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.

Recording review - Umberto, Night Has a Thousand Screams (2012)

Secret soundtracks in the darkness

Matt Hill contributes bass and beats to progressive-psych band Expo ’70, but he has his own project on the side. As his alter ego, Umberto, Hill plays craftsman, sculpting idealized film scores for obscure old horror films. Night Has A Thousand Screams is his latest project, created for the Glasgow Music and Film Festival earlier this year. The Festival hyped Umberto’s appearance as a live soundtrack performance for a secret film. He chose a cult favorite slasher flick called Pieces (1982), by Spanish director Juan Piquer Simón, as his inspiration.

The album’s 10 tracks follow the flow of the movie, allowing the listener to absorb every menacing moment. The first track, “Boston, 1942” covers the opening scene with its back story for the film’s killer. A child is playing with a jigsaw puzzle. Chastised by his mother, he ends up murdering her. Umberto’s music sets an expectant vibe with chiming tubular bells against mysterious sweeping synth drones. A grinding bass line ratchets into the tune to represent the violence. Umberto uses electronic distortion, sirens, and the persistent chimes to create a sense of unreality paired with heavy action. These bells become one of the motifs throughout the score. The next tune, “Opening Credits”, establishes a couple of other recurring themes. One is a bass run that suggests the intro to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”. This crops up during “The Investigation”, “The Waterbed”, and “Paralyzed”. It’s usually accompanied by an inexorable beat and shimmering keyboards.

Umberto’s soundtrack also relies on a lot of spooky underwater sounds that link several of the murders to the killer’s obsession with puzzles. Several of the tracks reference specific attack scenes in the film. The strongest of these is “The Pool”. It begins with the underwater theme, but picks up a stalking electronic beat. Initially, the music is simple, setting the scene of a young woman unaware of the coming threat. But the pressure builds as a heavier rhythm falls into place, until a sinister climbing melody line finally reveals the psychotic killer to his terrified victim. The track ends with the release of a grinding bass tone.

Night Has A Thousand Screams is a well designed film score. More than just an accompaniment to the action, it provides another medium to appreciate the story and feel of the movie. That live performance in Glasgow must have been a heady experience as Umberto’s trance grooves enhanced the suspense of Pieces. The music captures an ambiance of creepy tension, taking advantage of the same formula that horror films use to heighten the impact of violence. The songs begin with a calm setup, followed by the initial hint of threat that eventually builds. But like the best directors, Umberto breaks the flow occasionally to offset expectations, such as his slow-motion free fall section in “Paralyzed”. But the final strike is inevitable.

Even as Umberto aspires to soundtrack greatness, he has a slightly different perspective from most composers in this genre. Knowing that few listeners will get the full effect of pairing his music with the film, he’s structured his album for independent listening as well. Pieces vary in length from a bare minute for “Opening Titles” to the sprawling 10 minute “Paralyzed”. The longer tracks reuse the motifs of his musical lexicon, but they also work as standalone songs. Without the context of Pieces, listeners can still enjoy the music journeys, with trippy explorations, chill trance progressions and revelatory build ups.

(This review originally appeared on Spectrum Culture)

November singles

From solid roots to heady washes of sound, enjoy November's singles.

Prezident Brown - "Teach the Youths Dem (Meditation)" (from I Sound is From Creation)

"Teach the Youths Dem (Meditation)" offers a sweet taste of roots reggae, from the solid one drop beat and snaking bassline to Brown's chanting delivery. Brown's conscious-style message encourages strength and discipline in response to the destructive forces around us. The chank, fills, and beat mesh calmly, grounding the track with an uplifting vibe. That's the power in classic reggae: acknowledging adversity, but retaining hope.

Even though this is the second single off the new album, I couldn't find a public link of it. Drop by Amazon and get a small taste.

DaVinci - "In My City" (from The Moena Lisa)


Straight outta Fillmore - San Francisco rapper DaVinci (AKA John DeVore) lays down a low key anthem to the whole Bay area, letting everyone represent. The chilled out electronica groove and mellow beat match DaVinci's easy delivery. His quiet, raspy voice flashes back to Tone Loc, but without the playfulness. The relaxed vibe keeps "In My Cty" from building up too much bluster.

The Moena Lisa is his followup to last year's debut, The Day the Turf Stood Still.

Neil Davidge - "Green and Blue" (from Halo 4 original soundtrack)


Soundtracks are one of the prominent sources of interesting modern orchestral music. While film scores can be quite amazing, it's a rarer to come across remarkable game soundtracks. "Green and Blue" is a wonderful composition that develops some strong ideas and retains a rich sense of dynamics. I wouldn't expect a game like Halo to offer this kind of depth.

Composer Neil Davidge (Massive Attack) did a fine job here of creating an epic sense of triumph, colored with losses and growth. The soundtrack is paired with a remix album, too, which brings in a number of respected electronica producers to expand on Davidge's themes.

Maus Haus - "No More Girls" (from Light Noise)



The droning undertone and gritty, low-fi production on "No More Girls" mash up electronica and  garage psych. The driving beat and repetitive lyrics set up a hypnotic Kraut rock vibe. The heavy echo pushes the track slightly underwater and the rippling surface distorts the tune into music that needs to be absorbed rather than interpreted.

Drop by their Bandcamp page to check out more music from Light Noise.