Recording review - Chui Wan, Chui Wan (2015)

Fringe music from the Middle Kingdom

^3.75/5.0

From skewed savants like Roky Erickson and Syd Barrett to modern mystics like Jim James and Wayne Coyne, psychedelic artists thrive out in the borderlands where the rules are flexibly vague and no one expects explanations. Beijing's Chui Wan has set up their own camp out in the fringes and, listening to their latest self-titled release, they've been raiding the ruins and scavenging from a host of influences to create their unique blend of experimental, new wave neo-psychedelia. Call it crypto-psych, where bits of avant garde Pere Ubu coexist with the Velvet Underground and Beatlesque musing drifts past Gothic new wave moodiness. Like steampunk fashion, it’s intriguing to encounter familiar things in unusual settings, but this album digs deeper than mere aesthetics. Psychedelic music is often invested in capturing a mood and Chui Wan’s music seems to reflect the uneasiness of change in their native country.

At its most positive, that nervous energy can be tied to opportunity and the most upbeat track, “Vision”, seems intent on grasping the chance even as it continually mutates and slips away. The tight rhythm and jungle beat drums are fixtures, along with the guitar pushing simple melodies to the forefront, but the song evolves in several directions. Initially, despite the guitar, it has an electronic feel that reminds me of the programmed rhythm on the.Clash’s "Overpowered By Funk". By the time the vocals come in, the tone has shifted into a Bauhaus cum Krautrock groove. Chameleon-like, the focal riffs come and go in waves, until the piece transcends the relentless reinvention to reveal that the true answer can be found in the hypnotically syncopated drum jam. It seems to say that, faced with constant change, the best thing to do is move with it. It would be easy to imagine a 20 minute extended version rattling the walls in a dark, trippy basement club, but the four minutes on Chui Wan is merely a tease.

After this restless drive of “Vision”, the band shifts gears for “On the Other Ocean”. If the former was strongly directed, the latter offers fun house reflections of a hallucinogenic expedition. The jangling new age start suggests a spacy milieu somewhere between Star Trek and music from the “Hearts of Space”. Once the vocals come in, the context becomes more overtly psychedelic but retains the unanchored feel. Chiming melodic harmonies suggest a more traditional Chinese influence, but the detuned and watery, off-kilter vibe adds a spacious decadence. If this is the start of a journey, it’s hard to tell what it might be in search of. Ultimately, the track slips into an even looser jazz interlude before faltering and melting into a puddle. That ending isn't a disappointment, though. Rather, it’s just a natural waking from the dream.

The rest of the tracks on Chui Wan find still stranger worlds to visit, from the off-balanced Pere Ubu carnival of “Seven Chances” to the nervous new wave tension of “Only” or the Velvet Underground folk-psych pop of “Silence” (think of Nico singing, “I’ll Be Your Mirror”). The weirdest is the hot mess that closes out the album, “Beijing is Sinking”. The metal flake guitar intro gives way to an odd poppish bounce. Imagine bits of Pink Floyd's "San Tropez", John Lennon's "Number 9 Dream ", and maybe a touch of OK Go coming together in a mulligatawny stew. Some three minutes in, there’s a solo section that develops a nice meandering riff. Enjoy it while it lasts, because, all too soon, it’s overwhelmed by chaotic guitar and transitions into an extended psychedelic outro that’s longer than the initial structured interval.

But the stylistic mashups and nomadic song development are hardly detrimental to Chui Wan’s mission. Out where they play, landmarks shift -- Beijing is still sinking, after all -- and the point is to step beyond the maps.

Here's a taste from the album:

Recording review - Colin Stetson and Sarah Neufeld, Never Were the Way She Was (2015)

Violin and saxophone circle like perfectly paired dancers

^4.25/5.0

Surrounded by inorganic synthesizer tones, it's good to be reminded of not just analog sounds, but traditional instruments as well. Woodwind music is rooted in the raw physicality of breath. Strings, on the other hand, can sing with the expressiveness of an unchained voice that transcends mere respiration and can also slant into otherworldly realms. On Never Were the Way She Was saxophonist Colin Stetson and violinist Sarah Neufeld blend their unique sonic fingerprints to find a magic in that meld that yields a yin-yang of cooperation and conflict. Of course, they've had plenty of time to learn each other’s style, working together in Arcade Fire and Bell Orchestre. This album of duets finds them gracefully connecting like perfectly matched dancers; the interplay sounds effortless, but closer attention reveals the complexity.

While Stetson’s side work is always impressive, his solo trilogy series, New History Warfare shows off his development as a master of his instruments. In particular, he’s learned how to harness a variety of techniques -- growls, vocalizations, and creative recording tricks -- to create stunning soundscapes. Over the course of these albums, he’s evolved his vocabulary and expanded the boundaries of the instrument. In his hands, the sax moves beyond breathy riffs and warps into experimental electronic tones and dark rumblings.

Neufeld is perhaps less inclined to play at the outside edges that Stetson enjoys, but her own solo work, 2013’s Hero Brother, demonstrates her stylistic and melodic range. She has a good sense of dynamics and how to build just the right mood. Her playing has a fluidity that accommodates sudden shifts from anxious obsession to angelic soaring, from ethereal reverie to passionate engagement.

Never Were the Way She Was feels like a continuation of Stetson’s recent work, but Neufeld pushes him into dialog with melodic parts that accentuate his ideas even as they offer a counterpoint. As in any conversation, the lead can shift from one speaker to another, and Neufeld and Stetson are comfortable circling one another in this way. But the real treat comes in those rare moments when their playing doesn’t change roles overtly, but the context shifts and, like figure and ground reversing in an optical illusion, suddenly the supporting instrument is standing at center stage. “In the Vespers” is a fine example of this. Neufeld’s staccato violin sets up Stetson’s rolling minimalist line as the focus. While the arpeggiated riff seethes with impatience and ambition, the violin maintains order as it relentlessly slices out its measured pace. In a subtle move, Neufeld modulates the tonal base and Stetson follows, acquiescing the lead to her. The tension builds and Stetson adds an anguished vocalization to his part and the tune becomes a battle of wills. Neufeld disengages and the sax twists in on itself. As the busy notes percolate, the violin returns with longer tones that calm the track down into resolution. Stetson is adept at creating that sense of roiling conflict, so Neufeld’s sense of harmony, both on violin and wordless vocals, provides a nice counterbalance.

Following the model of Stetson’s New History Warfare albums, this collaboration was recorded live, with no studio overdubs. While I’m sure the pieces were largely worked out, these songs have an immediacy that heightens their impact. Thus the anticipation and nervous excitement of “The Sun Roars into View” is visceral as it builds from predawn calm and a rising glow to a fast-motion blur once the day is truly underway. It’s a good start, but my favorite track is the spooky “With the Dark Hug of Time”. It starts off with rattling bass notes and sweeping strings, emphasizing the contrast between the instruments. The bass takes over and builds a plodding rhythm, part elephant and part lurching Frankenstein’s Monster. Stetson’s sax vocalizations creep in, as if the monster were moaning its lament. All the while, Neufeld contributes to the tension with fearful sawing tones. It finally reaches a shimmering pause as the beat drops away. The night calms, fading down to a low rumble and Neufeld’s cooing vocals, both wrapped in a rough distortion that adds a sweet surreal quality.

