Recording review - Föllakzoid, III (2015)

Sink into hypnotic rhythms and dark echoes

^4.0/5.0

World music -- that vague catch-all label -- largely falls into two flavors, neither of which reflect too well on the Westerners who coined the term. The bulk of it is “delightfully exotic” or “strange but cool”, showcasing some culture’s musical heritage, but repackaged in easy to digest servings to appeal to the jaded palate. Worse than that are the half breed mutants that hover between appropriation and cargo-cult aspiration, sometimes with rock artists harnessing foreign musicians without understanding their cultural context, other times with those musicians trying with mild success to emulate Western pop. Even so, I’ll confess that I’ve enjoyed my share of all of these, sometimes with a frisson of guilt.

Föllakzoid’s sophomore album, III, neatly sidesteps this minefield by focusing on their creative vision and building rich, long-form trance excursions. The Chilean trio taps into a hypnotic flow that has served numerous traditions from Indian ragas and Sufi dervishes to Krautrock drives and dancehouse electronica. Their music may draw somewhat on South American rhythms, but those influences don’t stick out as much as the motorik percussion, Indian polyrhythms, trance psychedelia, and Goth rock moodiness. Why waste time pedantically analyzing the cultural referents or feeling hiply superior when you can surrender to the swirling syncopation and trippy echoes?

III is a full length album split into four tracks, but the songs seem to share thematic elements even as they change up their production. In particular, the first two tracks, “Electric” and “Earth” have a lot in common: each begins with syncopated beats built from echoed percussion, they build into trancy electronica, and they feature heavily reverbed vocals. But the two songs develop completely different moods. “Electric” latches on to a slinky bass groove that pushes into Ozric Tentacles territory. Electronic washes and a deep, pensive throb create a beautiful tension that complements the crystalline bite of guitar and gives a surreal edge to the faint vocals that sounds like distant PA announcements. The song wraps up with a sci-fi flavored interlude featuring robotic sound effects and shimmering static.

“Earth” rises from this sonic soundscape with a metallic percussion that develops into a deep tribal rhythm. The bass is strong here, too, but now it’s heavy and impassive, reminding me a bit of Joy Division. The effect is much darker than the first track, suggesting shadowy hallways where barely noticeable electronic grinding suggests alien threats lurking just out of sight. Despite that undercurrent of danger, there’s also a thoughtful element as the piece hypnotically wraps in on itself, occasionally running into dead ends and moving on while the echoes hang on a little bit.

The shortest piece, “Feuerzeug”, closes out the album with an intense nine minutes of pensive Krautrock that ambraces the Gothic sounds of Joy Division and Bauhaus. The main theme is thick with tension and has me expecting to hear Ian Curtis break in with the vocals for “Transmission”. Then some heavier flashes of guitar against the steady beat suggest Bauhaus’ “Terror Couple Kill Colonel”. At the same time, Föllakzoid aren’t aping those bands. They make their own statement by playing with the sonic palette to blend in harsher, low-fi tones that contrast against the softening echoes and electronic touches. They fill in a host of disjointed details that drift in and out before the song gradually deconstructs itself.

If III has a weakness, it’s one that many trance-oriented projects share: it’s too easy for a casual listener to dismiss the whole collection as repetitive and miss the nuances between the songs.“Feuerzeug” may stand as the best argument against that criticism, but I think that Föllakzoid could have varied the tempos a little more to create more differentiation. Ultimately, those are minor issues that won’t distract as you sink under the album’s spell. Best of all, it’s not “world music”; it’s just music, perfect for an early Spring bike ride or as a soul-refreshing barrier against workday monotony .

