We have heard this before. Air's "Moon Safari" was the original hipster synthpop take on another era's sound. It was as sweet, comforting and addictive as eating candy corn while laying on the floor of your room in your childhood home. But that was a decade ago when we were rediscovering the 70s, and the 70s are tired man, it's all about the 80s now, and Washed Out exist to fill our need for nostalgia that sounds better than the original ever actually did. "New Theory" makes sure that we look back, not with anger, but with warm fuzzy thoughts, and depending on your age range this will either be the audial equivalent of the aformentioned candy corn, or a summer's night under the stars awkwardly embracing your first true love.
Black Metal has steadly been gaining respect in the indie community, which I have a hard time believing is a good thing, only because black metal garners so much of its power by existing well beyond the pale of palatbility. How do you incorporate an extremist nihilistic genre into even the fringes of fairly respectable indie rock? Furthermore how the fuck do you incorporate it into indie folk? Phil Elverum not only proves it can be done, but proves it can done in an intensely moving manner. Tapping into the emotionality of both genres and turning the combination into an overwhelming audiol whirlwind, Elverum has produced one of the most intense and serious pieces of music of this year. Imagine Will Oldham fronting Mayhem and you might have an idea of how much this fucking rules. Studio first, and once you digest that you can appreciate this live clip. I want to hear more of this kind of thing more than any other thing in the world.
Lackadaisical at first, urgent by the end, "Suburban Beverage" found the much talked about Real Estate delivering on all that hype. They may sound half asleep and sloppy at times, but once those guitars start ratcheting up and the drums and bass begin their steady march onward and upward, Real Estate prove that they are capable of climbing peaks not reached since the sacred days of Pavement. Studio version here. Live versions here and here
The Vivian Girls stormed year end lists last year with their mixture of 50's girl group harmonies and punk rock. This year saw the release of their sophomore album "Everything Goes Wrong." Thankfully they stuck to what they did so well on their debut and turned in another collection of jangling shimmering girl-powered punk that absolutely slayed. Maybe the impact was muted a bit by the previously jarring hit of their debut, but songs like "The Desert" still packed more punch and power than nearly anyone else this year. Here is to hoping for more of the same perfect sound forever.
Admittedly I am a bit biased when it comes to this next selection. I am an unabashed fan of both Belle & Sebastian and beautiful women, so when B&S mastermind Stuart Murdoch decided to merge the two for his new project God Help the Girl, it was very easy to fall in love with it. "Come Monday Night" marries the twee pop of B&S with Catherine Ireton's angelic 50's girl singer vocalizations and syrupy orchestrations. The video ensured that this song had the most unfair advantage of all the other songs on this list.
Ben Chasny's Six Organs of Admittance continues to produce incredible records while increasingly receiving less notice than his countless imitators garner these days. "Ursa Minor" is a standout from his latest "Luminous Night," an album full of standouts. A beautiful meloncholic melody backs Chesny's hauntingly mournful lyrics before the song is overcome by the sound and fury of drums and strings, maybe signifying nothing or maybe raging against the dying of the light. Either way, this is music for adults, not scenesters.
Released in the dead of winter, "Blood Bank" was the perfect companion to the cold, ice and snow that characterized a very bleak winter round these parts. Poignant lyrics, simple strumming fleshed out by Bon Iver's new full band sound and, of course, Justin Vernon's amazing voice to warm the heart or send chills down your spine, either way the guy is great. Studio here and live here.
Chicago's Zelienople have become one of the strongest, most consistent and original bands to emerge from the slowcore, postrock, experimental heyday of the early to mid-aughts. This year saw the band release one of their best albums yet, "Give It Up." Album highlight "All I Want Is Calm" sounds simultaneously submerged and spatial. Subtle, but propulsive, percussion carries the song along as a minimal pattern of notes repeats. Alternating between pleas for solace and resignation, Matt Christensen's vocals sound distant initially, but quickly find their way to the center of the piece. The song builds throughout with subtle woodwinds and layers of godknows what kind of percussion that drummer Mike Weis has unearthed. As with the best Zelienople tracks, it is hypnotic, narcotic, and although the song clocks in at six minutes it sounds too brief, because when it is over, like any good drug, you just want more.
The Who, T Rex, Thin Lizzy, Journey, Night Ranger, Quite Riot, Nirvana - the rock anthem is a genre unto itself, but in the world of indie rock there are precious few songs vying for consideration into this elite club. Japandroids threw down out of the starting gate with "The Boys Are Leaving Town" from their self-titled debut and created a new rock anthem on an album chock full of 'em. In a year of coldwave, retro, synthgasm lo-fi shitgaze, these boys countered with the battle cry of 'Hail! Hail! Rock and Roll!,' and it was glorious. Frankly it was hard to find a clip of this one, not because there were a lack of them, but because there were so many great ones. So I am going to put up the studio version here, and two of my personal fave live clips here and here. There is a sea of awesome live clips of this and many of their other songs on the 'ol youtube. I recommend you check as many of them out as possible, because this band is that fucking good.
