably caused people... I found "Valley of Darkness” by blindly stumbling through his massive back catalog (that started around 1998). Tucked away deep on the b-side to his thematic Beyond the Congo 12", “Valley of Darkness” doesn’t need words to give a feel for where it’s heading: Doom-deep bass, paranoid synth pitches, laser-powered beats, and even cats of the jungle. Kurtz gets his 21^st century makeover.

WLUW Record Fair

In Chicago this weekend? Like vinyl (and I know you do)? Come dig, discover and be merry!


(click flyer for more info)

Performance Schedule:
Live Performances and DJ Sets by
Sat. April 14th:
10am Unicycle Loves You
11am Tyler from Pitchfork and Steve from Resident Advisor
12pm Leaves
1pm Pit Er Pat / Evan from Thrill Jockey DJ set
2pm Pit Er Pat / Evan from Thrill Jockey DJ set
3pm Mucca Pazza
4pm Dave Fischoff DJ set
5pm The Brown Party

Sun. April 15th:
10am Reddelicious
11am Ryan from Flameshovel DJ set
12pm Rob from Numero Group DJ set
1pm Rob from Numero Group DJ set
2pm Rue Royal
3pm The Janes Go-Go Dance Troupe / Wayne Montana of The Eternals DJ set
4pm Antelope

Directions

(I'll be spinning randomly in both auditoriums. My official set is Sunday 10a)

New Music: Staraya Derevnya, Kenna

Staraya Derevnya - Traces (Self-released, 2007)

Staraya Derevnya - Onelegged EP (Self-released, 2007)

I've always had a bit of a fascination with Russia. This goes back to around 1993 when I was watching "Wings of the Red Star" in the days when the Discovery Channel was about actually discovering things rather than home-decorating makeovers or high definition blue whales or whatever it is they're doing now. You'd think that the curious history of the MiG-25 or the privilege of walking aboard a Volga-Dnieper Antonov An-124 as a kid would've been enough to spark my interest in the language as well. No such luck: As soon as I hit that Cyrillic alphabet, it was like a brick wall.

And so Russia remains a fascinatingly distant place and paradox, European and Asian and backward and modern and wayward all the same. As the saga with Putin unfolds in the pages of the New York Times Magazine once every two years, its musicians carry on in the Moscow underworld and in the exiled streets abroad. But what do we really know of contemporary Russian music? Most people hear that and think Shostakovitch or Prokofiev if they think anything at all. At worst, they think Gogol Bordello. Yikes.

Maybe Staraya Derevnya isn't at the root of what's happening. Maybe they're totally irrelevant, but I'd like to believe they're not. I'd like to believe that slightly demented piano lines and click-clack bongo percussion and earnest, lo-fi vocals and recordings still have their roots in trad-Russian folk ballads of the peasants that still inhabit the Urals despite the strife and the rush for modernity and the oligarchs and the oil. Their name is Russian, they sing in Russian, it feels like they're singing to Russians... But alas, it is London and Haifa that they call home.

I'd love to be able to point these guys out to you in public. I'd love to tell you their names. But their website and MySpace account (much like their ethos and delivery) are both impenetrable, utterly Russian. What I can discern: They have been around since at least 1999's Expeditions, have a few songs that haven't made it to a record yet, and finished recording this EP in February. They call it acoustic post-punk, and in the first track "Maldives" you can hear that in the scratchy vocals and heavy strumming of the guitars. But "Traces" has to best both the opening cut and the second song, "Offering," with its homemade hissing and four-track charm. It's a beautiful song really, and though Russian is often criticized (like all the Slavic languages) for not sounding "pretty" enough in itself, the two gentlemen I believe to be running this show prove otherwise. The photos of the band on their MySpace page are the same, a visual dichotomy of the music this band offers as a taste of old-world singalongs on the Black Sea clashing with the freak-folk guardians of the new age. It may not be the sound of Russia, but it's a lot closer than gypsy-punk. Spread the word.













Kenna - Black Goodbye Ride (Star Trak/Interscope 2007)

Kenna - The Black Goodbye EP / Star Trak/Interscope

Last Night I Dreamt That Kenna Talked to Me

Patrick: New sacred cow! Is it really...?

Hypothetical Kenna Zemedkun: Funny.

P: Couldn't resist. I thought you were dead! Or rather, I guess I had less freetime to follow your progress post-New Sacred Cow. Whatever happened to you, anyway?

HKZ: The basic background is the eldest son of an Ethiopian immigrant hears U2's The Joshua Tree and flips out, tries to figure out a way to make the same kind of grandiose, sweeping statements with his own music. Lucky for me I met a guy in high school who had the production skills to help out: Chad Hugo. I went on "Subterranean" a few years ago after the "Freetime" video hit and was getting ready to be a big deal. Chad helped me produce the EP, naturally. In 2005 I said Make Sure They See My Face was 95% finished. And then... Then there were label troubles with Star Trak where they delayed it and then in '06 we were still working through them, telling people the record was still coming but it just didn't work out. The "Out of Control" single was released last December on iTunes and that's on this EP too. So we're aiming for a June 5th release date with the full-length, that's what we put on the back of the jewel case for this latest EP anyway. Also, you can lay off the references. I get it, you're witty, you're a blogger, you're important. We all get it.

P: Since you brought it up, I feel obligated as a blogosphericist to point out that you have a lot of disparate influences that you have always hit hard but seem particularly indebted to on this one. People bring up Radiohead a lot, which on something like "Better Wise Up" sounds pretty accurate. So, "Better Wise Up"? Thom Yorke's "Black Swan"? Get that a lot too?

HKZ: Only on my own forums.

P: "Out of Control" starts off like a synth-blasting M83 song before morphing rather quickly into another song hipsters know well, "Losing My Edge." But it sounds more like you copped that directly from Killing Joke's "Change" than from its better-known ripoff. And the explosions to define that, yes, here is the end of the song? A little unnecessary, no?

HKZ: Probably to all of the above. But it's all in what you hear, isn't it? It's easy to say that the subtle things, the musical references that make inadequate people feel better about themselves, that's where all the magic in the music is happening. But sometimes it's the bigger picture. To me, it's about people recognizing that I want people to share in my well-being. I say this on the MySpace, in the mission statement, all of it. I see music as a positive force and I try to play to those strengths. Hopefully everyone takes a little away from it, for their own betterment.

P: "Black Goodbye Ride" is the longest one on this EP, but it's a corker in such a quiet way. Restrained for the most part, not necessarily bombastic or overwrought with dynamics, a coy way to wrap up this very brief EP. Tell me a little bit about what we're supposed to expect for Make Sure They See My Face. Is it more like the slower, the more atmospheric? Or is it in-your-face Paris '07-cum-U2?

HKZ: If I did that, I'd have to let you hear the album. Forget it, I know you're on Oink and Indietorrents.

