Recording review - Nine Inch Nails, Hesitation Marks (2013)

Resurrected from the same old ground

No matter where you go, there you are. Temporary distractions and denial eventually bow to the truth and the truth is not pretty. Over the last two and a half decades, Trent Reznor used Nine Inch Nails to circle back repeatedly to these themes, that we are stuck within ourselves with all of our base drives and messy thinking. Much like probing a nasty toothache, his music satisfied a natural fascination with pain, darkness, and nihilism. Embracing this bleak perspective for a while offers catharsis. Reznor worked and reworked this ground, challenging his audience to follow him deeper into the blackness, but by 2009, he flagged. He decided to put the band on hiatus and focus his energies on other projects. His film scores garnered praise, including an Oscar for his score on The Social Network (2010), and he lined up a new group called How to Destroy Angels with his wife, Mariqueen Maandig, and longtime collaborator Atticus Ross. Something must have been missing, though, because, four years later, Hesitation Marks resurrects Nine Inch Nails and it’s like nothing has changed. The album stands up well to Reznor’s back catalog, but also offers little in the way of new extremes or untried directions for the band except for a stronger reliance on electronic influences.

After “The Eater of Dreams” creates a brief soundscape with the requisite undercurrent of strain and isolation, the album truly gets underway with “Copy of A”. This tune pairs nervous 8-bit electronica with a tight, motorik drum machine. Reznor’s vocal detachment serves the theme of nihilistic self-abnegation: “I am just a copy of a copy of a copy/ Everything I say has come before.” The chorus channels a more amorphous frustration, but, although the piece follows a classic NIN structure of deadly calm transforming into anger, it promises more of an explosion that it delivers. Despite this lack of resolution which permeates the whole album, the track creates a satisfying tension. The syncopation and interlocking textures build a compelling electro-prog headspace that celebrates both Krautrock and dance club roots.

Throughout Hesitation Marks, Reznor plays with rhythm and pressure, pacing his dynamic shifts to maintain a calculated level of friction and uneasiness. This makes the low-key, hypnotic dreaminess of “Find My Way” particularly powerful. The sparse, pensive arrangement is centered on an electronic beat constructed of random bits of percussive sound. The chanted verses are simple, but the chorus gives the song its depth: a scattering of reverbed piano notes and a moaning vocal riff create a sense of longing and the promise of transcendence. It’s well developed as a standalone piece, but it also serves the role of softening the listener for the cold-splash, cynical spacy funk of “All Time Low”.

Even if Hesitation Marks largely sticks close to Reznor’s home ground, it still reflects his long-term passion for rhythm, especially intricately interlocked parts and interesting time signatures. That continues here, from the jittery start and hard-edged funk on “In Two” to the bass-heavy grind and percolating beat on “Disappointed”. These songs use the beat to create unique contexts and moods. Aside from the references to Krautrock and bits of trance and synth-rock, he finds some more accessible influences, as well. On “Various Methods of Escape”, he summons a repressed mechanical energy that comes to resemble Peter Gabriel’s “Big Time”, albeit in a more pessimistic light.

With all these familiar elements, Reznor’s only misstep is the high energy pop of “Everything”. On the surface, its contrasting sections fit the NIN formula, but the uplifting pop drive dominates the loud, noisy angst, casting it more as a whiny complaint. The poor placement in the playlist doesn't help either. It would have been better to set up a deeper immediate low to follow. Instead, it leads into the Prince-style funk of “Satellite”. It could be dismissed as a weak track, but I think he intended this to be the more mature heart of Hesitation Marks, the experienced hindsight borne of surviving the suicidal drives suggested by the album’s title. Unfortunately, it’s an unconvincing answer in the face of such a big question.

So, here we are. The truth is still not so pretty and catharsis is probably the best we can hope for. It’s not so scary gazing into Nine Inch Nails’ latest abyss, but the soundtrack certainly has its moments of grandeur.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Sigur Rós, Kveikur (2013)

Powerful moments and industrial undertones, but still room for nuance

Members of Sigur Rós describe Kveikur as “more aggressive” than their earlier work and there are new sonic elements of industrial grinding and swells of chaotic noise, but they haven’t forgotten their ethereal roots. While the noisy touches may be compensation for the departure of multi-instrumentalist Kjartan Sveinsson, they add an insistent tension that expands the group’s emotional range. That visceral connection is still the key to Sigur Rós’ success. They’ve always stood as an example that emotional openness can trump lyrical meaning. Whether in their native Icelandic or their self-invented “Hopelandic”, the band has largely resisted pandering to their English speaking fans. It’s paid off because Jón (Jónsi) Þór Birgisson’s expressive vocals transcend simple words to reach for grander truths, leaving the specific interpretation to the listener. The new album carries on the tradition with songs like “Isjaki” and its sense of rueful experience, as well as the hopeful reflection of “Stormur.” Older fans needn’t worry, though; despite the noise, there are enough soaring, open moments to prove that the band’s musical core remains whole.