Yeah, he is a brat, but he is also the greatest punk artist since Husker Du, and this year Reatard flipped the script with his album "Watch Me Fall." Mixing in Kiwi pop and acoustic sounds, Reatard may have let some fans wanting blistering guitars and screaming vocals, but he still delivered. "Rotten Mind" perfectly embodied the tension in Reatard's new approach, violent imagery backed by a jangling pop assault. It was easy to tap your toe even while singing dark lyrics that were full of loathing for everyone, including oneself. And those drums, love 'em. Also, unless I am mistaken, aren't punk rockers supposed to be full of snot, piss and vinegar?
Twee pop + shoegaze. What more does an indiepop song need? Nothing. Yes, they were worthy of the hype and their live shows proved that twee could rock it the fuck out just as much as anything else could.
One of the most ubiquitous songs of the year was also one of the most catchy. It is a simple little pop song made up of drums, keyboards, vocals and nothing more, but the energy and joy of "Daylight" was hard to deny, even for this crumudgeon. And while the opening piano notes that are seemingly everywhere anymore have grown on the nerves, by the end of the song it is hard not to fall back in love with it no matter how many times you hear it. It may be pure sugary pop, but sometimes it is the sweet stuff, the candy, that makes life worth living.
Sounding like a lo-fi early Cure collaborating with The Jesus and the Mary Chain, Mike Sniper, the mystery man behind Blank Dogs, produced some of best music of the year. "Setting Fire To Your House" is a classic example of his lo-fi gothpop.
I don't know which of the elements of this song makes it so great. Is it the drums that sound like an old steam train moving down the tracks? Is it the shimmering twang of Vile's inspired guitar playing? Or is it that trumpet that elevates the song into the realm of the sublime? Indeed it is all three elements together that make "Amplifier" one of the most satisfying songs of the year, and redeems the whole idea of Americana in four minutes.
The last couple of years saw a major return to lo-fi aesthetics in the indie world. It was enough for critics to claim it was a movement and call it "shitgaze." While a lot of "shitgaze" bands hide lack of songwriting talent behind walls of noise, the best deliver superior pop songs along with their bathroom productions. Nathan Williams' Wavves is certainly one of the best. "No Hope Kids" is classic loser pop-punk that would make the Replacements jealous. Blown-out, in the red production only adds to the songs charm.
When the Flaming Lips played this at the Pitchfork Music Festival this summer it immediately stood out. Even among classic Lips tracks "Silver Trembling Hands" caught your attention. After years of writing slight forgettable pop tunes for Hewett Packard commercials and bromance movie soundtracks the song announced a return to form. Dark, claustrophobic, thanks to a krautrocky verse structure, and topped off with a gorgeous bit of space rock for the chorus, it was enough to make you forget that the Lips haven't sounded this vital in nearly a decade.
When a good friend first heard this song he thought it sounded like a big dumb rock song not worthy of Sonic Youth's legacy. A couple months later he declared it as his favorite song of the summer. Yeah, it is kind of a big dumb rock song for Sonic Youth, but it is also an awesome big dumb rock song that stomps its way through traditional SY noize, as well as an accessible song structure. Also, like all truly great SY songs it was penned by Lee Renaldo.
Antony wrote this as a tribute to his father, which added even more heft to an already deeply emotional song. I have been known to say that if you aren't moved by Antony then you simply aren't human. This song only reaffirms my position.
When black metal exploded in the early 90s it gained notoriety for the actions of a few of its leading lights as much as it did for the extremity of the music. Church burnings, murders and suicides made for sensationalistic press and catapulted bands like Mayhem, Emperor and Burzum into infamy. While the scene imploded, one band kept the focus on the music, distancing themselves from the antics of their better known brethren. Immortal may not have gained the instant recognition that their peers did, but over the years they have emerged as the most consistently rewarding Norwegian black metal band.
None of this is to say that Immortal has not had their share of problems. Original bassist Abbath Doom Occulta and guitarist Demonaz Doom Occulta went through drummers at a rate faster than Spinal Tap. Then, in 1997 all the years of playing guitar at lightening fast speeds caught up with Demonaz when he was diagnosed with a severe case of tendonitis in his arms. Demonaz’s condition threatened the existence of the band. As Abbath has consistently made clear, Immortal could not and would not continue without Demonaz. A compromise was reached, and Demonaz continued to pen the band’s lyrics while Abbath took over guitar and songwriting duties. As a result, Immortal’s blackened grime began to take on shades of thrash, and song structures grew by epic proportions. The band also left behind black metal’s trademark lo-fi sound, and in 1999 they produced their masterpiece “At the Heart of Winter.” The band continued to produce near perfect albums with 2000’s “Damned in Black,” and 2002’s “Sons of Northern Darkness.” And then silence…until now.
Immortal have returned in full corpsepaint, roaring from the icy north with bloodied battle axes ready for more, in short “All Shall Fall,” is an absolute monster of an album.
Beginning with the crushing apocalyptic title track, the band sounds so massive, so much larger than life, one can envision them pronouncing humanity’s death sentence from on high, rather than impotently warning from the street corner. “The Rise of Darkness” and “Hordes to War” continue the juggernaut. “Hordes” sounds exactly like what the title describes, with galloping drums and guitar leading the battle charge toward annihilation.