P: But my ratio sucks on both of them. They'll probably kick me off. Have you seen the rules? Totally stringent! It's like they're...

HKZ: Don't you dare.

P: ...Hell bent on it? Kenna get a witness!

HKZ: We're so finished. You're about to fall asleep anyw

New Music: Vieux Farka Touré, Welcome

Vieux Farka Touré - Ana (World Village 2007)

Vieux Farka Touré – Vieux Farka Touré / World Village

Thanks to Mali’s landlocked geographic position in Western Africa, it is subject to hundreds of different ethnic groups all infusing their own cultural influences to create one nearly indefinable Malian culture soundtracked by a barrage of musical styles. On top of just the indigenous instrumentation, post-World War II Mali was subject to an intermixing of African, American and British soldiers, introducing most importantly the guitar to the Saharan country. Like most pre-60s African countries, and really most countries around the world at that time, dance music was the craze and along with the passed-down Malian traditions, European dances like the rumba, waltz and tango drifted south through Africa. When Modibo Keita became the first president of the newly independent country, he further pushed cultural expression and as well as instigating a roots revival, Cuban music became popular. The 70s saw further diversification with a style eerily parallel to the American blues surfaced as the electric guitar rose in popularity and the continued importation of outside genres. By the time of America’s eye-opening epiphany in the 80s with regard to world music (“Wait! You mean other countries are making interesting music too???”), Malian music was as diverse as ever with fusion, pop, rock and even techno-influenced Mande music being popular at the time. But one man seemed to capture the majority of America’s attention with his distinctly mellifluous and meticulous Malian folk guitar that resembled the American blues with its immensely soulful expression. Ali Farka Touré became an international musical icon and was instrumental in bringing much warranted attention to his home country. Sadly though, he passed away in March of 2006, but thankfully his son Vieux Farka Touré is continuing on his legacy as well as progressing the musical foundation his father established with his eponymous debut album.

After a career of hardships, the last thing the elder Touré wanted was his son to enter the music business, even going to the extent of demanding he become a soldier. Well the creative genes refused to sit idly, and against his father’s wishes, Vieux started first to play percussion before taking up his father’s guitar and attending the National Arts Institute in Bamako. As you would suspect, the music came easily and by the time of his graduation, Vieux was a local celebrity and joined Toumani Diabeté, a renowned kora player (a 21-string harp-lute indigenous to the area), a close friend to Ali and one of Vieux greatest supporters, and his band. After touring internationally with Diabeté and in the waning moments of his father’s battle with bone cancer, Vieux began work on his solo debut with the help of producer Eric Herman and the eventual permission of his father.

As expected, there are quite a few similarities between Ali and Vieux’s guitar playing. The sweet-toned, intensely meticulous and pastoral vibe of Ali’s Saharan blues is passed down to Vieux, who seems bent on not only perfecting his father’s earthy style but also pushing it in directions never before explored. Some of Ali’s last recorded material is present here in duet form with his son. “Tambara” lets the elder take the lead providing tight elliptical flourishes of almost angelic tone while Vieux respectably plays the role of rhythm adding an earnest palette for Ali to embellish on. Later, “Diallo” provides a more upbeat and extended interaction; Ali’s guitar is much more lively with a swirling, tinny approach while Vieux sings in a smooth yet guttural manner, sounding much more aged than you’d expect from the young man.

While the father-son collaborations may be the starting point for most intrigued listeners, the infusion of outside genres, mainly reggae, rock, funk and R&B, are what keep you coming back. The best and most exciting of these hyphenated explorations is “Ana,” a delicious four-minutes of intertwining Malian and Jamaican influences. Beginning somewhat docile with Vieux’s fracture Saharan blues backed by tight reggae upstrokes, it continually builds into a climax of organ flourishes, wah-wah funk and horn embellishments. Everything is tastefully recorded and Vieux grooves along patiently over the juicy bass line unveiling a connection between the two cultures never before explored (at least to my knowledge).

Like Ali, Toumani Diabeté also gets two songs to jam along with Vieux. The renowned kora player effortlessly glides across his 21-string harp, patiently finding his groove and then rapidly improvising with perfected flourishes only achieved when you have been playing an instrument for decades upon decades. He takes center stage on “Toure De Niafunke,” while Vieux provides a warm, subtle rhythm much like on “Tambara.” The young Touré certainly understands his place and rightfully lets the elder statesmen shine. Diabeté also plays on the final track, conveniently named “Diabeté.” Again, the angelic kora is the concentration, but Vieux definitely slips in a little bit of subdued virtuoso himself, momentarily grabbing the spotlight with his crafty rhythm line while Diabeté strategically plans his next move.

With ten songs just under fifty minutes, Vieux Farka Touré’s eponymous debut is a patient album that not only pays rightful respect to his elders, but also acts as a passing of the torch to the young guitarist and even lets him explore a little on his own. The production and recording is pristine, never opting for augmenting studio techniques but masterfully capturing the idiosyncratic tones of each of the individual players. With Ali Farka Touré’s passing less than a year before this album’s release (in February 07), there is also a sense of bittersweet reflection. It is great that the father and son were able to create such wonderful music together, but also makes you think about the possibilities lost because of the elder Touré’s initial stubbornness. Nonetheless, we get to welcome in an exceptionally promising new artist and hopefully Vieux will continue on and progress the tradition Ali Farka Touré started.






Welcome - All Set (Fat Cat 2007)

Welcome – Sirs / Fat Cat

The 20-year stylistic loop phenomenon in independent music is sometimes too eerily spot-on for it’s own good. Sitting comfortable now in 2007, we look back to the late 80s and concurrently the late 60s. Our first cycle back sees the burgeoning alt-pop scene taking hold with the Pixies acting as scene-pavers and the Seattle outcasts banding together for their imminent takeover of the American underground. The glossy, materialistic outer shell of the 80s is giving way to melodic pop hooks strung through raucous, out-of-tune guitars and abrasive yet infectious outbursts of the two-minute pop song. The cycle prior to that, the late 60s, really is the starting point for that exact sound with the influential growth of the underground New York scene spiraling outwards from The Velvet Underground. As well, The Stooges were redefining the possibilities of pop-rock music by dragging it through the dirt, and mainstream pop was growing increasingly more abrasive and mutating in the direction of punk. Now we fast-forward back to present time as the lush and epic indie-pop of the mid-00s is once again heading in an increasingly noisy and concise direction. And though it takes some tunneled vision to really bang home such a loose theory, a record like Sirs from Seattle quartet Welcome only further proves the theorists right.