The windy, crackling static at the start of “Brennisteinn” creates an expectant moment before the song lurches forward with rhythmic, body-blow punches. With a Pink Floyd melding of bass grind, howling guitar and Jónsi’s inspiring vocals, the song taps into an epic, post-rock power source. The rumbling percussion and rattling bass tones suggest a leviathan remorselessly crawling forth into the world. The roiling storm of sound showcases Sigur Rós’ new direction, but they deftly reconnect with their thoughtful side when the thunder bows out to leave a pensive, reflective interlude. Where Jónsi’s voice had settled into a lower register, now he sweeps into his bruised, falsetto range. The transition from tumultuous crescendo to the eye of a storm is reminiscent of My Morning Jacket. The pause is quickly overtaken by an insistent beat and psychedelic haze. The final section of the song slips away into a dreamy reverie with long tolling notes and noisy swells of intruding feedback.

“Brennisteinn” is a strong opening salvo for the album, immediately raising the question of whether the band would push on into more bombastic extremes or settle back into their normal comfort zone. They feint towards tradition as the second track, “Hrafntinna”, carries on the dreamy feel with loose jangles of percussion. These quickly coalesce into a moody progressive rock that blends Porcupine Tree and Radiohead. Clashing chimes and buzzing cymbals provide an industrial undertone. Sigur Rós take the song out on a warm, orchestral horn line. Dynamic shifts like this recur throughout Kveikur, offering a yin-yang energy; floating vocals tame the heavier sections while cathartic cacophony provides an edge during calmer pauses. While the band has always balanced soft moments with greater energy, the group’s embrace of chaotic texture accentuates the contrast.

If the opening song pushes forward with a confrontational energy, the title track holds the second half of the album together with a relentless, compelling power. Distant ship horns sound through the fog as grating factory sounds are looped into a rhythm. Jónsi’s initial vocals are like a spaced-out, bluesy, Icelandic cover of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Bad Moon Rising”, mutated with reverse reverb and echo. Orri Páll Dýrason’s driving, tribal back-beats propel the hypnotic groove into something like Adrian Belew’s “Big Electric Cat”. The droning, heartfelt vocals hover over a thick, wooly sound. Swirls of noise wind through the percussion like smoke, accented with prickly rasps and whining guitar feedback. The song builds to a frothy climax; then it dissipates into an ambient freefall of bass-heavy resonance.

After the weight of “Kveikur”, Sigur Rós breaks the tension with crystalline perfection at the start of “Rafstraumer”. Despite its relative brevity, the song feels epic. Just shy of five minutes, it moves from simple clarity to driving rock and then builds into an emotive anthem before melting into soft introspection. This feeds into the barren spaciousness that starts “Bláþráður”, which makes its own trek from gentle assertion to an operatic bombast before fading back down to its austere opening. The album closes on a minimalist meditation as echoes shine through on the instrumental lullaby, “Var”. The querulous piano melody is a far cry from the assault of “Brennisteinn”, reminding everyone that the band still appreciates the nuanced moments that they’ve created in the past.

If any of Sigur Rós’ new clashing dissonance reflects personnel conflicts associated with Sveinsson leaving the band, then they’ve channeled that stress into a vibrant creative vision that reinvigorates their sound. There’s little on this album that could be relegated to background music, but it still delivers the emotional payload of their earlier material. Coming fairly quickly on the heels of their 2012 album Valtari, Kveikur reassures their audience that the band hasn’t lost momentum trying to regroup.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Concert review - Ministry with Blackburner and Overcasters

It's always curious to see the strange mixes that come together for touring (e.g. B-52s opening for the Who). Evidently, Ministry decided that their new DefibrillaTour needed dubstep electronica duo Blackburner to properly prepare the audience. Like many in the crowd, I'm not sure that was the best pairing, but it did make for an interesting show.