It’s so nice to hear Neufeld and Stetson circle and build on one another. Never Were the Way She Was is certainly less structured than what they do with Arcade Fire, but this collaboration reflects wild internal worlds without sliding into self-indulgence. And the sound? It's probably like nothing else you've been listening to lately.

Recording review - Wendy Atkinson, The Last Fret (2015)

Welcome to the gallery of memory

^3.25/5.0

The Last Fret is not so much an album as it is a sonic art installation dedicated to memory. That makes it more concerned with evoking particular moods than trying to fit into conventional songwriting structures. Wendy Atkinson's relatively short sketches achieve her targeted effect by exploring feelings of introspection, loss, and hope. She cloaks her bass with pensive ambient washes, electronic textures, and field recordings, occasionally expanding the tracks with other instruments or spoken word segments.

Our first stop in this gallery walk is "What Came Before", which creates the sense of moving through a foggy landscape of memory. Swells of electronic tone loom, but melt back into the featureless cotton before their details can register. Atkinson summons a distance between the events she's teasing apart and her need to find understanding and closure. The elegiac mood is reminiscent of Panderecki.

A couple of tracks later, another piece catches my deeper attention. "In the Off Season" pensively sways between two chords. While the title implies the idea of marking time, it feels more like two focal points of an old debate, where repetition has worn the exchange into an endless ellipse: neither side can ever win or even stand alone without the context of its negation. This is a fitting setup for "Hebron Birds", which draws on Atkinson's experience in that city. Her muddy, noisy recording of a chance encounter with a group of laughing girls in a mosque forms the internal recollection behind her spoken word piece that contrasts the "joyfulness, trust, and curiosity" of these girls with the troubled city they live in. It's a political statement but still emphatically personal. The simple instrumental accompaniment shades the story but stays to the background.

Two of the tracks disrupt the ambiance of the showing by falling outside the arc of the album. Her deconstruction of Chain and the Gang's "What is a Dollar" fits sonically but the anti-capitalist lyrics don't really connect thematically. By contrast, the wistful pop song structure of "Ukulele Shock" is shocking itself amidst the more expressive experimentation of the other tracks. Atkinson matter-of-factly relates a story from her youth, which ties the tune back to the central theme, but the punch line ending injects a touch of deadpan humor that also feels odd in this setting. Either of these songs might have best been saved for another setting, but fortunately they don't do any lasting damage to the coherent motif of The Last Fret.

Atkinson brings a rich range of textures and techniques to her work. The brevity of pieces often leave you wanting more, or perhaps a more detailed evolution, but her impressionistic, "less is more" approach leaves room for interpretation on subsequent visits. Her songs never overstay their welcome in part because she doesn't place too much weight on delicate structure of her material, The Last Fret is a thoughtful collection worthy of a relaxed afternoon or evening visit..

Concert review - That 1 Guy

2 January 2015 (Hodi's Half Note, Ft. Collins CO)
^4.5/5.0

Superstition claims that whatever you do at the start of the new year will drive the rest of the year, so people fill up their cupboards, wear new clothes, and clear their debts to ensure prosperity. I'm skeptical, but I do think that doing the things you enjoy will help cement those patterns in place. So, I visited with friends on New Year's Day and made it out to Hodi's for the first available show of the year to see That 1 Guy.

That 1 Guy

The last time I saw That 1 Guy (AKA Mike Silverman) at Hodi's, he had Captain Ahab's Motorcycle Club (Cory McAbee) opening and his own show had grown to include a flashy dual-screen multimedia element (review). Last night's outing was a bit stripped down; there was no lead-off act and the screens were gone. It might have been nice to have someone warm up the audience, because the two hour interval between the doors opening and showtime had the crowd a little restive. We had to make do with Captain Beefheart's Safe as Milk and Frank Zappa's Apostrophe/Over-nite Sensation blaring from the club PA (along with a few tracks from David Bowie's "Heroes"). On the other hand, the simpler stage presence worked in That 1 Guy's favor. The animations and camera tricks had been fun, but without those distractions, Silverman held the audience rapt for more than two hours straight, making up for the long wait.


As always, That 1 Guy put on a stunning performance, juggling synth riff triggers, foot-tap drumming, and the mix of percussion and melody demanded by his one-of-a-kind Magic Pipe. Watching him play is hypnotic. He rocks from side to side as he lays down the drums, all while building a full harmonic sound on the strings mounted to the two sections of pipe. The mix ranges from bass heavy grooves and cello style bowing to distorted guitar-like tones and the warm feel of marimba. Putting this all together has to require crazy amounts of practice and concentration, but Silverman not only makes it look fairly easy, he throws in pantomime, clowning, and sleight of hand tricks to make it more entertaining.


This stage work key to Silverman's charm: a meaty slap sound effect accent for the song is illustrated by a mimed punch or flick of his hat brim or his duck puppet is voiced by a squeak tone from the Magic Pipe. This all fits together with the quirky nature of his music and lyrical themes. like "Step Into Striped Light", "Mustaches", or "Weasel Potpie". As silly and playful as it can get, though, the songs are never throwaway. The heavy poly-rhythms are perfect for dancing and the lyrics have plenty of hooks for the crowd to join in on.


As expected, That 1 Guy featured several songs from his latest release, Poseidon's Deep Water Adventure Friends (review), tweaked for live performance. In particular, his arrangement of "Whale Race" developed a rich character of synth-driven post rock that fit well with the exotic minor key scales of the piece. Of course, many of the crowd favorites made their appearance, too, from an intensely danceable "Ft. Collins remix" of "Buttmachine" to "The Moon is Disgusting", which he eased into slowly before letting it become the audience sing-along it usually is.


That 1 Guy was a perfect show to start the year off. Technically impressive, his show blended intellectual fun with insistent visceral grooves. Most of the crowd was already very familiar with his catalog, but he still managed to throw in some surprises. Playing in the moment, he reacted naturally to everything from song requests and losing a drum stick, to a woman's demand that he wear her tutu. Acquiescing to this last request, he might have been our puppet, but he owned it by incorporating it into the song. Most importantly, he reflected the crowd's energy with a grateful appreciation for our attention. We, in turn, were just as beholden to him.



More photos on my Flickr.

Recording review - The Melvins, Hold It In (2014)

Super group offers metallic crunch and twisted art noise

Some visitors are conscientious, happy to drop by and help with the chores, but they’d never overstay their welcome or be too forward. Others are more domineering, taking over the house and disrupting everything. On Hold It In, Buzz Osborne and Dale Crover of the Melvins invited Paul Leary and J.D. Pinkus of the Butthole Surfers to the party, and these guests moved in and joined the family. Rather than mere featured performers, Leary and Pinkus became equal collaborators on the album, which couples the Melvins’ characteristic metallic crunch gristle with the Surfers’ twisted art noise. That combination stays true to each band’s modus operandi while offering some very interesting surprises.