Welcome’s line-up is straight out of the Pixies handbook: straightforward set-up of guitar/guitar/bass/drums, check; wily frontman with a penchant for odd word-play, check; a female bass player with a hypnotic voice, check; large collection of distortion pedals, check. The basement recording of the album all but wraps it up with the not-quite-lo-fi but certainly not glossy sound and the homespun atmosphere so important to the alt-pop albums of the late-80s/early-90s. But it’s not all gritty two-minute outbursts; there is definitely a healthy serving of recognizable psyche-pop melodies meandering just below the distortion pedals and loose riff exchanges. And as the press release so conveniently states, you can’t spin this album without succumbing to at least a brief nostalgic sigh for the late-60s psyche-pop luminaries like The Creation, Syd Barrett’s Pink Floyd and Revolver-era Beatles (the latter is further embellished with frontman Pete Brand’s Lennon-esque vocals). The greatest lure and dismissal of Sirs is exactly the same: nostalgia for both of the influencing eras.

For me it’s all lure. The first three tracks which clock in at about six-and-a-half minutes combined are instantly attention grabbing. “All Set” opens with choral “ah-yeas,” a crunchy bass line, ping-ponging distorted guitar shards and the snare/tambourine-heavy percussion of the late-60s. Slight psychedelic delay and tape manipulations only further the cause. “Marry Me Men” features Brand’s smoothly gruff vocals drive the song with a splattering bass that plugs along for a minute-and-half before giving away to a little Sgt. Pepper background noise and quickly calling it quits. Bassist Jo Claxton takes over the mic for “Bunky” with her hazed, easy-on-the ears croon; the two-minute song, like the majority of the album, rings along for just enough time to establish itself before cuing down. The two longest tracks (just over four minutes), “First” and “Sirs,” let you know why; the second half of each song is just diminishing instrumental meandering, not necessarily bad, but not really needed either. And though I’m partial to the first half of the album, you could almost call “You With Me” a Revolver b-side, though it’s certainly sloppier than anything The Beatles ever produced.

So that’s basically it. Do you dig late-60s psyche-pop and late-80s underground alt-pop? Well do yourself a favor and pick-up Sirs because it’s absolutely up your alley. Wonderfully sloppy, poppy and choppy, Welcome definitely knows what they are doing musically, but loves to drag it through their dingy basement and string it through their homemade sfx pedals crafting a nostalgic mood but never outright mimicking their so obvious influences. You better start digging out your flannel now because according to the 20-year stylistic cycle, the next wave of grunge is just around the corner.

New Music: Panthers, Earth

Panthers - Listen to Me (Vice 2007)

Panthers - The Trick / Vice

Panthers. Hmm. Well, it's about time, I'll say that much. Maybe I'm in the minority; after all, I never had the pleasure of seeing Orchid tear me up live or even gave a damn about their dogma. They were one of those scene bands I could only respect from a distance because, while they were the best at what they did (Screamo), they almost singlehandedly launched a million awful bands and certainly affected the way hardcore and the independent punk scene saw (and did not see) itself. I don't have that New England scene background, just a boring suburban kid with an unhealthy knowledge of The Smashing Pumpkins and tastes that came around to Orchid just a hair's breath too late. The kids have respect and I finally found mine too. So what better way for the respective members to continue honoring the legacy of this band than by whipping out some cock-rock and throwing a little Baudrillard in for show?

Er, don't ask Ampere. You probably won't catch them dead hanging out in Greenpoint looking pretty for Vice. But Panthers... Panthers pull it off. The Trick is their third argument for their sex n' philosophy pseudo-intellectual R N' R, but if you didn't like 2004's Things Are Strange, chances are you're not going to be tricked into swiping up a copy of this either. And that's fine; at this point, Panthers are established enough (or at least, they believe themselves to be established enough... Although recent tour difficulties and label complications might suggest otherwise) to be able to hone in on a sound they've been trying to master since they first formed in 2002. But who of the Orchid crowd is still listening? And will anyone ever bring up Turing Machine or Pitchblende?

I don't know, maybe that question isn't even relevant anymore. We're half a decade removed from that YouTube video anyone who's tried to relive the glory days will surely have found by now. Can't we all just get over it? Same goes for the others. I've painted Panthers in an awfully negative light thus far, but like a lot of stupid kids I feel obliged to weigh The Trick against Orchid rather than against their growing catalog of songs. That's my mistake, but don't let it be yours: This album is lean, mean and as ferocious as the animal from which they take their name.

I've sat with this album for awhile now and tried to love it more than Things Are Strange, but whereas the scorching album closer "Weird Birds" almost singlehandedly made that album a must for 2004, there are no epic freak-outs here. Panthers might have found their stride, but they've cut all the excess in favor of straight-ahead rock songs that leave little to the imagination. I just don't know what to think.

...And therein lies the ultimate problem with this band: So often they have put all the pieces in one place and Jayson Greene has been spot-on and the riffs have been dynamite. But unlike some people, I don't think they are at their strongest when they simply bring it. I also don't think they've done their best work yet. In one of the most blatant id vs. superego contests in rock, the real joy of Panthers was in seeing them balance out French deconstructionists with the politics of fucking. At this point, they've let the id win: There's nary a word to be found on postmodernism and the intellectual BS I love wallowing in because Panthers have instead opted for vague allusions in favor of outright saying anything about Jacques Attali. I for one hope the victory is temporary and though I'll cautiously endorse The Trick mostly because I at least still believe in this band... The truth is, I think the band has been listening to the media a little too much. What they need is to return to their strengths: A power chord and some tasteful high-brow namedropping are all that separate the best White Panther house-band ripoff I've ever heard and a truly great piece of music. For at least one more album, we'll wait with our heads banging almost in spite of ourselves. Maybe being heavy is the only key.



Earth - Coda Maestoso in F (Flat) Minor (Southern Lord 2007)

Earth - Hibernaculum / Southern Lord

Unlike Panthers, Earth take a different approach to heavy. Panthers stride the line between MC5 swagger and full-on Orchid-esque brutality. No such luck here: Like a lumbering behemoth, the quintessential drone pirates from Seattle led by Dylan Carlson are prepared to drag their feet so slowly you can barely stand it. This is the stuff of which Sunn 0))) (or Mars) and the best of Boris was bred: At only four tracks and standing at what would ordinarily constitute a modest LP in 36 minutes, Hibernaculum is another strong statement from the return of the weighty beasts. Sort of.

I say "another strong statement" because Carlson has never really "broken up" Earth. In essence, he is Earth. Using the same moniker since 1990, he has included a rotating cast of characters during his 17-year run. A few groundbreaking drone works in the early 90s here, a few failed experiments there, a remix LP somewhere in the midst, and now a rehashing of a few older releases; none of this material is new, actually. The first three songs here, "Ouroboros is Broken," "Coda Maestoso in F (Flat) Minor," and "Miami Morning Coming Down," are all much older works from as far back as 1991 - the fourth, "A Plague of Angels," has been tidied up from a tour-only split 12 with Sunn 0))).