Recording review - Fujiya & Miyagi, Artificial Sweeteners (2014)

Settling for Kraut-tronica dance grooves, if that's a thing

Atists often treat their careers as metaphorical sharks; if they aren’t moving forward, they’ll suffocate and die. So they “broaden their direction,” they reinvent themselves or, if they’re particularly full of it, they “recontextualize their artistic statement.” Half the time that means that they only change the story around their music, but no one wants to admit that their groove may be just fine. The unspoken risk is that when an act does actually veer off into something surprising, they may jump the shark rather than ride it, but bands bow to pressure and take that chance all the time. Following that mindset, there’s a sense that we should look down on bands that merely settle. Fujiya & Miyagi apparently considered that conventional wisdom when they started on Artificial Sweeteners and decided not to play the game. Although the album makes minor tweaks to the formula that they followed on 2011’s Ventriloquizzing, the band doesn’t seem driven to break new ground or import trendier sounds into their music. While they turn up the dance beats and damp the psychedelic edge a bit, they still happily draw on the same palette of Krautrock, synth-pop, and electronica they’ve used in the past.

The one new thing they bring to this project is a conscious sense of irony. This begins with the album title itself; between the detached engagement of David Best’s vocals and the smooth sheen of the music, it delivers a kind of sweetened artifice. But rather than saccharine pop, they fill the album with insistent beats and electro-pop polish. On the title track, which seems to be a casually delivered shot at the music industry, Best sings “Superficial/ Super superficial/ Superficial sweeteners,” essentially making it clear that words are not the band’s strong point. Indeed, most of the album’s lyrics tend towards repetitive slogans that mostly serve to justify the song titles. But fortunately the music generally redeems the pieces. In this particular case, the song’s motorik rhythm and synth-pop melody set a droll mood and a smug disaffection that calls back to Brian Eno-era Roxy Music.

Artificial Sweeteners starts out strong with “Flaws”. A harsh wash of synth lays the groundwork for a steady beat keyboard riff. But, with the inevitability of impending catastrophe, the pace picks up to mutate the piece into a danceable mechanical groove. Best is at his most engaged, actually injecting a bit of inflection into his singing as light psychedelic touches creep into the edges. Over the course of almost six minutes, the piece surveys Fujiya & Miyagi’s Krautrock influences. They fuse Kraftwerk’s restless rhythmic drive with Can’s surrealistic tension and add a veneer of electro-pop verve. Like the title track, the combination evokes a Brian Eno feel, but this time it’s a more derivative version, like Talking Heads’ Fear of Music or David Bowie’s Low.

The band hits their stride though with the instrumental track, “Rayleigh Scattering”. Geeky physics allusion aside, this tune comes closest to evoking the tension that infused Ventriloquizzing. The synthesizers fan out in flickering minimalistic arpeggios and sparkling glints while the bass and drums lock the beat into a tight, unstoppable force. It manages to be both expectant and inevitable. But although the song is quite enjoyable, it’s not a new step for the band or for electronic music in general.

On the first listen or two through Artificial Sweeteners, this pervasive complacency was exasperating; it felt like the band was unwilling to challenge themselves. Over time, though, I came to appreciate how Fujiya & Miyagi dedicate each tune to a particular groove, letting the song’s personality emerge. It’s hard to tell whether this strategy will pay off; their current fans along with the wider audience may not find enough novelty to make Artificial Sweeteners stand out. It’s a safe bet, though, that their music will continue to find its way into commercials and soundtracks, where their thematic focus will provide the biggest bang.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - Moon Duo, Circles (2012)

Uninspired jams never get off the ground

As a head music aficionado, I was ready to embrace Moon Duo’s trance oriented grooves before I heard a note. They come with San Francisco credibility and a reputation for spaced out, buzzing jams. The PR blurb quoted Ralph Waldo Emerson as an inspiration, “The eye is the first circle, the horizon which it forms is the second, and throughout nature, this primary figure is repeated without end.” The suggestion of interlocking scales and patterns happily set off the hippy detection center in my brain.