The super group eases into the partnership with “Bride of Crankenstein”, which has the Melvins taking the lead. The sludgy heavy metal opening sets up a steady methodical grind. The track is dedicated to a classic head-banging groove. Basso rhythm guitar provides a rough foundation for buzzsaw accent fills, while the background is choked with chaotic static. The bridge opens up the tune, beginning with a flickering electronic reference to Edgar Winter’s “Frankenstein” that ushers in a new harmonic progression. The song rips into these chords to soften the ground for a pair of guitar solos that show off Leary and Osborne’s different styles. First, Leary lets fly a burst of loose, double-stop bends that decay into sloppy chromatic flail, releasing some of the simmering tension of the piece. Osborne closes out the interlude with a brief but wicked run that starts out as a smooth wail before tightening into a sweet bit of shred.

Two songs later, we get a better sense of this four-headed beast with “Brass Cupcake”. At first, it’s just a crunchy rocker with an interesting vocal arrangement. Osborne gamely lays out the surrealistic, simplistic lyrics, while Leary periodically drops in to repeat whatever line just passed by with a scream, like a disturbed Greek chorus. Those intervals of echolalia are backed by distorted waves of guitar. The tune then falls into a low-fi Van Halen breakdown before moving into a strong, hard rock bridge. But the rock crumbles into a spacey, Alice-in-Wonderland ending, full of warped fragments. With no firm sense of transition, we find ourselves immersed in the following trippy track, “Barcelonian Horseshoe Pit”. Deep in avant-garde Butthole Surfer territory, we’re trapped in a disoriented fun house with weird tonal flashes which are mutated and chopped with back-mask. This ungrounded drift lasts for a solid two-plus minutes before coalescing somewhat into a dismal pseudo-song that takes its inspiration from Bauhaus’ “Bela Lugosi’s Dead”. Amid drum solos, hazy confusion and bits of baleful guitar, the band tenders this as their soundtrack for when the nightmare monsters finally tear through and press themselves into our world. This song pairing shows how the two bands complement one other, a yin-yang of driving rock and amorphous experiment.

Like much of the Melvins’ back catalog, Hold It In may focus on heavy proto-grunge, but actually delivers a range of musical flavors. The band’s staying power owes a lot to their out of the box thinking. While Leary and Pinkus help that along here, there are other intriguing side steps, like the electro-pop feel of “You Can Make Me Wait”, the deconstructed garage glam of “Eyes On You”, and the zombie western twang of “I Get Along (Hollow Moon)”. One of the best is the meandering track, “The Bunk Up”. A stutter beat rhythm sets a nü-wave funky mood with an angular punch while the theatrical vocals are reminiscent of The Tubes’ more artsy work. That initial section gives way to an edgy perspective of an arena rock bridge. As that wraps up, rather than just falling back to the opening changes, the tune roams further afield with a mellow jam band groove, full of back-masked melodic musing. Eventually, the lazy flow finds its way back into the dark, with sneering vocals and a goth metal gait. There’s nothing predictable about it, but it truly satisfies.

Osborne has long idolized Leary for his playing and Hold It In is probably all he could have hoped for. In any case, it succeeds in showing how well the Melvins could integrate the Butthole Surfers’ avant-garde spin into their musical house. The album features a fair amount of redecorating and adjustment, but all time-shares should run this smooth.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Coming attractions - Primus, "Golden Ticket"

Here come the Bastards. 

Well, that was my first instinct when I heard that Primus' next release would be an homage to the classic "Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory". But the more I thought about Les Claypool's cracked reflection juxtaposed with Gene Wilder's beloved character, some of the ludicrous logic began to make a kind of warped sense. The big question in my mind is whether he'd find his own expression of Wonka or whether it would owe more to Johnny Depp's spin. Primus' dark slant argues for the latter, but the earlier taste of "Pure Imagination" was sufficiently intriguing that any real judgment will have to await Primus & the Chocolate Factory with the Fungi Ensemble. Part Tom Waits inspired percussion (thanks, Mike Dylan) and part uneasy Claypoolean dreaminess, the song is pure Primus weirdness, but the focused moodiness has a calculated clarity that contrasts well with the hyper-attack the band is usually known for.

"Golden Ticket" offers another stop along their re-imagining of the "Willy Wonka" soundtrack. Claypool's moping, weary intro belies the optimistic lyrics, "I never had a chance to shine/ Never a happy song to sing/ But suddenly half the world is mine/ What an amazing thing." Then the tune launches into a martial beat borrowed from "Here Come the Bastards". It doesn't take long for Claypool to assume his twisted Ringmaster persona.  Although Claypool chews the scenery true to form, the music stands up well for itself.  Like their version of "Pure Imagination", the syncopation drives the tune and Sam Bass' cello solo is an expressive treat. There's also a precision that evokes Frank Zappa at his best.



I'm still not quite willing to swallow the ("Primus Bar") chocolate bars whole, but looking over the songlist which parallels the original soundtrack, I find myself eager to hear the Primus take on "The Rowing Song", "Semi-Wondrous Boat Ride", which seems to be right in their wheelhouse.

Primus & the Chocolate Factory with the Fungi Ensemble is due to release on October 21.

Concert review - Zoë Keating

3 May 2014 (Boulder Theater, Boulder CO)

For someone like me who’s used to rock arenas and noisy bars, this show was a completely different experience. With an older, less casually dressed crowd, reserved seating and respectful audience silence during the performance, it was more of a night at a string recital than at a rock concert. But the symphonic set wasn’t quite at ease either; Zoë Keating’s music didn’t really belong to their world. While her cello would have been at home in the concert hall, the technology she harnessed for looping and layering her parts challenged their comfort zone, and her sonic palette was likewise unconventional. To the warm, organic sounds of strings, Keating added percussive slaps, harsh bow scrapes and light feedback resonance to shape her motifs. But she connected to the divers crowd because she is a phenomenal player whose music carves out its own niche. Modern, new age, minimalistic, experimental, jazzy; it’s hard to nail down exactly what she does, but her music is easily recognizable as the components offset and support one another, building into obsessively layered structures.


Before she even emerged, the mood was set. The stage was stark, with nothing but her cello, loop controller and seat underneath the hot red lights, softened by a light fog. Red remained the central color, and the lighting tech did a good job of connecting with the music, supporting the accents. Keating started with an older piece, “Seven League Boots”. The initial smear of layered cello gave way to pizzicato raindrop notes that coalesced into heavier flows and rapid cascades. Aside from the beautiful precision of her playing, the stereo separation added depth. Whether directly or via programming, she controlled panning so notes were spatially located, casting the performance into a cool, in-your-headphones experience. Most impressive was that, although you could hear the looped structure, that wasn’t the most salient element of her performance. Her thematic explorations were the center of attention. Her control yielded moments of delicate beauty and intervals of stormy power. In the end, it didn’t matter whether you could follow the subtle dance of her feet guiding the loops or not; the music hypnotized and distracted. Like a master magician, she led the audience’s focus where it needed to go.


More than just a talented player, Keating has a genuine, if self-conscious, stage presence. Whether filling us in on the challenges of looping (“If you play that first thing wrong, then you have to play everything wrong”), reminiscing over her career (“Rasputina was my rock and roll finishing school”) or talking about her creative process (“I’d rather just give my pieces numbers than titles”), she reached out and overcame the formality of the concert-hall setting. That kept a wall from forming between her and her audience. The crowd showed restraint while Keating played, but her likeable persona made it easy for them to express their enthusiasm at the end of each song. After the show, she built on this with an open-ended meet-and-greet session that gave people the chance to ask questions and make a personal connection. l could hear her answer the same questions over and over, but she was patient and happy to talk with her fans.