“Norden on Fire” and “Arctic Swarm” slow things down, but just barely. Yet even at mid-tempo speeds Immortal is still more powerful than any other band out there, except maybe Slayer. The band ratchets things back up for “Mount North,” which finds the northern armies back on the march. “Unearthly Kingdom” brings Immortal’s latest epic to a close. Sounding more doomy than black, before storming forward into blizzards of thrash, the song is a perfect example of why Immortal are masters of metal, regardless of genre.
“All Shall Fall” carries throughout it themes of mass demise and universal finality tapping into the current cultural zeitgeist of impending doom. In typical warrior fashion though, Immortal are not going to go out whimpering on their knees, but standing upright and ready in the face of apocalyptic destruction. Here is to hoping that for all the hype of worldwide destruction swirling around us today, Immortal remain true to their name and continue to produce masterworks of metal like this for many more years to come.
This may be my favorite song of all time. Here is, amazingly enough, a live version. Unfortunately the videographer is way to into close ups, but still a treat. Here is the studio. If you have never heard this masterpiece this is where you need to start.
When news emerged that Jamie Stewart of the emotionally crippling Xiu Xiu and enchanting but no less devastating Nika Roza, better known as Zola Jesus, were teaming up with Freddy Ruppert of This Song is A Mess But So Am I (my vote for top 10 band names ever) to form the band Former Ghosts there was more than a mild stirring among the indie rock community. The idea of Stewart and Roza playing off of each other was exciting for anyone with an appetite for dark, gothic emotional music. One could imagine a modern This Mortal Coil being birthed. Now the band has dropped their first album “Fleurs,” and while it does offer deeply emotional goth-tinged tunes, it centers on Ruppert’s electro-pop compositions heavily influenced by Joy Division.
The album opens with “Us and Now” a gentle but stately piece of swelling electronics and steady percussive effects. Ruppert’s vocals sounds as deep and worn and Ian Curtis himself as he sings of the toll time takes on love. Clattering percussion and electronic noise dart in and out of the piece. Once all the elements have revealed themselves and the song draws to a close, it is clear that this is not going to be a casual listen, but that it is going to be a rewarding one. “Hold On” picks up the pace with a solid pounding beat and a soulful chorus benefiting from Roza’s ethereal voice. Album highlight “Mother” follows sounding like a demo of a lost Joy Division or early New Order song. The song is also reminiscent of fellow travelers Cold Cave who often pillage the Factory Records vaults as well. The difference between the two bands is that while Cold Cave makes dance music you can dance to, Former Ghosts make dance music to sit, ponder and sometimes cry to. Ruppert’s compositions are laden with loss, lyrically and musically. This isn’t an album you throw on in celebration, but it is an album that provides solace after the bright lights have dimmed and you are left yearning in the dark.
What follows is a swath of chilly, but deeply moving pieces of music that mix traditional song structure with IDM. “Choices” is another album highlight that finds Ruppert singing of unrequited love against a slow moving procession of electronics. “In Earth’s Palm” finds Roza stepping in front of the mic to highlight her beautifully powerful voice. The superb “I Wave” and “Dreams,” find Ruppert exchanging Joy Division for Aphex Twin to create a pop IDM fusion that will have Thom Yorke green with envy.
The album begins to wind down with the profoundly sad “Unfolding.” The song is as stately as the album’s opener, but whatever shades of light and life existed before have been extinguished. Roza returns to the spotlight for “The Bull and the Ram,” a haunting piece that improves the album’s dour mood, but only slightly. “This is My Last Goodbye” ends the album on a strong, but painful note. Ruppert croaks the lyrics “all my dreams fall apart, where my heart comes undone, where memories can’t save us, where my love fails you, and every dried petal falls away, it’s okay everything dies” in the voice of a man who has lost every last bit of hope. Ruppert’s resignation gives way to Roza’s impassioned voice repeatedly asking “who is going to love you like I do?” It may be the final cry before the block of ice melts under the singer whose neck is in a noose, or it may be a defiant last stand in the face of love’s injustice, either way it is powerful stuff, and a fitting ending for a spectacular album.
The first time I heard Black to Comm was the Digitalis release “Charlemagne & Pippin.” On that album Black to Comm mastermind Marc Richter offered up a single organ drone that lasted a little over half an hour. It was no easy listen and required total submersion into the sound of that drone to reap any real rewards from the recording. Now Richter is back with his new album “Alphabet 1968” on Type records, and it is as varied and full of contrasts as “Charlemagne & Pippin” was static and monolithic. Its ten songs explore light and dark, drone and classically-based dynamic compositions to an amazing effect, both as individual pieces and as a whole.
The album begins with “Jonathan.” Field recordings of children playing are juxtaposed against a gentle buzz of white noise before a melancholy piano pattern emerges. The song is reminiscent of the work of modern composer Max Richter. Unlike that Richter’s music, which often comes up just short of expectations, Marc Richter has created an enthralling piece of electro-acoustic composition here that has more to offer than most established artists’ work.
Next up is a trilogy of light-infused songs that stir memories of brightly-colored days of innocence and childhood. “Forst” invokes Wolfgang Voight’s Gas project. A shimmering drone builds over subtle percussive effects before giving way to sustained horns. This is followed by “Trapez,” a cacophony of chimes, music boxes and bells. “Rauschen” highlights subtle plucked strings over a near silent field of processed electronics. It is hard not to be overwhelmed with the absolute beauty Black to Comm has produced here.