I am primed from a lifetime focused on psychedelia, listening to spacey Pink Floyd, the psychedelic pop of Strawberry Alarm Clock, and Krautrock like Can. Not so much a drug thing; it’s more about head space exploration. From rougher garage psych that suggests the ringing echo of close basement walls or trippy jam band wanderings that flow with the winds at an outdoor festival, I am ready to receive the message.

But the message on Circles proved hard to find. Listening to the album is more like a Craiglist missed connection. Guitarist Ripley Johnson (Wooden Shjips) and organist Sanae Yamada never quite find my sweet spot. Like Thee Oh Sees, Moon Duo is rooted in a warm, low-fi garage sound. But instead of lively mix of varied tempos, experimental trippiness and engagement, Moon Duo sets up droning jams delivered with diffidence.

 The Emerson quote suggests the more modern concept of fractals and that’s another way to consider Moon Duo’s music. Several tracks demonstrate the inverse power of fractal music where the smallest sample (like the first ten seconds) reveals all of the details contained within the whole. On I Can See, the track starts abruptly, waking up in the middle of an endlessly repetitive three chord mantra. The motorik drum beat is softened by a hint of Bauhaus synth wave crossed with the garage rock grind. The vocals don’t add any interesting details because they’ve been compressed into a muddy susurration. Where electronic trance music presents a kind of static surface with details modulating in the depths, I Can See is content to remain shallow and hide nothing. The meandering lead is the only relief.

If many of the tunes are thin on ideas, Moon Duo compounds the crime by repurposing riffs to fill nine tracks with around seven songs worth of material. The closing track, Rolling Out takes its groove from the opening song Sleepwalker. They slowed down the melodic line and tweaked the ornamentation, but they could have titled it Sleepwalker (Reprise). I prefer the slower song, because the lazy pace transforms the droning buzz into a hypnotic loop. In a similar case of reuse, Sparks is followed by Dance Pt. 3 and both grind their way through a line lifted from the 13th Floor Elevators. Dance Pt. 3 wipes off some of the dust and shifts the core frequency but stays locked on the same fundamental riff.

The most interesting tune is the title track, Circles, which shows off a brighter psych pop feel. Even with the persistent low-fi buzz, there’s more going on here: imagine Blue Cheer covering the Monkees. The vocals stand out in the mix, making it easier to pull some meaning. The guitar solo is almost crystalline compared to the rest of the album. Circles wouldn’t need to make the whole album like this, but if it offered more variation, there would have been more to like.

(This review first appeared on SpectrumCulture)

CD review - Fujiya & Miyagi, Ventriloquizzing (2011)

Brighton's Fujiya & Miyagi have been around for quite a while, cruising beneath everyone's radar. They garnered a bit of attention recently with their music picked up for a couple of commercials, but their newest album, Ventriloquizzing, doesn't pander to any kind of populist appeal. It's moody and intriguing -- more inviting than gushing.

The album is a hearty stew of contrasting references and influences: Can, Depeche Mode, Beck, Talking Heads, and Stephen Malkmus. Krautrock, synth pop, and a kind of alternative, tightly constrained funk hardly seem like a recipe for success. But the balance between these disparate pieces creates a delicious tension and a sense of deeper meaning. The layers of kraut keyboards set a subtle psychedelic undercurrent throughout Ventriloquizzing that fits with the deadpan vocal delivery.

Sixteen Shades of Black and Blue feels like a reworked version of Depeche Mode's Personal Jesus. The synthpop vibe infuses the emotionless violence of the lyrics with a stormcloud threat. The brief keyboard solo highlights a sense of inevitability.

The Beck comparison is rooted in the detached singing and strangled, stylized funk of songs like and Cat Got Your Tongue, Yoyo, and Taiwanese Boots. This latter has a fair amount of Talking Heads (Crosseyed and Painless) lurking in its depths. Throughout these songs, the moody keys add a mild psychedelic aura. Then, for a change, the vocal phrasing and abstract melody of songs like Spilt Milk or Tinsel & Glitter sound like a medicated Jicks-era Stephen Malkmus.