One of the more common queries was about her upcoming album, due to be released this summer. It’s been four years since she released Into the Trees, although she’s worked on soundtracks and commercials since then. During her set, she provided a wonderful taste of her new work, but she took great pains to explain that this was the original improvised idea, rather than the “cello” epic she built in the studio. Keating plans to tour widely in support of the new release, so take advantage of the opportunity if she makes it to your town. It will be mesmerizing; be prepared to sit back and enjoy.

(A version of this review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - John Frusciante, Enclosure (2014)

Arbitrary fragments and electronic agitation

Anyone who knows John Frusciante’s guitar work with the Red Hot Chili Peppers and other rock bands will be completely nonplussed by his latest release, Enclosure.

It may even surprise the true fans that already know his avant-garde side. From his first solo album, Niandra Lades and Usually Just a T-Shirt (1994) through 2012’s PBX Funicular Intaglio Zone, Frusciante’s solo work has always distanced itself from his rock stylings, but it’s striking just how challenging this latest release is. Enclosure features some interesting guitar playing, but it’s positioned more as decoration than the central focus, which is made clear from the very start. “Shining Desert” is a loosely structured electronic soundscape. It begins with a pensive beat and peripheral swells of sound. Frusciante’s processed falsetto overlays itself but remains so low in the mix that it’s difficult to make out all of the lyrics. It’s an intentional gesture that seems to indicate that the words are not nearly as important as the mood he’s trying to create. The guitar doesn’t make its entrance until a full minute into the piece, ushered in with a tom-heavy drum flourish. From that point on, jittery percussion dominates the tune, accompanied by densely layered guitar and keyboard textures. Like a patchwork of corduroy, gingham, and silk, these fragments seemed arbitrarily tossed together without a clear artistic sense. When it can be teased out, the guitar playing is fluid and technically complex, but without a stronger context, it’s hard to appreciate.

This inauspicious beginning is followed by the slightly more coherent “Sleep”, which centers on a theatrical vocal delivery. Unfortunately, the overly busy drum machine beat eclipses the rest of the arrangement, reflecting a short attention span as it jumps from pattern to pattern. The first half of Enclosure stumbles from one experimental jumble to another. It’s not just a matter of defying rock expectations or conventions; the project seems trapped in the echo chamber of Frusciante’s studio-borne flashes of quixotic inspiration and obsessive dabbling. Music like this can sink in and grow on me over time, but the album’s first four tracks never clicked.

Perhaps in recognition of this self-indulgent noodling, Frusciante redeems himself somewhat with the fifth track, “Fanfare”. The simpler electro-pop groove is refreshingly accessible, and he reins in his restless rhythms. With a change of instrumentation, this could find a home in the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ catalog, perhaps along with the tunes on By The Way (2002). His lyrical structure is fairly open, but the quiet intensity is pleasant. Eventually, he brings in some guitar during the more aggressive bridge section, but he closes the tune with a cool, Adrian Belew style section, replete with swells of reverse-gated runs. In this case, the outsider approach ornaments the introspective dignity of the piece.

On the next track, “Cinch”, Frusciante finally opens up on the guitar. This instrumental establishes a mournful procession, which provides a good base for his expressive riffing. As the drums sink into nervous, over-the-top fills, the guitar finds a balance between the dolorous foundation and the distracting syncopation. The remaining songs aim for something in between “Fanfare” and “Cinch”. They have a lot more musical structure than the first half of the album, but the scattered drum complexity is a relentless shadow.

A quick sampling of Frusciante’s most recent releases suggests a developing artistic arc. The Empyrean (2009) was more traditionally structured, but incorporated synth elements and a fair amount of production. PBX Funicular Intaglio Zone leaned more heavily on electronic influences, albeit with a Zappa-esque flair, but flashes of drumbeat anxiety do surface. Enclosure magnifies that sense of agitation and embraces it. The promotional push for the album offers another perspective. The album was sent up on a small Cube Satellite and streamed to a custom mobile app for the week or so before the release date. Enclosure’s lack of flow and clarity may just reflect where Frusciante’s head is at these days: somewhere out in the fringes.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Reissue review: Camper Van Beethoven, Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart/Key Lime Pie

Best intentions didn't find their audience at the time, but the reissues show creativity under pressure

It may have seemed like a good idea at the time, but it was just another case of a record label casting around for the Next Big Thing. Camper Van Beethoven’s first three albums, packed with a quirky mix of Eastern European folk, psychedelia and punk, had scored well with critics and college radio, so Virgin Records signed the band in 1987 and probably hoped for the best. Virgin followed the standard major-label script and tried to support the band, but inevitably applied their own creative aesthetic. The production polished the band’s sound and added horns, but it also sanded away some of the character. The musical mélange was still there, but the chaos was more bottled up and the emphasis was on the vocals. Despite all of that effort, they likely didn’t quite understand the end result. They gave Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart the usual record company push and generated some interest on MTV, but the mainstream audience seemed as confused as the Virgin executives must have been. A year later, the label gave it another shot with Key Lime Pie. By that time, though, band tensions were growing; multi-instrumentalist Jonathan Segel had already left. Their cover of Status Quo’s “Pictures of Matchstick Men” did fairly well, but the rest of the band imploded shortly afterwards.

It’s a shame that Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart never really found its audience. It may not have been destined for mainstream acceptance, but it also missed the mark with many of the band’s long-time fans. While it’s full of gypsy-tinged psychedelia along with David Lowery’s surrealistic lyrics, the band seems less intriguing and the mood is a bit darker. Even when a song does deconstruct itself, like the middle section of “She Divines Water”, it’s just a brief interlude. Lowery’s poetic love song grows in scope, flowering into a celebration of joy and uplifting violin, before melting into a disorienting memory palace of associations. But after a mere 20 seconds or so, a gentle version of the theme returns to put the song to bed. Similarly, while “Turquoise Jewelry” does take advantage of the horn section to suggest early Oingo Boingo’s dark carnival style, the song itself is less exploratory than their earlier material.

Although the original release benefited from the better quality engineering that Virgin provided, this reissue does a fine job of demonstrating the technical improvements since then. Listening to “Waka”, the individual tracks shine with clarity. As the acid rock instrumental steps through its paces, each layer is distinct. The package also includes the usual run of extra tracks. The band honors their punk roots by covering the Buzzcocks, the Damned, and the Stranglers, along with a surprising version of Paul Simon’s “Kodachrome”. But the two most interesting songs are their instrumental surf guitar take on the well-known spiritual, “Wade in the Water” and a Frankenstein’s monster edit reuniting the two parts of “Eye of Fatima”. The former works surprisingly well, summoning the intensity of the Ventures and other surf icons, but the “Eye of Fatima” mash-up doesn't quite score. The two source pieces share a title, but little else; part one is a solid rocker while part two is a slow burn folk-to-psychedelic head-trip. This edit grafts the instrumental onto the end of the rocker, sacrificing the slower intro section of part two. A sharp segue barely attempts to mask the join. That’s the only real misstep on this rerelease.