Things turn a bit darker with “Musik Fur Alle,” a circular string based piece that invokes black clouds and winds blowing through dead trees. The sound continues to darken with the haunting “Traum GmbH,” an organ pattern coupled with what sounds like a disembodied female voice. Even with the change in tone, there is still a near classical beauty to be found among the darker shadings of these songs.
Things change with “Houdini Rites,” which goes from dark to pitch black, eschewing any classical touchstones whatsoever. The piece begins with the clattering of cymbals before a sustained and blacked organ drone emerges, bringing damnation to the soundworld Richter has crafted thus far. “Void” follows and lives up to its title. Drones permeate a soundscape punctuated by demonic voices and what sounds like free jazz from hell buried deep in the mix. “Hotel Freund” brings the album to an end with a return to the hallucinatory memories of lighter, more innocent, times. The piece is reminiscent of Stephan Mathieu and Ekkehard Ehlers’ “Heroin” project that mixed the childhood touchstone of Vince Guaraldi’s “Peanuts” soundtrack with gauzy blankets of electronics. It is a fitting ending for an album that is steeped in memory and blanketed with the haze of time.
Black to Comm’s “Alphabet 1968” is not only an incredible accomplishment for such a relatively new artist; it is an incredible accomplishment for any artist. Each listen reveals something new, making the album endlessly rewarding. In the end, Black to Comm has breathed new life into modern classical and experimental music. Highly recommended.
Last year Krallice’s self-titled debut took the metal and indie worlds by storm.Landing on year end lists in both genres’ publications, it was one of the few albums that heshers and hipsters could agree on.Hipsters found an anchor in the emotional power of the band’s music, whereas heshers could get on board because frankly the band rocked the fuck out at amphetamine speeds and shredded the shit of everything in their path.The band’s sound is rooted in the influence of its two founding members, Colin Marston and Mick Barr.Marston, of Behold…The Arctopus and Dysrhythmia, is known for his love of lightening fast technical proficiency, whereas Barr, of Orthrelm, relies on repetition of patterns to get his point across.As a result, the band produce an original sound that draws upon on jazz, prog and post-rock, known for its emotional peaks and valleys, just as much as they do black and death metal.A typical Krallice song features lightening speed guitar playing over blast beats and tortured vocals, but is structured somewhere between Steve Reich and Mogwai with flourishes of King Crimson and John Coltrane.It is not a bad formula, but as Krallice demonstrates on their new album, “Dimensional Bleedthrough” it is a formula that has to be handled with the utmost care because too much or too little of each element will threaten the whole.
The band kicks things off with the album’s title track.Initially the song is a disappointment.It comes off like a continuous post rock crescendo.As a result, it suffers from overkill.Upon repeated listens minor changes grab the ear, and it is saved from being a throwaway.Still, I have never heard so much intensity in a song threaten to bore a listener so badly.It isn’t a horrible song, and you can hear the making of a great song in it, but it is just too much.One can’t help but wish the band would pull back from the precipice once in a while.
“Autochthon” follows, and unfortunately does not fare much better.The song suffers under the weight of its own ambition.The band mixes black and death metal with prog to take the listener through an absurd amount of tempo and style changes, some of which are absolutely inspired and some of which are just goddamned ridiculous and masturbatory.I admire the band for really trying to push the limits of themselves and the song, but the problem is that as a young, albeit massively talented, band they simply are not up to the task for this kind of exercise.Hell, I don’t even think Immortal could pull this off and they have been creating epic song structures for years out of black and thrash metal.
An even larger problem is that the band’s playing sounds more clinical than inspired on these first two tracks.What made their debut so outstanding is that every single moment sounded meaningful and heartfelt making the album unbelievably powerful.Such power is hard to accomplish when dealing with a band or musician that is not only technically proficient, but wears that proficiency as a badge of honor.One need only invoke the name Yngwie Malmstein to understand that technical prowess does not worthwhile music make.Krallice transcended that curse on their debut, but come very close to falling into the pit of navel gazing here.
The band finally scales it back a bit for “Aridity,” a song that mixes the band’s signature blackened shred with some midtempo post rock influence.The slowdown serves the band well and the song succeeds by offering up at least something different, even if it isn’t entirely revelatory.“The Mountain” follows.It is a short piece of filler that would be forgivable but for lackluster offerings up to this point.
Relief finally comes with “Intraum,” The band’s incessant crescendos drop into a breakdown of steady guitar buzz that burns its way toward a slow buildup back to the band’s reach for the sky sound.Once the band completes the ascent it sounds earned, it sounds right and it proves that there Krallice can still deliver when they focus on the song rather than how fast they can play or what crazy changes in key and chord they can toss off.
The album ends with “Monolith of Possession,” a nearly twenty minute song that doesn’t become remotely interesting until half way through.Even then, the song suffers from more of the same.The most intriguing bit comes right at the end when a sudden increase in volume pushes the band’s sound into the realm of noise.It sounds amazing and underlines the fact that if the band focused more on dynamics, in terms of speed, volume, and tone, they would be untouchable.
I am willing to write off the album as a classic example of the sophomore slump.I still have great hope for Krallice and can’t wait for album number three, where hopefully they will take any negative reception they get from this misstep (although I fear the hype machine is going to mute any reasoned criticism), learn from it and turn it into gold once again.