It really doesn't matter, because the awesome power of Earth is that they are as timeless as the concept of repetition in art. Droning ever onward, that's the magic to the sword of this stone. Where Mogwai or Slint or Isis are content to move away from the repetition to build to something satisfying, Carlson takes the opposite approach: By never letting go of the reigns, every song always feels prepared to break out into something. It never does. Keep waiting, go home, go away. The joy isn't in the build-up, because there is none. The build-up is the payoff and vice versa, back and forth and over and over and over again like the planets swerving around the sun(n) in eternal orbit. Earth is in eternal orbit because no one is there to tell Carlson to just lay off for a little while, give them something to talk about, give them something to chew the fat about later. But giving in would be giving up on the Earth aura, and that's not something the beautiful piano in "Miami Morning Coming Down" is ready to concede.

Even as "A Plague of Angels" fades in, you know it's a false dawn. There will be plenty of patient guitar notes plucked in excruciating sloth, walking carefully around in endless circles as the kids stand in the crowd watching it all melt together on the accompanying DVD. Carlson explains his love of slow music and if for no other reason, pick up this album for the post-Hex tour footage and interview. The master stroke of this album, no pun intended, might also be the accompanying artwork done by one Mr. Stephen O'Malley and the equally reputable Seldon Hunt. Together, they paint the picture Earth may try to obfuscate in the fog of a cover like Living in the Gleam of an Unsheathed Sword. Yes, this is the brilliance and the detail and the clarity that these reworked songs deserve. In a strange but appropriate juxtaposition, Earth's Hibernaculum could not offer so much without so much minimalism. A hallmark of greatness.

Radio Show Playlist 4/11

6a:
1. The Velvet Undergound - Ocean - Live 1969 with Lou Reed Vol. 2 (Polygram 1988)
2. The Zincs - Hamstrung and Juvenile - Black Pompadour (Thrill Jockey 2007)
3. (((Powerhouse Sound))) - Coxsonne - Oslo/Chicago: (((Breaks))) (Atavistic 2007)
4. Brokeback - The Field Code - Field Recordings from Cook County Water Table (Thrill Jockey 1999)
5. Leaves - Ash Wednesday - Live at The Ice Factory (FP 2006)
6. Chicago Underground Quartet - Tunnel Chrome - Chicago Underground Quartet (Thrill Jockey 2001)
7. Karate - Airport - Some Boots (Southern 2002)

7a:
1. Low Skies - You Can't Help Those People - All the Love I Could Find (Flameshovel 2006)
2. Tinariwen - Imidiwan Winakalin - Aman Iman (World Village 2007)
3. Vieux Farka Toure - Ana - Vieux Farka Toure (World Village 2007)
4. Occidental Brothers Dance Band International - Bombako Awuti Na New York - Occidental Brothers Dance Band International (self-released 2006)
5. Kieran Hebden & Steve Reid - Our Time - Tongues (Domino 2007)
6. The Cinematic Orchestra - All That You Give - All That You Give EP (Ninja Tune 2002)
7. Boom Bip - Roads Must Roll - Seed to Sun (Lex 2002)
8. Bill Callahan - Sycamores - Woke on a Whaleheart (Drag City 2007)
9. The Mountain Goats - No Children - Tallahasee (4AD 2002)
10. Karen Dalton - Little Bit of Rain - It's So Hard to Tell Who's Going to Love You the Best (Koch 1997, originally 1968)
11. Deerhunter - Fluorescent Grey - Fluorecent Grey EP (Kranky 2007)

New Music: Adult., Dan Deacon

Adult. - I Feel Worse When I'm With You (Thrill Jockey 2007)

Adult. - Why Bother? / Thrill Jockey

So its Easter Sunday and I'm sitting here at the computer stuck in an internet-induced malaise, my stomach devoid of the wonderful down-home cooking my folks are dishing out just down the road. I won't be starving for long, just until I can finish this review for Adult's newest. This temporary hunger strike is supposed to get me into a certain mindframe conducive to fully experiencing Adult., I really wanna get up against their brand of blackened electro-punk and exchange knowing glances. I wanna dance because I have to, because the music demands it, overriding any reservations I have about throwing a fit in a public place.

I've been with Adult. with a minute now, first running across Anxiety Always as a wide-eyed freshman thumbing thru the WUSC music library, that album along with the Vanishing's Still Life's Are Falling soundtracking an especially awesome Halloween where I dressed up like a straightedger and made people really uneasy. Having released their first 12" in 1998, Adult. has been at it for a while, always existing smartly at the moment when punk splintered. Post-punk? Check. Industrial? Yeah. Goth? Kind of. These are a few of my favorite things when done right and Adult. manages to be all at once. But don't knitpick, over-intellectualizing sub-genres is sooo 2004. Adult. is a tight package navigating a black sea of now quite divisive musical cliques, they're capable of being loved equally by fans across the spectrum, from Nine Inch Nails to Prurient, Adult. will elbow, kick, and stomp a hole thru your playlists.

Adult. has always specialized in making black hearts beat. Alot of criticism splits hairs about the group's shifting sound but Adam Lee Miller and Nicola Kuperus have been stomping down the same twisted metal highway the entire time. Sam Consiglio or not, things aren't much different. Adult. has a fierce dedication to its craft; whether the record is debated as more electronic or less electronic, the duo has always aimed to make you move with panic attack fervor; the end result is similar whether its four-on-the-floor drum machine beatsss or an emphasis on scuzzy bass guitar thudding.

Why Bother? is yet another nod towards the shadows. Check their myspace for visual queues and clues about the outlook of the album. Its all playful doom and gloom. Sure its dark and moody and all but its really self-aware too. Not to say thats a fault, if they were this purely vitriolic it'd be too good to be true. Motivations aside, Adult. can still kick you square in the crotch. "I Feel Worse (When I'm With You)" is like throwing knives at your S.O. because he left the toilet seat down again and totally missed the target. Thats it, the final straw. Check the cheeky vid for this song on the Youtube front. I'm on this audio/visual tangent because how the song is presented visually can't help but shape criticism, these songs with vids as kind of focal point for us long-winded but short on inspiration blogosphere critics. "The Importance of Being Folk" is a suite of three ambient soundscaping type tracks, short and horizontal, broken up throughout the album, but presented visually to tell a creepy backwoods story with cryptic supernatural happenings. Overall, Why Bother? boasts the band's most acrid electro work to date, whether in grating synth stabs or noisy driving machine beats. Miller's basswork is also stellar, sounding like how a concrete block feels, heavy and something you don't want connecting with your head. And of course, Nicola Kuperus is in fine howling form, crying bloody murder over spilt milk and certainly being the opposite of a cliche. Punks, goths, rivetheads, noise nerds, electro enthusiasts, they all bow down to worship at Kuperus' shitkicking boots.