Although Key Lime Pie continued Camper Van Beethoven’s move towards a more controlled sound and it’s their only album without Segel, I’ve always liked it better than Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart. It has a stronger set of songs, especially the one-two punch of “Opening Theme” into “Jack Ruby” that contrasts two perspectives. The first tune is a stately instrumental, relying largely on the violin for moody ambiance. Although Lowery can sneer and effortlessly generate quirky imagery, this kind of melting pot of stylistic influences is what has always attracted me. The hypnotically snaking melody suggests a different era and culture. “Jack Ruby”, on the other hand, opens with a discordant run of acoustic guitar that pushes the piece off balance. Like Sweetheart, this reissue features the same clarity, making it easier to distinguish that what I had originally heard as an echo is actually a second, out of phase guitar. If “Opening Theme” has a well-mannered Old World folk feel, Lowery makes this a modern folk song with his raw recounting of Jack Ruby and the murder of Lee Harvey Oswald. The new mix also brings the electric guitar fills even further to the front. Other great tracks on the album include the off-kilter “The Light from a Cake” and “(I Was Born In a) Laundromat”, which predates “Smells Like Teen Spirit”, but serves up some righteous proto-grunge.

Key Lime Pie takes a different turn for its extra tracks. After “Closing Theme”, which was originally intended to bookend “Opening Theme”, the band serves up a fun, psychedelic remix of “Laundromat” that’s over the top with excess: screaming metallic guitar riffs, back-masked segments and a frat boy chant (“Go! Go! Go!"). Most of the remaining extra tunes are clean but compressed concert recordings of songs from the band’s back catalog. One exception is their live cover of the country classic, “Before I Met You”. The song was originally a hit for Carl Smith in the ‘50s, and Charlie Pride and Porter Wagoner got mileage in the ‘60s. The intro demonstrates the similarity between this melody and “Sad Lovers Waltz”. This take is a duet between Lowery and Segel’s replacement, Morgan Fichter.

These two reissues show Camper Van Beethoven doing their best to tap their creativity from within the confines of their record label. Their sound never did reach the mainstream; Lowery would be much more successful at that with his next band, Cracker. But the improved mix and extras make both of these packages attractive. Omnivore even offers each in vinyl format as well.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Concert review - Beats Antique with Blockhead and Itchy-O Marching Band

11 April 2014 (Fillmore Auditorium, Denver CO)

A Thousand Faces and a thousand stories. Beats Antique took to Kickstarter last year to raise money, not for their planned album, A Thousand Faces, but to create a world class show to tour their new album. Showmanship has always been key for this exotic electronic group. While their music is heavily produced and full of intriguing layers of sound from around the world, their shows are rituals of tribal dance fusion driven by insistent rhythms and spectacle.

Choreographer and belly dancer Zoe Jakes deserves a lot of the credit for shaping the band’s stage presence. When I first saw the group in 2011, I was entranced by her dancing, which not only provided a context for the tunes, but also inspired the audience to abandon themselves to the physicality of the music. Jakes and her partners, David Satori and Sidecar Tommy Cappel, balanced at a nexus of rave, cultural outreach and ritual. The Fillmore was several times larger than that 2011 concert venue, and the new show took full advantage, delivering an overwhelming spectacle that rivaled any big pop band production. The Kickstarter money was well-spent on video projection technology from Obscura Digital, top-notch lighting and, of course, alluring costumes and choreography.

Opening acts: Itchy-O Marching Band, Blockhead

The opening acts each found their own contact points with the Beats Antique experience. Denver’s Itchy-O Marching Band paraded around the outside of the venue with their chaotic electro-rhythmic blare before making their entrance through the main doors. Their bright and blinking uniforms couldn’t offset the dark menace of their masked faces.

In contrast, producer/DJ Blockhead (Tony Simon) didn’t try to compete visually. Instead, he kicked off his set with a spooky riff full of intensely layered percussion. The sound of spirits in the shadows and foreign scales suited Beats Antique’s sonic palette, but he went on to evolve long-form pieces, moving through dance, sexy R&B and jazz before returning to the stranger tones he started with. His sample selections—a well-placed and mutated bit of “The Lion Sleeps Tonight,” a jazzy take on “Sunny” against a moody soul groove—sprinkled tasty little surprises throughout his set.

Beats Antique

Before Beats Antique began their show, their stage was filled with boxy blocks that looked like a collection of white birdhouse blanks. Along with the backing scrim, these would become screens for the video projection. Cappel’s drum kit was behind and above one line of blocks while Satori’s collection of instruments was set behind the other. As the music started, these boxes became a small village with a large gnarled tree in the town square. The effect was strong, with Cappel and Satori embedded within the scene. The music was a blend of live instrumentation and pre-recorded parts. So, in addition to his other gear, Satori played producer, mixing parts into the song. As the tune built up energy, the projection turned psychedelic, flashing swirls of high contrast op-art over the stage, but still preserving the tree as a centerpiece.

The imagery shifted for each song, becoming a Southeast Asian temple for Jakes’ first dance. Later, we’d appreciate the versatility of the set up as it transitioned through a mind-blowing collection of tableaux: retro Asian pen-and-ink animations, a game show set, a giant snake’s lair and a video game battlefield among others. The set designers did a fantastic job of delivering this variety without letting the technology become the focus. It was easy to forget the initial blocky appearance and become immersed in the show. Similarly, the set and live instrumentation distracted from the technical aspects of the backing tracks.


Jakes’ stage craft also played a strong part. Her mesmerizing movements created a focal point and storyline for the songs to hang on. Aside from belly dancing and modern interpretive dance, she used elements of Kabuki, Balinese dance and other cultural traditions. She was stylized and theatrical, but still drew on an earthy physicality. One of the strongest moments came during “Viper’s Den.” Her costume simulated snakeskin with a slinky sheath and cobra-like headpiece. After writhing around in sinuous seduction, she melted back into the set and another dancer enveloped her from behind, hiding her from view. Suddenly, the pair unfolded and revealed Jakes’ costume change. Her dress and headpiece were gone, and the two were decked out as fan dancers. Where her earlier expression had been wicked and intense, now she played the tease with broad bawdiness.

Even the campier tunes from A Thousand Faces played well. During the game show pastiche “Doors of Destiny,” a volunteer took his chances picking one of three doors to receive either “Eternal damnation, everlasting life or unlimited bandwidth and one year’s free technical support.” Of course, that didn’t go well, and he was attacked by a giant inflatable demon during the song’s glitch-step grinding climax. Later, Beats Antique performed their song “Beelzebub” with a pre-recorded Claymation by Les Claypool.

The overwhelming spectacle, exotic music and visceral bass punch contributed to the rave atmosphere. Dozens of Zoe acolytes danced their own steps, and every third person wore some kind of crazy outfit. The audience often competes with the stage at this kind of show, but glow sticks and LED displays merely added ambiance.

More photos on my Flickr.

Recording review - Bike For Three!, So Much Forever (2014)

Can a true partnership be bigger than Kanye's ego?

Sometimes, it seems like hip hop has become a kind of musical cilantro or bacon. It’s the hipster ingredient to add to any tired or bland project to give it a spark of relevance. Mashed up the other way, pairing a rap delivery with an unexpected backing track (Classical! Country!), the juxtaposition usually serves as an ironic in-joke. It’s not really even clever anymore, and I’ve gotten tired of strained cross-breeding that tries to pass itself off as creativity. Which brings us to Bike For Three!, the unlikely partnership between rapper Buck 65 and electronic producer Greetings From Tuskan (Joëlle Lê). Their story follows a Hollywood anti-pattern; let’s call it “not-meet-cute.” The conceit is that the rapper and the Belgian producer connected on MySpace (cue the endorsement ops), but have never met in person, despite collaborating on two albums now.