Cold Cave sounds like they just stepped out of Chicago’s Medusa’s on their way to Wax Trax. For those who don’t get the references, Medusa’s was a late 80s, early 90s all ages club in Chicago that highlighted industrial music and the electro-pop that Cold Cave channel. The club provided solace for all the out of place, picked on “skinny puppies” who donned black leather and Doc Martins, rather than their high school colors, for pep rallies. Wax Trax, of course, was the label that provided the industrial soundtrack for Medusa’s and so many Midwestern youth anxious to break free of their suburban and rural surroundings.
Now, nearly 20 years later there is Cold Cave, not sounding a day over 1989. Consisting of founder Wes Eisold, formerly of hardcore bands Some Girls and Giving Up the Ghost, Xiu Xiu’s Carelee McElroy, and the one and only Dominick Fenrow, better known as Prurient, the band is a boon for fans not only of the late 80s electro-industrial scene, but also electro-pop bands like New Order and Depeche Mode.
After a slew of 7” and ep releases that touched on goth, industrial and noise, Cold Cave released their impressive debut “Love Comes Close,” earlier this year on Heartworm Press. The album sold out quickly. Thankfully Matador stepped in, signed the band, and recently reissued the album.
“Love Comes Close” begins with “Cebe and Me,” a piece of noisy electro squawks and squiggles with distorted vocals provided by McElroy. The piece seems like a throwaway intro song at first, but on repeated listens the song displays an intriguing tension between the sweetness of the bands electro-pop approach and the dark underbelly that runs throughout the album. Light breaks across the album’s titular track, with Eisold taking over vocal duties and delivering a nice little slice of pop that recalls classic New Order. It isn’t until the third track though that the band finds their footing with the infectious “Life Magazine.” Layers of pulsating synth and guitar buoyed by a simple techno beat and coupled with McElroy’s heavily reverbed vocals turn a simple goodbye song into an anthem. It is hard not to want to move your body in some way, shape, or form when listening. Hell, it might even make you jump up and dance your way out of some shitty situation that you needed to leave a long time ago.
What follows is a steady stream of intoxicating gothpop, and while that sounds like a ridiculously horrible proposition, or something best left to high schoolers who shop at Hot Topics, it really isn’t. Cold Cave have created something special here. “The Laurals of Erotomania” and the plodding “Heaven Was Full” find the band perfectly mixing light with dark to create the best songs never written for Factory Records or Wax Tracks, but should have been. The real payoff comes with “The Trees Grew Emotions and Died,” which may be the best song of this year. It is an unbelievable dance piece that has Eisold and McElroy delivering choppy lyrics over synth arpeggios, squalls of guitar noise and two different continuous beats. This is the only song I know of that makes me want to dance when I am sober (albeit when no one is looking). The band brings things down for the somber “Hello Rats,” but return to the pulsating electro-pop they do so well for the albums final tracks “Youth and Lust” and “I.C.D.K.”
The wonder of Cold Cave is that they channel what should be easily disposable pop shot through with the awkwardness of a high school goth into something substantial, something downright grand. Maybe it is because Cold Cave remind me of so many bands that I loved in high school, or maybe it is because they are just that damn good, but “Love Comes Close” gets my highest recommendation.
A steady buzz has been building around San Francisco’s Barn Own since last year’s release of their album “From Our Mouths A Perpetual Light.”That album moved the parameters of doom from two guys with a shit load of tube amps to gentle, but equally ominous, soundscapes of acoustic guitars and minor drones.The album was more interesting for what it proposed than what it actually delivered.
Since that time, the duo, consisting of Evan Caminiti and Jon Porras, have produced a live album, two solo albums and now their new studio work “The Conjuror.”
“The Conjuror” begins with “Into the Red Horizon,” a piece similar to Earth’s groundbreaking “Hex:Or Printing In The Infernal Method,” maybe too similar.The difference though is that unlike Earth’s Dylan Carlson, who split the difference equally between doom and country twang on “Hex,” Barn Owl have upped the quotient of doom.The next piece, “Across the Deserts of Ashes” eschews the percussive doom of “Horizon” but begins by maintaining some of the rural twang until it is slowly undermined by a menacing and shimmering guitar soundscape.The piece ends with haunting choral-like vocals that recall Popol Vuh and their very best.“Procession of the Bones” finds the band returning to their rural doom, with a few more acoustic flourishes.The album ends with “Ancient of Days.”The piece begins with some beautifully dour Fahey-like acoustic pluckings before descending into a subtle but steady drone.Again, choral-like voices return, but this time they sound like weakened disembodied spirits, calling out from a deep dark hole in the earth.The song ends with piano, providing a resolution to all the doom that has come before that is probably best left to the interpretation of each individual listener.In the end “The Conjuror” makes for an immersive listening experience and one that more than delivers on the promise of the band’s previous work.
“The Conjuror” is only a portion of Caminiti and Porras’ recent productivity.Both Caminiti and Porras have released solo albums this year.Caminiti records under his own name, while Porras under the moniker Elm.Porras’ Elm recently released the “Nemcatacoa.”