By now you should know Adult. Take away with you this nugget of wisdom: Adult. is gonna be that band in like ten years (if we're all still here) that people will look back on as being essential. All the microtrends invented by people on message boards will be eaten alive by even more bullshit ephemeral scenes of people pretending that wearing their underwear on their head is the cool thing to do. And it may seem like the thing to do but only for a minute. You'll wake up with your briefs on your head and be a total outcast. Adult. is a band built on strong foundations, embodying many good things like all the bastard children of punk, evolved and fully realized by the duo of Adam Lee Miller and Nicola Kuperus. This is one for the time capsule.





Dan Deacon - The Crystal Cat (Carpark 2007)

Dan Deacon - Spiderman of the Rings / Carpark

I can't get enough Dan Deacon. Dan Deacon. Dan Deacon. Dan Deacon. See? Say that over and over again. Its fun! Thats life thru Dan Deacon's duct-taped glasses, little pixie sticks of fun grow everywhere. Pick them and eat them and get at it. You're only as young as you feel and thanx to Mr. Dan Deacon I'm feeling like eight years old right now. Its Friday night, I got new comix and Dad brought home pizza, things in my simple little world are a-okay. This burst of childhood exhuberance comes courtesy of Dan Deacon's new record, Spiderman of the Rings, out on Carpark May 8th. Its all suicide snowcones and monster trucks, a record of electronic whimsy, sugar-rush giddiness straight to the dome. I just snagged this yesterday and I can't stop bouncing off the walls. If only I had one of those toy basketball hoops in my bedroom. I'd be tearing that shit up right now.

Its impossible not to associate Deacon's music with a feel good childhood vibe. Dude has put out a record called Porky Pig. There you go. Deacon also counts Spiderman as a main influence, not only for the cartoony garishness but especially for Spidey's famous maxim: "With great power comes great responsibility". Kinda gets you all sniffly huh? I think Deacon's music is a large laser machette fighting against a mostly dour culture that tells people to grow up too fast. And somehow its caught up in this potential movement or maybe just coincidence of bands being tagged as "future shock", in reference to Alvin Toffler's 1970 cult sociology hit that warned of the ever-increasing grip technology has on our lives and how the constant accelerating speed of life will lead to total information overload, causing "shattering stress and disorientation" in much of society. I'm not sure its a cure, but Deacon's music is a well-intentioned treatment of pure lasertag love, surely meant to make us jump up and down like kids at play, kool-aid moustaches and all.

See also: Ecstatic Sunshine, Ponytail, DAT Politics, o.lamm, and Grabba Grabba Tape for more pure feeling generators, functioning in the same manner as Mr. Deacon with hopped-up geeked-out rainbow brite jams.

Deacon went to grad school at Purchase College where he was all about electro-acoustic and computer music studies, and Spiderman of the Rings is an exercise in academic electro tomfoolery. Academic as in your wacky English TA that wore goofy glasses and awful sweaters, eyes glazed, living in the wonderful postponed adolescence of academia. In other words, this is all about ideals and being, yes, idealistic about the kind of music that can change someone's general outlook, especially in the live-setting where Deacon's performances are legendarily sweaty and spontaneously combustible. Every show wants to become a huge "Funzone", which from what I've heard about Wham City, the live-in residence throwing shows, art bashes, etc. in Baltimore, the Funzone ideal was actually realized, putting theory to practice (as much as anyone can).

The twelve-minute track, "Wham City", is a sonic mission statement with huge gang vocals like a chorus of teddy bears chanting about this magical glowing castle with a fountain of gold and the sickest cartoon family band of all-time, the Gummi Bears, the Smurfs, motherfucking Shirttails, all jamming out. "Woody Woodpecker" also contributes to the Saturday Morning feel, with, you guessed it, a song based on that laugh, underlined by casio beats and blissful sinewaves. "The Crystal Cat" is my favorite track, hop along to the sound of Surf Cats, a powerhouse song featuring Deacon's talent for vocal processing, sounding like the most rock-n-roll chipmunk ever. "Okie Dokie" and "Trippy Green Skull" sound like futuristic hokey pokey throwdowns, you and your friends wylin' out in somebody's impossibly sweet treehouse. "Snake Mistakes" features a bouncey bassline and "I know, I know, I know" vocal stickiness, catching in your ear like moments of Beck's finer work, definitely leaning towards that easy-going Mellowgold vibe.

Do you still have an imagination? For real, Dan Deacon is like a Peter Pan for our generation. Let it all loose, guilt-free from looking like a spazz because here cool is measured in how much you boogie oogie. Its not overstatement to say Spiderman of the Rings is like going to Showbiz once a year, it carries an electric excitement and the need to just let it all go and hop around like a goofy toddler. Its smart, its fun, its a faceplant into your birthday cake. Dan Deacon, totally bringing the birthday party to full effect.

New Music: (((Powerhouse Sound))), Bill Callahan

(((Powerhouse Sound))) - Old Dictionary (for Bernie Worrell) (Atavistic 2007)

(((Powerhouse Sound))) – Oslo/Chicago: (((Breaks))) / Atavistic

By this point, I’ve written about jazz a good number of times, but every now and again while doing my initial research on an album, I come across a review written by a true jazz critic that makes me hesitate to write anything at all. This is the problem I came across while preparing my critical improv for Ken Vandermark’s latest group (((Powerhouse Sound))), which is actually two collectives of musicians separated by the Atlantic Ocean approaching the same set of compositions. Well Allmusic’s review of the double-disc is amazing; it’s clearly the work of a person who is either a knowledgeable jazz player in his/her own right, or has spent a good chunk of time concentrating on the ins and outs of jazz music. I, on the other hand, rarely write two reviews in a row that are even in the same sonic worlds of each other, so it’s been an inch at a time progression for my critiques on each particular style of music. So while I’m not going to be able to drop such awe-inspiring lines of critique like: “Vandermark finds a natural tension between the constancy of circular rhythm broken by a meta-textual musico-linguistic syntax of individual statements made from the conception of groove that moves out toward something else and finds itself home again in the primary communication at its center,” I’ll do my best to share some knowledge with you.

Ken Vandermark is among the top contemporary jazz musicians who still explore the same spiritual sonic space as the great players of the late 60s/early 70s underground jazz scene. Through his infinitely expressive work with the tenor sax and bass clarinet, he’s one of the few remaining direct links to the groundbreaking work of Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Joe McPhee, Ornette Coleman and Fred Anderson. But being exposed to the modern music scene, Vandermark has had the privilege to see the evolution of post-bop, modern creative, avant-garde and free jazz and link the past and present together into one fiery, cerebral brand of his own music. Leading and contributing to such bands as The Vandermark 5, The Flying Luttenbachers, Spaceways Incorporated, Exploding Star Orchestra, Crisis Ensemble and the NRG Ensemble, to name just a few, more than warrants his controversial reception at just 35 of the MacArthur Fellowship aka the “genius grant” in 1999, an award typically only given to “near-legendary” figures of any age in any field who "show exceptional merit and promise for continued and enhanced creative work" like past music-based winners Cecil Taylor and Anthony Braxton. During the last 18 years, Vandermark has helped to sustain the incredibly heady underground Chicago jazz scene and he looks to continue the tradition with his latest concoction (((Powerhouse Sound))), which bridges the Windy City to Oslo, Norway.