Buck 65 has always favored more unusual backing tracks, so Lê’s electronic grooves fall well within his abstract M.O. The surprise is that the two have created a unique fusion that reflects a balanced dynamic between their two worlds. Their latest release, So Much Forever, is no mere gimmicked mashup; it’s outsider hip hop that pushes creative boundaries. Rather than grafting one approach onto the other, these two artists bring each of their own worlds together, and neither one truly dominates. The tracks reflect a mutual respect and openness; together they accomplish things that neither could achieve alone. An album like this stands in direct contrast to a project like Kanye West’s Yeezus. West is a self-proclaimed genius, and while he fished around for ideas to flesh out his creative vision, there was never a doubt that every provocative piece of Yeezus was part of his overarching plan. Bike For Three! is less interested in making their audience prove their love than in challenging one another. Lê’s electro-pop dreaminess makes the tunes float while Buck provides the grounding. His emotional honesty rises to the top, but then her ethereal vocals, mostly in French, can transform the songs to find a more objective perspective.

The give and take keeps either voice from drowning out the other. Buck often syncopates his flow to augment the solid beat of the backing track, but Lê in turn takes his vocals and mutates it into more fodder for the mix. Exotic and solid, organic and electro-mechanical, tight with tension and freely floating – the dynamic balance holds your attention for the whole duration.

The album eases into view with a gentle, ambient track, appropriately titled “Intro”. The calm heartbeat and soft washes provide little preparation for the slick armored sound of the first real song, “Full Moon”, which is built on a foundation of Berlin-style synth pop. The steady pulsation creates a delicious tension. The pair sets up a cool trick they’ll use throughout the whole album, alternating Lê’s softly-echoed feminine vocals with the harder edge of Buck’s tightly wound male bass. The tagline, “Who can sleep, at a time like this,“ repeats, evolving from simple observation to indignant accusation before Lê mutilates her sweetly floating vocal line and moves the song into a more modern glitch electronica.

That caught my ear, but a couple of songs later, “Heart As Hell” sealed the deal. Built on a thoughtful, electro-pop base with tentative brushes of reverberating piano, the initial singing is distant and dreamy, more of a memory than a lead line. Buck’s lyrics are somber and emotionally bare, “I have two hearts and one of them is hard as Hell.” His imagery is beautifully economic, fitting a lot into the tight rhyming runs: “It’s vertigo in reverse/ Devoted and cursed/ It hurts/ Exploded and worse.” A ratcheting drumbeat clicks like the clock ticking away his time. The second verse flowers into a longer series, maintaining flow and rhythm, relentlessly checking off an inventory of dissatisfaction. It culminates in a bitter, “Sometimes the mind is paradise/ And the heart is Hell.” At this point, the production processes Buck’s voice and blends it into the electro substrate. The constant see-saw of “heart” and “hard” creates its own ambiguity. The moodiness ripples across the remaining tracks.

“Heart As Hell” proved to be my favorite track, but there are plenty of other strong contenders. The motorik drive and introspective lyrics of “Ethereal Love” make it a standout tune. “Stay Close Until We Reach The End” is also compelling as it builds on a droning start with creepy shards of disquiet as Lê’s chopped and damaged vocals page through a catalog of despair française, “Désillusion/ Fatale/ Tragédie…”. When Buck comes in with his precisely off-kilter delivery, the disturbing quality deepens.

By the time So Much Forever closes on “Outro” and its faster heartbeat, it’s impossible to say which of the two collaborators is figure or ground because the contributions are so interdependent. Bike For Three! may not be as confrontational as Kanye’s Yeezus, but it’s just as strong an artistic statement.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Sam Shalabi, Music for Arabs (2014)

Difficult, disorganized, dippy, and defiant

Can a 50-year-old man write anything relevant about Miley Cyrus’ musical and cultural significance? Well, if he has a teenage daughter, he might have enough of a clue to get his bearings. But otherwise he’s stuck with an outsider’s perspective. Sam Shalabi’s new album poses its own related challenge, throwing down a gauntlet for the uninitiated. Although the title, Music for Arabs, might appear to indicate his target audience, that’s just a feint. While Shalabi draws heavily on his Egyptian musical roots, the chaotic experimental approach is actually geared towards fans of “difficult-listening music.” The opening track, “Music for the Egyptians”, begins with a 23 second smoke screen of oddly accented rock ’n’ roll drums before slipping off the rails. The instrumentation, rhythm, and scale runs provide a whiff of Arabic aesthetic, but the breakneck tempo crushes it all together into a cacophony of percussion and frantic notes. It’s more reminiscent of poking sticks into bicycle spokes than music. To be charitable, it could be seen as a kind of commentary on the fast pace of Egyptian urban life, but that’s little comfort. The music eventually becomes a backdrop for a rambling Arabic conversation. I’m not convinced that understanding the language would have made this more interesting. About five and a half minutes in, the speaking stops and the piece turns into an Edgard Varèse style “organized sound” composition. The musical timbres and beats are irregular, but at least I have the rubric to appreciate this a bit more as Shalabi creates a suspenseful, cinematic feel. At 8:50, the piece transitions again, setting up a droning undertone of keyboard wash and wandering synthesized bagpipe melodies before dissolving away.

If “Music for the Egyptians” is quite off-putting, it still offers hints of an attractive musical realm. The second track, “Luxor Dancer”, is a deliberately obtuse artistic statement rather than a serious musical offering. Shalabi gives us 30-odd seconds of bicycle spokes again and then falls into a deconstructed disco parody. Imagine Mr. Hankey from “South Park” belting out, “I want to dance/ I’ve been to France,” in his strained falsetto and you get the idea. By the time a weird southern character drops in to drawl about dancing and his dog, Jenny, it’s impossible to take Shalabi very seriously.

Interestingly enough, though, if the listener can make it past these two formidable hurdles, Music for Arabs grudgingly delivers on the initial expectations. The music becomes less confrontational, tempering the strangeness with more traditional Arabic sounds. The fusion of influences leads to some more intriguing work. “The Wherewithal” starts with a meditative oud riff over a steady beat. Light flashes of distortion hover at the edges, but the mood remains thoughtful as the oud meanders along. As the tremolo picking builds intensity, the fuzzy ambiance comes to dominate and the song evolves into a chaotic Velvet Underground tribute, echoing some of Lou Reed’s guitar work on “European Son”. Shalabi gives himself over to the psychedelic jam approach that he’s favored in his other band, The Shalabi Effect, and it’s very engaging.