“Nemcatacoa” opens with the ominous title track, a song that sounds like Earth interpreted by Loren Mazzacane Connors backed up by Greg Anderson of Sunn 0))).The piece makes it clear that this is doom, but it is doom turned down, gently plodding its way through a cold dark wood, rather than ripping the earth out from under your feet in the vein of Sunn 0))) or Moss.The piece is also a bit of a tease, since what follows through the remainder of the album mostly consists of gentle acoustic finger picking comfortably sitting next to or on top of ominous drones.This formula of acoustic guitar married with drone does threaten the uniqueness of Elm.We have heard this set up before with Ben Chasny’s Six Organs of Admittance and countless imitators.One would even be forgiven for mistaking “Silver Dust in Moonlight,” a piece that flirts with medieval guitar flourishes in the face of an ever increasing threatening drone and eventually breaks into a blistering electric guitar attack as one of Chasny’s.What saves Elm is the amazingly consistent quality of the record.Porra is able to lay down haunting acoustics and incredible drones that stand far above the cluttered crowd left in Chasny’s wake.He may not reinvent the wheel, but Porras’ Elm is immensely compelling.Porras does change his palate for the final two pieces, “Three Rings Drawn in Sand,” an album highlight, and “Deep Mirage,” both begin with Hecker-like waves of sound that continuously build before crashing back down to earth in drops of acoustic tones.Again, it isn’t necessarily unique given the blueprint already created by Hecker and Fennesz, but it is effective and stunningly beautiful.
Broken into four pieces, similar to the structure of “Conjuror” Caminiti’s album, “Psychic Mud Shrine,” is the noisier of the three, and by noise, I don’t mean Wolf Eyes noisy, I mean he plays his electric guitar drones at a louder more discordant level than Porras does and with fewer acoustic interludes.It is also the least varied.The album begins with a jagged piece of guitar squall entitled “Frozen Plains.”The song recalls Neil Young’s infamous “Dead Man” soundtrack, but more fleshed out and realized than Young’s sound-sketches.“Melting Temple/Plumes of Babylon” follows and continues in the vein of “Plains” with a blues inflected guitar drone.The nearly 20 minute piece finds Caminiti switching things up though.The drone gives way to percussive bells and a string accompaniment that recalls Indian violinist Shankar’s work.The piece eventually gives way to the dark acoustic picking that defines both Caminiti and Porras’ work individually and collectively.The third piece “Midnight’s Road” is the most interesting on the album, unfortunately it is the shortest as well.Beginning with a pulsating guitar note that is reminiscent of John Carpenter’s soundtrack for “The Thing,” Caminiti builds layers of acoustic and electric finger picking over a steadily growing drone.The drone eventually overcomes everything else creating the album’s most intense moment just before it completely cuts out.The album ends with “Kclab Egdol” another guitar based drone that builds and builds until the song’s horizon blurs into a single grey field before revisiting Shankar-like strings and acoustic guitar picking over what is left of a shimmering receding drone.Overall Caminiti’s album is the least compelling of the three, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t fascinating and well worth while, it is just that when compared to his work in Barn Owl and Porras’ Elm, it comes up short, but just by a hair.All three albums illustrate that both men, together and separately, are worth at least some of the buzz they have generated and I can only imagine them expanding their sound and making even greater works in the future
Here is a creepy, yet beautiful, video from Black to Comm, whose album "Alphabet 1968" explores nearly every angle of modern experimental music, and will be reviewed here shortly. In the meantime, check out this invasion/apocalypse of bunnies.
New video for song from Chicago's Zelienople from their excellent forthcoming album "Give It Up" on Type records. Fans of Spacemen 3, early Labradford and Verve's "Storm in Heaven" take note.
How do you start a review of Slayer? It is after all, fucking Slayer. While so many of their peers have gone soft to the point of being unlistenable, Slayer remains fucking Slayer. Sure there may have been a period after drummer Dave Lombardo left the band where their music seemed, well, uninspired, but they never went soft. They never broke out an acoustic guitar and wrote a power ballad or vied for mainstream success, instead they remained fucking Slayer and as a result have become living legends. The band’s tenth studio album World Painted Blood shows no signs of softness either, if anything they sound more razor sharp than ever, offering up songs that wouldn’t sound out of place on the band’s watershed album Reign in Blood.
Following the band’s masterful Christ Illusion, the first album to include Lombardo since their late 80s early 90s hat-trick of Reign, South of Heaven and Seasons in the Abyss, World Painted Blood forgoes much of the midtempo style that characterized Illusion, with the slash and burn speed of Reign. It is clear that Lombardo not only deserves a mountain of credit for providing the lightening speed backbone of the band that was so sorely missing during his absence, but also its ominous power. Remember, it was his tom beats that made “Raining Blood” sound so damn damnable. Throughout the album he plays at the height of his powers bashing out blast beats and double bass hits that sound like the devil’s army on the move.