The original line-up of (((Powerhouse Sound))) was actually based in Oslo, not Chicago. In the summer of 2005, Vandermark teamed up with electronic manipulator Lasse Marhaug, drummer Paal Nilssen-Love (of Atomic and a regular contributor to Vandermark’s School Days) and bassist Ingebrigt Håker (of Atomic, School Days and Element), while also bringing along Vandermark 5 bassist Nate McBride (Spaceways Incorporated, Joe Morris Trio/Quartet). There is a definite Orentte Coleman influence within this group, not only in the incorporation of two basses as heard on Coleman’s recent Sound Grammar, but also as we’ll see in a few minutes, a relative homage to In All Languages which is a double album featuring two different groups (an acoustic and electronic) attacking the same compositions. The Norwegian ensemble set out to approach songwriting in the opposite manner of the conventional “from the top down.” Instead, they put a heavy emphasis on the rhythm section, building their ideas for the low end up, which certainly explains the double electric bass line-up. As with most Vandermark 5 albums, he showcases his influences right in the song title and this album is no different. Looking to the dubbed out rhythms of Jamaica, especially the wily compositions of King Tubby, Lee Perry, Coxsonne Dodd and Burning Spear, as well as the collaging techniques of Hank Shocklee of Public Enemy and the ferocious rhythm section of The Stooges, (((Powerhouse Sound))) is a free jazz band built on a thunderous foundation of genres dependent on rhythmic inventiveness like funk, reggae, dub and the original spit-in-your-face ideal of rock ‘n’ roll. This is further symbolized in the album title (((Breaks))), and believe you me, there are some vicious, unruly breakdowns to contend with on this album, especially when looking at the first disc, Oslo.

This first disc with the Norwegian line-up consist of basically three different modes for the band, the heavily rhythmic double-bass breakdowns, the noise disintegration when Marhaug gets the go-ahead to explore his sonic palette, and the culmination of both ideals with Vandermark weaving effortlessly in between with his growling tenor sax. “Shocklee (for Hank Shocklee)” displays this perfectly: the 12-minute song opens slowly with dirty electronic snarls before the rhythm section comes grooving in. One bass lays down your traditional beat while the other circles around menacingly, daring any intruder to attack at will. That intruder just happens to be Vandermark, who comes stabbing in just before the halfway mark, never overshadowing the rhythm section but adding augmenting swabs of melody and harmony. The song comes full circle, first breaking down into the kind of daring, aggressive low-end that made Public Enemy so volatile and progressing to crumble right back into Marhaug’s collaging electronics. “King to Crown (for King Tubby)” flips this structure by book ending the song with the entire group jamming off the booming low end and leaving the electronic improvisations for the creamy center. “Coxsonne (for Coxsonne Dodd),” “Acid Scratch (for Lee Perry)” and “Exit-Salida (for Burning Spear)” all groove on similar patterns, opening with a light bass, drum and sax rhythm that echoes the early days of reggae through a jazz state of mind. Each song also succumbs to noisy outbreaks about three-fourths way though with the latter two highlighting Vandermark’s squealing sax solos. “2-1-75 (for Miles Davis)” (perhaps paying homage to Davis’s two consecutive concerts in Osaka, Japan in February of 1975 released as Agharta and Pangea on Columbia) and “New Dirt (for The Stooges)” both feature scathing tape manipulation strung throughout and the latter adds an inverting effect to one of the basses causing it to bellow and bloat from underneath the rhythm.

The second disc finds Vandermark and McBride returning to their home Chicago scene and teaming up with drummer John Herndon (Tortoise, Isotope 217, Exploding Star Orchestra) and guitarist Jeff Parker (Tortoise, Isotope 217, Chicago Underground). This ensemble takes on the same songs as the Oslo crew, but with a different sonic approach and sometimes in different arrangements of the same compositions; for example “Acid Scratch pt. 2 / Shocklee / Exit-Salida” which obviously combines three of the songs from the previous disc. The only completely new tune on this disc, “Old Dictionary (for Bernie Worrell),” an ode to the one time keyboardist for Funkadelic and Parliament, opens the second half and showcases the similarities between the two groups. Herndon and McBride lock together seamlessly while Parker at many times takes the place of the scratching electronics and Vandermark jumps back and forth from his harmonic stance to acting in the same manner as Håker did as the second bassist. I am a bit partial to this second ensemble partly because it’s considerably more accessible and partly because the groove quotient is upped considerably, and I’m a sucker for a good groove. It should be noted that we are not dealing with Tortoise 2.0 though, songs like “King to Crown pt. 1 / Acid Scratch pt. 2” are comfortably in the free jazz spectrum with the rhythm section providing the thematic chunky chorus while Vandermark and Parker take turns soloing with minute dexterity and sheer technical prowess. “Coxsonne” truly pays homage to the Studio One producer with it’s calm, echoing opening groove and laid-back riddim, even though the eventual blasting breakout sounds more on the Stooges side of things. And that very same exuberance is what makes the real Stooges influence on “New Dirt / King to Crown pt. 2” so invigorating, Parker’s wily electric guitar punch and Vandermark’s raucous yet inherently smooth outbreaks teamed with Tubby-like grooves.

Oslo/Chicago: (((Breaks))) is one hell of an album. Two opposing discs bent on outdoing the other but with the same exact frame of mind. Two opposing cultures sharing the same love of artistic influence and means of expressing it but with radically different results. Two ensembles both highly experienced and instrumentally proficient looking to pay homage to their shared heroes and create something truly individual, hypnotizing and invigorating in its own right. It is an album built from the ground up, low end to high, rhythm to melody, and influence to individual. It is an album that bridges continents, cultures, styles and feelings, and succeeds wildly.







Bill Callahan - Sycamore (Drag City 2007)

Bill Callahan – Woke on a Whaleheart / Drag City

New Weird America allows a myriad of outside genre influences to seep into the psychedelic folk foundation. Swashes of free jazz, metal, noise, tropicália, electronica and other seemingly alien styles have regularly been incorporated within the very loose boundaries of the genre, and its a musical movement that has come to dominate the independent scene in the last five years. Bill Callahan predated this latest trend by a good fifteen years, building a solid following under his Smog and (smog) aliases by a slew of cassette only releases in the late 80s and early 90s before signing to Drag City around 1992 and continually experimenting with his odd, lo-fi singer/songwriter status. From his early days as a Jandek-influenced free-folk purveyor to his more recent albums that explored more melodic and lush arrangements to his continually evocative narratives, Callahan, like John Darnielle of The Mountain Goats, seems to live outside of the New Weird quirk collective simply because they have been plugging along and living in their own insular worlds for so long. It would be a mistake to group them with any trend even if they share similar characteristics... well, except perhaps with each other. But as we have seen before, their influence certainly does not go unnoticed, and with his first official full-length released under his proper name, I hope all the New Weirdos are paying attention to Bill Callahan because his gospel-folk maybe the latest hybrid genre to arise within their stylistic confines.