The album wraps up with “Music for the Egyptians, Pt. 2”, which counterbalances the opening track. It’s packed with restless melody, tracing a path and then reversing direction only to retrace again. If the first tune gave a sense of modern Egypt, this song makes a strong case for the power of tradition. In an interview with fellow musician Alan Bishop on Forced Exposure, Shalabi described Music for Arabs as “a very playful fuck you to that whole cultural colonialism of the serious musicologist, who sees Arabic music as this happy little palatable ‘entertainment’ for Westerners.” “Music for the Egyptians Part 2” serves as his peace offering to them and to the rest of us for persevering through the first two tracks.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - That 1 Guy, Poseidon's Deep Water Adventure Friends (2014)

A nautical concept album, orchestrated with absurdist flair

That 1 Guy's latest album is all wet. The first release in a projected four-part "Magicland" series, Poseidon's Deep Water Adventure Friends is a concept album anchored down in the ocean depths. The individual songs are all connected through that nautical theme, although the continuity ebbs and flows. But even if the narrative is a bit disjointed, That 1 Guy (Mike Silverman) keeps listeners engaged with his usual mix of Frank Zappa-style absurdism and storytelling flair.

Silverman's fans are already familiar with his showmanship and technical chops on his self-designed instrument, the Magic Pipe. Something like a high tech diddley bow, the pipe combines two bass-string shafts and a collection of synthesizer triggers. Silverman performs as a one man band, bowing, plucking, and tapping his way to a wide range of sounds. Although his act is best appreciated live, his recorded work is plenty entertaining, even without the visual impact. Poseidon's Deep Water Adventure Friends continues that with catchy songs and full arrangements.


The album sets sail with "The Great Navigator", with the Magic Pipe providing the creaking sway of ropes, wood, and canvas. Ambient sounds back the cello-like tones, contributing to the mood. Silverman gives this instrumental prelude a rich, cinematic sound, full of grandeur. With this send off, the adventure really begins with "Infinite Depths at the Bottom of the Sea". Here, Silverman summons the post-rock excitement and optimism of early Styx and Rush, with staccato arpeggios and windmill chords and an undercurrent of electronica. His voice is deep and resonant like the mature Iggy Pop as he begins, "It used to be the greatest tale that's ever been told/ And it can't compare to what we're gonna see and where we're gonna go." He continues to set up a mythology of mystery under the ocean. The music feels adventurous as it melds Indian/East Asian electro beats with a progressive rock aesthetic. His wordplay here is really fun, "And we'll never get away to infinity/ Because the infinite's only in its infancy/ And when the infants all swim away to infamy/ At the bottom of the sea..." He relates the tale of a crew lost in lateral motion on the sea's surface, but it becomes clear that they were destined to head in a different direction

This leads to the arpeggiated excitement of "Poseidon", where Silverman portrays the underwater god with a fathoms deep pitch-shifted voice. The verses create a sense of expectation, but they're punctuated by a crunchy rock vamp. That heavy sound is revisited in the driving grind of "Electramafied", which also recalls Geddy Lee's work with Rush.

Silverman closes out the album by returning his adventurers to the land in "The Breakers and the Brine". All in all, the story itself is relatively shallow; his characters had some interesting encounters and they take stock during this tune, but it's not particularly linear. That 1 Guy makes it explicit that this is only "the first of four seasons," so more clarity may be forthcoming. Rather than get hung up on the narrative, though, it's probably best to just enjoy the songs and their shared context. The music hangs together well, with a stronger sense of Indian rhythms and electronic grooves than his earlier releases. He's always incorporated synth beats in his work, but they're more pervasive here, perhaps because he's moved away from the butt-shaking funk feel he's often favored in the past. I miss some of that visceral thump, but Silverman is pushing himself artistically. The pieces on Poseidon's Deep Water Adventure Friends feel more orchestrated but still retain his unique musical voice and vision. I'm glad to have joined him on this outing and I'm looking forward to the next installment from Magicland.

Recording review - ÄÄNIPÄÄ, Through a Pre-Memory (2013)

Dramatic textures mired in experimental murk

Can you get too much of a bad thing? A bass beat rumble and detuned guitar strums set the foreboding mood at the very start of Through a Pre-Memory. Joined by an artificial snare and strangely reverberating voices, the ironically named “Muse” is like a gateway into schizophrenic darkness. The dissonant chord progression climbs a couple of steps in an irregular repetition, but, like Sisyphus, always slips back to its starting point. Within the first two minutes, the bleak, defeatist feeling is almost overwhelming and it’s daunting to realize that the track still has another 19 minutes to run. The sonic palette extends to include additional ghostly intrusions: short, insectile squiggles of electronic static like a bad patch cable and jarring echoes of noise that might have their roots in an abused guitar. At 5:22, Alan Dubin from the doom metal band, Khanate, makes his first appearance. Hosting us on our haunted house tour, he roughly shouts a few lines from the writings of Russian poet Anna Akhmatova. The experimental experience transitions into a new ethereal realm, dominated by squeals, squonks and otherworldly echoes. Eventually, at 12:23, Dubin returns to assault us with a rawly screamed accusation that begins, “When/ At night/ I wait for her.” His feral ranting is matched by a metal guitar grind. At this point, it’s so disturbing that it’s easy to look back fondly on the welcoming embrace of the song’s beginning.

Of course, ÄÄNIPÄÄ is not interested in creating pretty music; they’re more engaged in capturing dramatic moments. The two members each have their own experimental approaches that find complementary expression in this duo. Mika Vainio, of Pan Sonic, has long crafted industrial-flavored electronic soundscapes, calculated to evoke tension and doubt. Guitarist Stephen O’Malley leverages both his doom-metal aesthetic and the heavy droning darkness of his band, Sunn O))), to find textures that evoke a hypnotic nihilism. The two artists connected when their bands collaborated on a 2009 cover of Suicide’s “Che”. On this project, they grant themselves full freedom to explore the shadows together.

The remaining three long-playing tracks on Through a Pre-Memory provide their own sojourns through soul-crushing, twilight realms. None of this is cheery, but “Toward All Thresholds” finds the most peace. It slowly thaws to reveal a strange, ambient locale, surrounded by the low buzz of unseen creatures. As night falls, swirls and swoops of sound briefly drift close then dart away. This disorienting sonic sculpture gradually collects details and transitions from a natural space to a grander view of alien artifacts. Vainio’s bass-heavy techno throb underlies this section like a mechanical heartbeat while O’Malley’s guitar accents the piece’s throaty hum with splashes of awe-struck fear. The machine-like drone grows until all is paralyzed. A sharp cut-off and we pass through the doorway, spending the final two minutes in a barren zone, having lost all sense of direction.

It’s very evocative music. This kind of murky catharsis has its satisfying moments, but ÄÄNIPÄÄ pushes so deeply into obscure spaces that the pieces start to drag and lose power. Dubin’s harsh vocals on both “Muse” and the last track, “Watch Over Stillness / Matters Principle”, do contribute to the fearful atmosphere, but ultimately become more of an annoyance. Like most experimental forays, it’s all a matter of taste, but Through a Pre-Memory was too bitter-metallic for me.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Adrian Utley, In C (2013)

Minimally engaged, but unattached: a successful experiment

Terry Riley’s landmark 1964 composition, In C, is often credited with spawning the minimalist movement. It inspired Steven Reich and, by extension, Philip Glass, but it rippled out to affect more mainstream music as well; Pete Townshend titled his synth-driven “Baba O’Riley” as a tip of the hat to its influence. Riley’s piece broke ground by tying musical serialism to an indeterminate process. Indeterminacy dated back to experimental work by Charles Ives and later musicians like John Cage, but Riley’s approach was easier for audiences to grasp and appreciate. Rather than using a traditional score, the piece is defined by a set of 53 melodic fragments and an open-ended process for performance. It calls for an arbitrary number of musicians to play each of the phrases in order, repeating them at will and staying within two or three patterns of the group. Performers have the discretion for how they play the pieces: in unison with others, offset by some amount or dropping out altogether. It’s an interesting dynamic because the process inherently relies on chance and individual judgment, but the building blocks were carefully constructed and ordered to provide a rich set of connecting points.