It would be best, though, to ignore all of these comparisons because they miss the unique flavor of Fujiya & Miyagi's sound. Ventriloquizzing offers a sonic snapshot of a particular psychic mindscape. Drifting currents of subconscious ideas flow around passive aggressive islands. Tension is in the very air. And, yet, there's a degree of acceptance.

And it's got a smooth groove. A fine smoky single malt with about 7 drops of water to open the malt will pair nicely.

CD review - Pas Chic Chic, 12" (2010)

Sometimes, I'm a psychedelic junkie. My habit is so well established that I've lost some of my sensitivity to classic head music like early Pink Floyd or Tangerine Dream. The Valleys Stoner recently gave me a taste, but didn't really send me far enough into inner space, but Canadian band Pas Chic Chic's latest EP, 12", hit me hard.

Pas Chic Chic is the latest permutation of musicians from a rich Montreal music scene, including members from Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Set Fire to Flames, and Fly Pan Am. I've enjoyed Godspeed You! Black Emperor before, but Pas Chic Chic has a different feel, less progressive and moody.

12" is only a couple of songs, but it's still a good 26 minutes of fun. The first track, Allez Vous Faire Influencer is old school Krautrock, in the vein of NEU! or Can with touches of Brian Eno. About halfway through, there's a section reminiscent of Gary Numan's In Cars. The steady beat and electronic sound move the song forward as the melody wraps on itself. It's repetitive like a mantra, but the sound shifts and builds.

The second song is actually a two and a half minute ambient interlude and then a longer piece, Premier Souffle. This was what I needed. A low electronic drone note builds and modulates. After plenty of time to appreciate that, a retro organ sound comes in. There are hazy tatters of almost-feedback at the edges of this sonic soundscape. It grows into something a bit like Pink Floyd's Saucerful of Secrets, somewhere between Let There Be More Light and Set the Controls For the Heart of the Sun. There's still an underlying electronic flavor to the groove that keeps it surprising. Like any good trip music, the song evolves over time offering new facets at every turn.

12" motivated me to hunt down Pas Chic Chic's earlier work, specifically their 2007 album Au Contraire. This had some psychedelic moments, some pretty songs, as well as some experimental noise. It was well worth purchasing for my collection, but it doesn't quite have the grandeur of 12".

I'm looking forward to what Pas Chic Chic comes up with next. Sip a Belgian Quadrupel (from Koningshoeven), drop the lights, and put on the headphones.

CD review - Cloudland Canyon, Fin Eaves (2010)

Like a Polaroid picture slowly developing, Cloudland Canyon's Fin Eaves coalesces grudgingly from a white (noise) palette. It starts off in a thickly shimmering haze. A fog of sound, where shapes begin to emerge, then recede, only half recognized. The tracks slowly become more song-like, taking on some of the outlines of more structured music, but even that fades back down.

No One Else Around begins hesitantly, then becomes a dreamy wall of guitar and vocal echo. There's a pop underpinning. It's like standing outside the club smoking a cigarette, ears ringing from the big indie/prog rock band still playing inside. Or maybe a bit like forcing yourself to stay awake after taking an Ambien, as your surroundings become more dreamlike and incomprehensible.

Pinklike sounds a bit like the David Bowie/Brian Eno work on Low (Warszawa, maybe), but it's really truer to the older krautrock band, Can. Atmospheric noise and simple, repetitive chords abound. Electronic elements contribute a crystalline under-texture until, about 2/3 through, the song seems to complete and shift to a slightly cleaner electronica groove. Then the two parts meld together to wrap it up.

This is drifty music, where one songs melts into another. The vocals are all sleeptalking sound, wordless and hard to pin down, buried in the mix. Cloudland Canyon has created a Rorschach album: each song means whatever a listener wants and reveals some hidden truth. Sip some absinthe and take the test. Fin Eaves is due out on July 29.