The first four songs of Woke on a Whaleheart are phenomenal. Easing his way into this new musical approach, “From the Rivers to the Ocean” slowly laps and layers forward; first the melancholy piano, then the reverberant snare and finally Callahan’s croaking baritone opens the song into an almost Cash-like ballad. Leaves of electric guitar and lap steel gently float by and about halfway through the song climaxes with these ghostly gospel echoes care of Olivet Baptist Church’s Deani Pugh-Flemming and a sashaying country-folk violin provided by Elizabeth Warren. It’s six-and-a-half minutes of riverside balladry and it just soothes the soul. “Footprints” is a bit more aggressive with its foot-stomping beat and playful spirit. Both Pugh-Flemming and a raw electric guitar have increased roles, the former providing colorful embellishments to Callahan’s more charismatic lines and the latter adding a crunchy layer to the otherwise pie-like material. The first single from the album which was previewed on the previously released EP of the same name, “Diamond Dancer” features a great vocal hook from Callahan which acts as a reassuring spirit to the otherwise tension-filled track. Then we get to my favorite, “Sycamore,” five-and-a-half minutes of spine tingling, ping-ponging guitars and Callahan’s soothing, sap-filled baritone. He even gets a bit sassy with the much-needed help of Pugh-Flemming for a great bridge of lyrical sincerity. Everything sounds so unforced and natural, and the free spirit is downright infectious.

Not that the second half is a stark contrast from the first four songs, but I do believe it’s a step down from the first half of the album. The highlight is definitely “Day,” which motors around on an M. Ward like piano roll while Callahan’s patiently paced lyrics awkwardly counteract the rollicking music. And that opposition of what you expect from Callahan and the actual music presented here really is the majority of the appeal in this album. Though it has definitely been a slow progression, comparing Callahan’s early recordings to Woke on a Whaleheart is near impossible. His earliest 4-track recordings creaked of alienation and insecurity, while on this album he sounds confident, assured and pretty damn playful. And as I said before, the spirit is fucking infectious. I mean hell, I spent the majority of last week repeatedly singing “Like Sycamoreeeeeeeeees.” It seeps into your brain and the hook just sits on repeat, which would be annoying if it wasn’t so damn sincere. These wonderful vocal hooks are scattered throughout Woke on a Whalehorse, and different one seems to take the spotlight with each concurrent listen. For a man who built his foundation on lyrical prowess and not really catchy but mesmerizing with a voyeuristic-like quality, that’s worth mentioning. It’s a wonderful thing to listen to Callahan’s progression from Jandek comparisons to Nilsson parallels, and it’s been a maturing process captured on tape. It is a nearly 20-year tale of self-discovery with a wonderful accompanying discography.

Used-Bin Bargains: Dr. Alimantado - Best Dressed Chicken in Town

Dr. Alimantado - Best Dressed Chicken in Town (Greensleeves 1977, recorded 1974)

Dr. Alimantado - I Am the Greatest Says Muhammed Ali (Greensleeves 1977, recorded 1973)

Dr. Alimantado – Best Dressed Chicken in Town / Greensleeves

So I’m slightly cheating with this week’s entry; I did not cop this from the used bin this particular week as the mission statement for this column suggests. I actually came across it a number of years back, not too long after it’s 2001 re-release date, and way before I was able to put it in any sort of context within the my musical knowledge. Over the years I’ve picked up bits and pieces of information on Dr. Alimantado, one of the most interesting figures in popular reggae music from the 60s and 70s, sometimes even rivaling the insane biography of the unparalleled Lee “Scratch” Perry, a close compatriot and collaborator. A recent interview in Wax Poetics along with a growing internet interest in the Jamaican toaster and a soapbox to now stand and shout upon has led me to finally tackling one of the most prized used bin finds of my early college years, Dr. Alimantado’s Best Dressed Chicken in Town. Not extensively rare by any means but very much under the radar, the quirky, jerky toasting of James Winston Thompson over eclectic backing tracks provided by some of the most renown Jamaican producers including Lee Perry, King Tubby and Scientist adds up to one of the most idiosyncratic and unique voices in reggae history, and it is certainly worth our time to do a little exploring within the legend.

James Winston Thompson aka Dr. Alimantado aka Youth Winston aka Winston Cool aka Ital Surgeon aka Prince Winston aka Ras Tado aka probably a dozen other monikers I’ve missed was born in Kingston, Jamaica in 1952 and grew up in one of the most notorious ghettos of the city’s west side. A wily youth raised by his mother in the typical Jamaican fashion, Thompson bounced around the Caribbean island exploring his roots and working countless odd jobs, not to mention a healthy dose of rambunctiousness and youthful tyranny. A distant relative of the great Marcus Garvey (cousin of his mother’s grandmother), a symbol of self-determination who started Universal Negro Improvement Association, Thompson was the son of a well-off Jamaican woman of African and Trinidadian descent and a half-Ghanaian, half-Jamaican Rastaman. His paternal grandfather was a doctor in Ghana before moving to Jamaica at the request of his wife, a man Thompson would idolize with his most renowned moniker, Dr. Alimantado.

Like most Jamaican legends, the actual story is a bit… well hazy. Different biographies reveal sometimes-conflicting stories, and Thompson’s entry into the world of music is no different. One interview reveals that he was lured to the dancehall scene as early as three or four, though I find that a little hard to believe, but either way, Thompson was interested in the world of music at a young age. After a chance meeting with his father, he gradually gravitated toward the Rastafarian religion and spent much of his childhood rebelling from his Christian-oriented grandmother by growing dreads (and then repeatedly getting them chopped off in punishment) and running away from home. By the early 60s, Thompson was basically a street urchin, finding work when he could, stealing when he couldn’t and attending dances in the meantime. A chance encounter with legendary toaster King Stitt who deejayed for Sir Coxsone’s Downbeat led to Thompson’s first stage performance when he chatted Psalms 1 and 2 over ska sides. Inspired by the crowd reaction, he became a freelance deejay being schooled by legends like U-Roy and eventually becoming a star himself heralded by Jack Ruby, the producer not the assassin, among others and working with some of Jamaica’s top-ranking sound systems.