In C has been performed and recorded numerous times over the years, with all sorts of ensembles. Adrian Utley’s variation is based on a 19-player guitar orchestra backed by four organs and a bass clarinet. Utley is best known for his work with the moody, electronically-inclined Portishead, but he’s had an enduring interest in experimental music featuring large groups of guitars. His arrangement of In C is somewhat slower than Riley’s first recording, but that doesn’t impact the carefully unfolding flow of moods throughout the piece. From intrigue and pensive tension to more expansive contemplation, Utley’s group breathes through the patterns with a Zen focus. Each moment is imbued with attention, but the group remains unattached, free to follow the currents shaped by the interlocking layers. The guitars provide a range of textures. Square-wave fuzz coexists with acoustic purity and angelic chime.



While the music does have fluidity, it’s also kaleidoscopic. Mirrored elements slip past one another, creating order that ever collapses into a new alignment. Individual sections have their mood and meaning, but the flow itself erodes the localized context, denying any global sense of purpose. The only constant is Riley’s eighth note pulse, the percussive heartbeat that drives the piece. This raises the fundamental question that underlies aleatoric and minimalist music: is it intentional enough to count as art? Human perception is programmed for pattern recognition. Faced with a stream of input, we inevitably find meaning or create it within ourselves. We can choose to interpret the staccato repetition around the nine-minute mark as a kind of vaguely-sensed threat or hear the rising fractal echoes over 22 minutes in as a beautiful, abstract mystery coalescing into concrete reality. It’s all a mere mirage—or is it something more? Is there a deeper significance? In C depends on the judgment of the musicians and they are just as vulnerable to the strange attractor of pattern recognition, but they don’t necessarily see the same pattern. Any individual shaping is buried within the hive mind of the larger orchestra. And yet, Riley sculpted these particular snippets of melody that set the structure. One argument for art is that different incarnations of his composition seem to find similar or at least familiar moments.

It’s hard to say how many Portishead fans will engage with Utley’s guitar orchestra; 60 odd minutes of minimalism may be too much for them to bite off. But the album is sure to appeal to aficionados of experimental and ambient musicians like Brian Eno or the Orb, as well as traditional minimalists.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Whiskey Blanket, From the Dead of Dark (2013)

Artistic risks pay off on this spaghetti Western concept album

Brothers and sisters, would you willingly throw away your crutches? The hip-hop band Whiskey Blanket has built a unique sound around their quirky mix of beatboxing, orchestral instruments, and atypical backing music.And it was just that gimmicky blend that initially hooked me to the group. Their newest album, From the Dead of Dark, shows off the band's self-confidence as they blithely discard two of those three elements: no rapid-fire beatbox rhythms and a complete absence of street-classical mashup grooves. With well-founded faith, they rely on their solid raps and musical vision to carry the album. Their last project, No Object (2010), offered a growth spurt of lyrical continuity and production over 2007's Credible Forces. But on their latest drop, they've raised their sights and created a concept album tied together with a pervasive musical thread while they continue to tap into a surprising set of genres for their backing tracks. Where No Object emphasized a jazzy feel along with the classical touches, From the Dead of Dark draws on spaghetti Westerns and Eastern European jazz elements for a cohesive sound.

Shadows fill the album, with moody music and horrorshow touches of zombies and ghouls. The embedded storyline -- three of the tracks are explicitly identified as chapter one, two, and three -- is oblique, but interesting. The first track, "The Story Unfolds (Ch. 1)", introduces a boy who becomes cynical about people and turns towards darkness. Several songs later, "Hell & High Water (Ch. 2)" tells the story of a woman who breaks her lover out of prison to save his life. Finally, "City of Shadows (Ch. 3)" rounds out the triptych with a tale of the zombie apocalypse where the hero dies, but passes on his torch to a mysterious, bloody "angel". The narrative thread may be hard to find, but musical motifs tie the pieces together, allowing the listener to draw their own connections between the three.

From the Dead of Dark stakes out its ground from the start. A simple piano vamps through the changes, ornamented with a whistled melody and light harmonica. "The Story Unfolds"? Well, it unfolds patiently as the band builds this into a full blown soundtrack layered with guitar, horns, and choral accompaniment. They drag the instrumental introduction out for almost two minutes before letting the lyrics drop:

We start life not knowing much,
Unaware of what it's like to be grown up
This story unfolds with a boy and his soul
And an idea that would play a poisonous role
Now he's not your typical archetype
Lost child, brought up on bibles and market hype
Nah, he's the antithesis of orthodox
Who's seen the dissonance of people livin' in Pandora's Box...

This opening is delivered loosely, rhymes slipping into place with just a little room to move. Once the rock beat kicks in, the lyrical flow picks up speed, jumping between the rappers and pulling the words into the beat.

The next track is more unsettling, starting with a trippy, back-masked loop before locking into steady beat with retro easy-listening vocal touches and a scratched and chopped musical track. The album really wakes up, though, on the Euro-jazz inspired "Blotto Nox". The rap revs up right out of the gate and never slows down. With a freestyle flow, each of the guys take their turn kicking the mic, chaining internal rhymes and overwhelming the ear. Gypsy violins and turntable scratches lay down a wonderfully exotic groove that provides all the syncopation and rhythmic complexity an emcee could ever need.

The next track, "Dinner With Ghouls", adds its own musical twist, blending early jazz with a bit of big band: "This is zombie surf-punk, hip Goth, Gypsy pop/ Indie rock, traded in the synth for a Lindy Hop". The delivery is slower paced, but that gives the audience more time to appreciate the clever phrases as they roll by. This song also features a sung chorus that contributes to the big band feel while it shows off the band's harmonies.

Next up, jam-folker Bonnie Paine (Elephant Revival) reprises her guest role from No Object to sing "Hell & High Water (Ch. 2)". The lonesome Western arrangement complements her sultry voice, which summons up the ghosts of missed opportunity with the tagline, "It's too late, too late, too late/ Now the deed is done." The band's artistic decision here is telling. From the Dead of Dark is indisputably a hip-hop album, full  of solid, textbook rapping, but although this track sets a hip-hop beat behind the moody music,  it lets Paine's singing take center stage. Surprises like this push out some boundaries, but that's not the band's end goal. Instead, it just flows out of their off-beat aesthetic of building interesting backing tracks and bringing them to the foreground.

Whiskey Blanket's creative risks were definitely worth the effort. From the Dead of Dark doesn't limp along without the band's crutches; it dances and breaks. Throughout it all, the boys show off their emcee skills. The chemistry between the three members offers plenty of change up, but their parts are carefully crafted to join in perfect balance. I'm still hoping for their classic stunts during the show, like Funny Biz's one-two beatbox-cello punch, but I'm happy to hear them develop their sound. This is a band that deserves much wider distribution.

For a taste of the dark, enjoy the album trailer.