Overcasters

I caught Overcasters when they opened for Sleepy Sun back in March. At that show, the drumming was amazing, but their lead guitar player overpowered the mix. Given that their web page had some great tracks, I was glad to get another chance to hear them.

This time, the mix was much better, delivering a Bauhaus swirl of doom. Thick walls of heartbeat bass and pounding drums sported a rich coat of feedback howl. Kurt Ottaway's echo-filled vocals presided over the top like a funerary rite.

Acid trails of guitar distortion were balanced by Joy Division bass drone to hit the sweet spot that Overcasters missed at the Sleepy Sun show. John Nichols proved that he could still summon the moans and shards of noise out of his lead guitar without denying the rest of the band.

The mix was more controlled, but Overcasters' stage presence still had a dynamic sense of abandon. Drummer Erin Tidwell would raise a stick in warning for the tom-punch to come. Ottaway crouched in on his guitar as if to shield it from the onlaught, only turn the hollow body into the amp to build the feedback higher.

The Ministry crowd might have wanted more shred or more metal grind, but they still respected Overcasters' satisfying guitar growl and solid drumming.

Blackburner

And now for something completely different. Blackburner's heavy dubstep style electronic jams had a lot of people shaking their heads. The bass heavy grind and dark spectacle formed a minor connection with Ministry, but that wasn't really common ground.

On their own merits, they had some good songs. The duo did some minor mixing on the fly, but they largely relied on preset tracks that they could shout over and tie in with the light show. They favored a hard edge dubstep mixed with rock samples and screeching techstep bleeps. Both Skyla Talon and K Kyle occasionally sported guitars, but it was hard to find anything guitar-like in the grinding sound of the mix.

Visually, it was a stunning show. The duo wore giant nightmare rabbit masks with light up eyes (and ears). Their fog machines ran through a limitless supply of fog fluid. While it was sometimes hard to actually see the stage, this formed a fine canvas the bright lights and lasers. With go-go dancers, shiny chaff balloons, and free tee shirt tosses, Blackburner didn't miss many gimmicks.

If it had been a Bassnectar show, this would have been crazy fun, but in this context, Blackburner were laughably excessive. It's funny how the wrong context can shift impressions.

Ministry

Ministry kicked off the show with Ghouldiggers from their new album Relapse. The high energy punch kicked the audience in the gut as Al Jourgensen proved the refrain, "I'm not dead yet/No, no, no". The buzz saw bass lines, screaming vocals, and shredding guitars showed that Ministry could still summon their classic sound with their new material. They'd go on to play a number of other new tracks like 99 Percenters, but they also disinterred enough of their back catalog to satisfy the crowd, hitting tracks like N.W.O., Thieves, Just One Fix, and Senor Peligro.

Standing center stage, flanked by guitars, Jourgensen played ringmaster. He directed the mosh pit like an orchestra, encouraging the thrash to begin with each new song. He took in the audience's adoration and enthusiasm and reflected it back to the crowd with a bemused smile. Then he'd sneer and growl the next set of lyrics as he clung to the mic. The latest incarnation of Jourgensen's mic stand (by Kevin Largent) was appropriately flashy, adding to the band's stage show.

Ministry's sound was loud as hell, but the guitars stayed distinct. Mike Scaccia's playing was tight as he casually tore through the setlist. Sin Quirin took his share of leads and he made the effort to connect with the fans in the balcony. The two axemen nailed the speedy sweep of chunky rhythms and screaming leads.

Of course, much of the band's dark tone comes from bottom end rhythm section. Casey Orr's bass rumbled like heavy machinery as Aaron Rossi's relentless double kick drumwork propelled the songs forward.

The true gauge of Ministry's power was in the audience response. Bodies slamming, heads banging -- the crowd was very physical, with everybody feeling the thrashy energy and reacting.

The only off note was Jourgensen's distracted behavior. Supposedly clean now, Uncle Al seemed a bit befuddled at times. Between songs, he dropped back to the amp line to check the song cues from a big binder. Several times, it was clear that the songs included a prerecorded vocal track that Jourgensen added to. It wasn't lip synched, but when he was slow to hit the mic, it was pretty obvious. The worst moments were when he strapped on a guitar, almost as a prop -- he seemed confused about what he should do with it.

The band's energy and Jourgensen's charisma brushed the weaker moments aside, though. The crowd poured out into the street pumped with the after-show buzz.

More photos on my Flickr.