The other major star here is bassist/vocalist Tom Araya’s voice. He hasn’t sounded this intense since, well, Reign. Seeing Slayer in concert last summer I noticed that he chose to forego his infamous scream that kicks off “Angel of Death.” My friend Andrew noted it as well and we speculated that he was getting old and probably had to save his voice. Now I know what he was saving it for. Araya is a master vocalist for the speed/thrash metal genre. He can insert the most awkward phrases into the slice and dice compositions of guitarists Kerry King and Jeff Hanneman and make it sound natural, as well as absolutely bone chilling. His lyric about incestuous fathers and cunted daughters from “South of Heaven” still remains for me the most evil lyric ever, not only because of the content, but the delivery. World Painted Blood finds Araya at the very top of his game. Belting out narratives of the apocalypse, anarchy and serial killers, Araya renders anguished horror out of the delivery of lyrics like “My birthright is murder,” on album highlight “Beauty Through Order,” which eventually deteriorates into barks of “Birthright! Murder!” that mirrors the psychosis of the song’s serial killing protagonist.
None of this is to say that King and Hanneman aren’t pulling their weight. They both sound sharper than ever. It is amazing that they show no signs of slowing down in their writing or execution. No one is as clean and as fast and as clear as either of these two giants. As usual, both men split up the songwriting duties. King’s songs are usually deemed the more “metal” of the band, while Hanneman’s are usually cited for their punk influence. Here Hanneman has the upper hand by one song, which may account for the speed to midtempo ratio here. Hanneman’s “Unit 731” and the instant classic “Psychopathy Red” fly by at lightening speed. King gets his speed on as well, his song “Snuff” rips as fast as anything Hanneman contributes here. The best songs on the album though are those that combine the midtempo metal of King with the speed of Hanneman. The aforementioned “Beauty Through Order” is an absolute masterwork from the band. Told from the point of view of the first known female serial killer, Countess Elizabeth Bathory, it combines the band’s intense speed with the dark chasms that sound as if they open all the way to hell that come into view when the band pulls back enough to let the guitar and drums slow or come to a standstill.
Lyrically the band returns to their roots as well. Illusion was almost a political manifesto taking to task the Bush administration’s horrors in much the same way Seasons in the Abyss was an indictment of the Reagan era. Here we get “Americon,” and “Public Display of Dismemberment,” both songs dealing with political issues, the former a very pointed critique of American foreign policy and the politics of fear, the latter a savage account of societal collapse when government fails. For the most part though the lyrics deal with death and disease on a grand apocalyptic scale and the real-life serial killers that roam the shadows picking off the unsuspecting. Bathory and Russian killer Andrei Chikatilo provide the inspiration this time around. What is noticeably absent from this album are the band’s broadsides against religion. Whereas Illusion gave us some of the best blasphemy in years, atheist King only contributes one “stab right between the eyes” of religion with the superb “Worldwide Hate.” Interestingly Ayara, noted family man and practicing Catholic, sneaks in a couple of odes to his god. He turn in the titular track that not only doesn’t deny god, but could be interpreted as a rendering of the Book of Revelations. No worries of Slayer every becoming Stryper, but it is an interesting development for a band so tied to satanic imagery as a purposeful affront to religion in the advancement of atheism.
In the end this is classic Slayer through and through. There are a couple of songs that are growers, and maybe “Americon” is a little too straightforward musically than we want or expect from Slayer, but that is minor quibbling. World Painted Blood is an album that a new fan could come to and be changed forever, just as so many longtime fans were back in the day by Reign and Heaven. It is also an album for the veterans of the Satanic Wehrmacht to listen to with glee and shout “FUCKING SLAYER!!!”
This begins the advent of my music blog “Skeletons & Candy.”I am beginning it in reaction to the increasingly homogenized music blogosphere in the wake of Pitchfork and its countless imitators.Let me begin by asserting I am thankful for the advent of Pitchfork.It came along at a time when there was a massive vacuum in terms of coverage of independent music.Rolling Stone was long since irrelevant, The Wire existed but only on a month to month basis and it carried a hefty price tag for those looking for something different, and everything else was either genre specific or little more than shells of their former selves stuck in the mindset of the early 90s (looking at you Spin).Pitchfork came along and created a space for people who were not only interested in fresh independent sounds but who were junkies for it, like myself.They reviewed everything from metal to drone to jazz to hip hop, and of course, their staple, indie rock.They did it in a professional manner with often good writing and they helped foster a community.A community that you can hang with every July in Chicago during Pitchfork’s Music Festival, a community that fostered sub-branches in Williamsburg, Portland, L.A., Chicago, Columbus and many more locals.From those communities came some great artists, artists that would in turn be highlighted and supported by Pitchfork.Some have criticized this inevitable circularity as self-absorbed and masturbatory.I disagree, I think this sort of self-sustaining community was a wonderful thing and produced a genuine movement not defined by politics, or social issues, but by the love of music.For that I thank Pitchfork.I thank them a million times over.
But, like all scenes eventually it wears itself out.The hype kills it…and the hype is killing Pitchfork.Over the past couple of years I have noticed inflated ratings in Pitchfork’s record reviews (sort of like grade inflation in grad school, when what you really earned was a B, but what you got was an A to make the student body look smarter than it actually is so that the college can seem more desirable than it actually is).Often those ratings are awarded to the bands with the most hype surrounding them.Case in point - the band Girls.Girls has made an album of pleasing and sometimes wonderful indie pop.There is nothing wrong with that.Every now and then I put their album on and enjoy the simplicity of the songs and the joy of the band’s delivery.It is a good album, but it isn’t a five star, game changing album.Pitchfork apparently disagrees, they rewarded it with a ridiculous 9.1 out of 10, when a couple of years prior it would have probably garnered a high 7, which it would have deserved.What has happened in the last couple of years to cause this inflation of praise?Well a whole lot of wannabee Pitchforks have sprung up and wanting to get a leg up they have entered “the next best thing” contest, hyping up bands to ridiculous proportions and then ensuring the hype was legitimate by tripping all over themselves to hand out reviews that are totally disproportionate to the actual music.Again, Girls, good album, but not fucking Exile on Main Street, so stop treating it like it is.