Though recording sporadically in the 60s, Thompson would not establish himself as an artist in his own right until hooking up with the legendary Lee “Scratch” Perry in the late 60s. Their first sessions together proved promising as they recut Junior Byles’ “Place Called Africa” into “Chapter 3 of Africa,” one of Thompson’s first island-wide hits. Other significant releases from this era include his contribution to Byles’ other smash hit “Beat Down Babylon,” collaborating with Perry and Hortense Ellis (then known as Mahalia Saunders) on “Piece of My Heart,” and one of the first deejay records released in praise of the Rastafari faith, “Maccabee The Third,” recorded over Max Romeo’s “Maccabee Version” rhythm. By the early 70s, Thompson had fully converted to both the Rastafarian religion and the Dr. Alimantado moniker and sought out full control of his own work. He formed two labels, Ital and Vital Foods, and began to barter for choice cuts of rhythms from other producers, including spending an increasing amount of time at Perry’s Black Ark studios where the two infinitely creative minds started to produce songs together.

This brings us to the era that the relative greatest hits compilation, Best Dressed Chicken in Town, stems from to showcase Thompson’s most fruitful years. Officially released in 1977 as Greensleeves 001, the album pulls tracks from 1973 to 1977 stopping just before his international hit, “Born for a Purpose,” which we’ll get to a little later. The centerpiece of this cult classic is obviously the opening title track from 1974, in which Thompson utilized a continuous, triple-tracked stream of multi-toasting over Perry’s heavily dubbed-out rhythm track of Horace Andy’s “Ain’t No Sunshine.” Inspired by a well-known radio poultry advertisement, Thompson and Perry crafted one of the most individual and quirky pieces of reggae mania that would stand as a testament to both men’s shared mad scientist-like creativity. Only three other of the included tracks on this compilation were born in the Black Ark studio, 1973’s “I Am the Greatest Say Muhammad Ali” and “Ride On” and 1974’s “Can’t Conquer Natty Dreadlocks.” Both of the 1973 tracks stem from the same piece of amazing dubbed out funk provided by Perry himself. “Ride On” features Alimantado’s smooth singjaying (sing-toasting) with Jah Woosh and Jimmy Radwell providing backup vocals. It’s a laid-back track expressing a love of unity, but given free reign of the track, Perry reimagined it into something truly amazing. “I Am the Greatest Says Muhammad Ali” is one of those Perry dubs you have to hear to believe, a bone crunching guiro forefronts the psychedelic funk ebbing in the background; wah-wah guitars, muted brass and bites of organ all take momentary turns in the spotlight further cementing Lee Perry’s unparalleled studio magic. 1974’s “Can’t Conquer Natty Dreadlocks” was more a product of Thompson’s creativity than Perry’s though as he spins Delroy Wilson’s “Trying to Conquer Me” into a soulful pronouncement of his Rastafarianism.

The earliest of the tracks culled on Best Dressed Chicken in Town were actually recorded at King Tubby’s, mostly from 1972 and 73, right before his relationship with Perry bloomed. The earliest available here is the vibrant self-produced “Ital Galore” that was no doubt a dancehall favorite, in which Thompson’s off-tune croon swirls around echoing horn riffs and up-beat keyboard chops. Tubby engineers some more magic on 1973’s “Plead I Cause,” which once again utilizes Andy’s “Ain’t No Sunshine” rhythm into a strikingly religious testament that asks Jah to actually intercede all that oppose him. 1975 proved to be another productive year for Thompson in Tubby’s studio where he self-produced three of his most notable concoctions, “Poison Flour,” “I Killed the Barber” and “Johnny Was a Baker.” Riding the riddim of the 1968 hit “The Man Next Door” by The Paragons, Alimantado dubbed Horace Andy for the hook and worked with Tubby protégé “Prince” Phillip Smart to piece together a hypnotizing, bubbling call-out to his fellow Rastafarians to not fear the attacks on their people because Jah would protect them. Engineered by Buddy Lee at Tubby’s, “I Killed the Barber” continues Thompson’s heavily Rastafarian outlook. Utilizing Jackie Edwards’ “Ali Baba” for the hook and riddim, he explains that though he sees nothing wrong with the death of the local barber (a position disapproved of by the Rastafarians who look upon their hair as faithful symbolism), it was actually the baldhead Tom who killed him. A confusing story yes, but catchy as hell, and it notably uses clanging sheet metal to ape the sound of gunshots, which is a technique that would be used often for years to come.

There are few later tracks also included that were neither recoded at Perry’s or Tubby’s, like 1976’s “Gimme Mi Gun,” built from Gregory Isaacs’ “Thief a Man” at Channel One, and “Unitone Skank,” which found Isaacs and Thompson working together on an original tune. The compilation closes with 1977’s “Tribute to the Duke,” an A-side dub featuring the Channel One studio band, The Revolutionaries, helmed by Alimantado. But beyond this comp, 1977 was a tumultuous year for Thompson as he was nearly paralyzed but used the experience to produce his only international hit, “Born for a Purpose.” On the day he was slated to rehearse for his first show at Jamaica’s main theater, the Carib, he not only was resuscitated after nearly drowning in the early morning, but was struck down and dragged behind a bus while walking home; according to his Wax Poetics interview, he believes it was because he was flying his dreads while walking in the streets, a statement not too popular at the time. The song came to him while he was recovering and legend has it that he had to drag himself across his house, due to the ineffectiveness of his crippled legs, to find a pad and pencil to write it down. Recorded at Channel One during a free session (basically out of charity and respect), the song, which proudly explains “if you feel that you have no reason for living, don’t determine my life,” captured the ideals of the burgeoning UK punk scene and took off in the British Isles. Sex Pistol Johnny Rotten further spread the word when he named it among his all-time favorites during a radio interview, and The Clash even mentioned him in the song “Rudie Can’t Fail” with the line: “Like the doctor who was born for a purpose.”

Thompson’s recorded output significantly slows starting in the late 70s. He relocated to Lodon in 1978 and started his ISDA label, which is also about the time he hooked up with Greensleeves (who he signed with because they gave him the most freedom though he was at the same time being courted by major labels like Virgin, Island and EMI) and released Best Dressed Chicken in Town as their first official discography entry. During the 80s, he spent most of his time in Britain, released the In the Mix dub series and worked with lesser known DJs and toasters like Clint Eastwood, Jah Stone and Trinity. As the years passed, the musical output slowed and Thompson traveled in increasing spurts exploring most of Europe and North Africa. Though we have yet to see any actual new music, he is apparently setting up a new studio to cultivate new talent and record more of his wholly individual sound. One can only hope that an immensely creative mind like that of Dr. Alimantado will once again grace us with his quirky, rambunctious and infectious musical stylings.

For more information please visit:
www.doctoralimantado.com
www.greensleeves.net
Wax Poetics #19, “Medicine Man” by David Katz
www.waxpoetics.com