Unfortunately for bands this hype cuts both ways, it propels them to semi-stardom, but once the hype has died down the inevitable backlash begins and suddenly all the little Williamsburg emperors are found to be wearing no clothes after all.What is lost in all of this is the actual value of a band’s music.
Another thing killing Pitchfork is its growing insularity and investment in disposable culture.It used to be that you could find reviews covering the many genres populating the independent music world on Pitchfork.That isn’t the case anymore.Instead while you may get every single fart to come out of Williamsburg, assuming it fits the “indie rock” mold or has a Casio keyboard, you won’t find a decent rendering of Type record artists, or even Touch UK, the granddaddy of experimental and drone music, a staple of the underground for a while now.Pitchfork and their imitators seem to be stuck in a rut and have betrayed their roots as a clearinghouse of information for people who genuinely love independent music of all types.Instead they are navel gazing on the increasing plastic and disposable nature of indie culture.A quick read through blogs like Hipster Runoff or Stereogum will illustrate that indie culture is becoming cannibalized by the need for the next new thing (something that has always been a threat to music culture admittedly), thus making yesterday’s bands disposable.An example of this, to pick on Pitchfork again, is Mogwai, a band that has been doing it for better or worse for well over a decade.There was a time when they were kings of the underground along with Godspeed You Black Emperor.But they are last year’s, nay, last decade’s news.So what happens when they produce one of their very best albums ever, as they did with last year’s “The Hawk is Howling”?Well, they are dismissed, given a paltry 4.5.They aren’t on the radar of the hipsters anymore (and plus some of those hipsters weren’t even out of kindergarten when “Young Team” dropped), but the music that they do know, The xx and Neon Indians – well it reflects a certain plastic crap that they are used to, a disposability that reflects their own short attention spans and desire to be cool, to be hip for this very thing in this very moment and who gives a shit about sustainability and longevity.I can promise you that no one will give a shit what The xx or Neon Indians do in two years.Frankly, I don’t give a shit now, since their music sounds like…well, shit.But it is cool shit, hyped shit, disposable shit and the scene loves disposable shit, so Pitchfork, of course, rewarded both bands with “Best New Music” awards.
I don’t entirely blame them.I understand, to quote the aged sage David Bermen “When I was younger I was a cobra.In every case I wanted to be cool.Now that I’m older and sub-space is colder I just want to say something true.”I get that.In fact when Berman sang those lyrics for the first time, all I wanted to be was cool as well.Looking back though, so much of the “of the moment” shit I listened to was disposable as well, and I wouldn’t bear to listen to it again, yet some of it was true and it still sounds fresh today (Jesus Lizard, Slint, Silver Jews and so many more).Unfortunately though, Pitchfork, who for so long so deftly balanced the cool with the true have lost their footing and fallen, landing with their heads up their own asses and talking about how cool it is in there.
It is because of this state of affairs I am going to begin writing about music.Who the fuck am I?I am a dad who hates “Dad Rock,” a music fanatic since I first heard the Clash at age 14 over a quarter of a century ago.I obsess and think about music the way most guys obsess and think about sports.I consume music more than all other sustenance combined.I live for it.Period. I used to write about music a long time ago for what we used to call a newspaper, a relic of a time since past.I enjoyed doing it and kind of wish I had stayed with it.In some ways this is a return to that path not taken, but my inspiration comes from the disillusionment of a fan who no longer has a place (website or blog) to call home.BrooklynVegan does a great job covering tons of different indie music, but it is more of a documentary of what is going on in NYC than it is a site full of reviews and criticism. That is what I aspire to do.I hope to take pretty much the same wide-angle approach as BV from the critical side of things.I am DIYing a site that I would want to read, and hopefully other obsessives and fanatics will enjoy as well.
I am calling it Skeletons & Candy for a couple of reasons.The name comes from something my youngest daughter once said.She is a story teller.She writes songs and creates epic stories that are both horrible and sweet.Princesses appear alongside characters that can do nothing but pee all over the place, or create enough havoc to draw blood.One time when she was describing a story and she said it was about Skeletons & Candy; everyone died, but everyone came back to life and got candy in the end.Her wonderment in the face of horror and sweetness is something that I would like to take credit for.I think she gets it from me and my own fascination with the extremes in all of life, but in particular music.It is an extreme that I wish to reflect here.I will highlight and review the most extreme black metal and noise alongside the candy-like sweetness of indie pop, and pretty much everything else, with the caveat that it is independent music, or has its roots in independent music.
In the end though I am doing this to promote the music I love and call bullshit on the music I don’t.I have no advertisers to please, no hype to perpetuate and no festivals to sell tickets to, it is just me and me alone listening to music and separating the wheat from the chaff.I hope you enjoy…
