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 - Matt Stevens, Lucid (2014)

Musical tiles coalesce into a more complicated mosaic

Matt Stevens’ latest solo sketchbook borrows cubist techniques to deconstruct his musical aesthetic and juxtapose all of the perspectives into a single work. Any given point has its locus of continuity and the songs flow into one another in a meaningful way, but on first impression, the project as a whole seems scattershot as it slides from driving post-rock through acoustic art rock to jazzy interludes. But it turns out that Lucid is well-titled, after all. Step back and take a look at the album in toto and you'll see that Stevens draws on the looped guitar experiments of his early work and the more intense exploration of his recent work with The Fierce and the Dead to assert himself. Like Walt Whitman, he is large, he contains multitudes. And although he lets all of these musical personas loose, he’s also invited a host of talented players to join Any given angle or track provides a different window on Stevens’ development as a player.

My first introduction to Stevens was his 2010 solo album Ghost (review), with its wonderfully evocative acoustic guitar loops and jazzy touches. Some of the new tunes call back to Ghost’s sound, like the Beatlesque jazz of “KEA” or the Latin-tinged post-rock of “The Other Side”, which is reminiscent of Ghost’s “Burnt Out Car”. At the same time, Stevens’ heavier tone with The Fierce and the Dead is also well represented, especially on standout tracks like “Unsettled”. Bandmate Stuart Marshall provides the phenomenal drum work that locks the tune down with taut rhythms and tight flourishes. Marshall’s cage barely holds the flailing tantrum of guitar in check. That discipline supports the raw chaotic expression, creating a dynamo of energy that sounds like some kind of head-banging King Crimson mutant. Speaking of Crimson, drummer Pat Mastelotto lends his solid, open-fill drumming to the angular guitar exercise of “The Ascent”. The progression is torn from the Robert Fripp handbook, but the metallic guitar borrows more from players like Steve Vai. Stevens channels a vein of pure emotion and vents out against the mathematical structure of the piece.

That passion and flair set up the sharp transition to my favorite track on Lucid, “Coulrophobia”. “The Ascent” drops away, leaving a vacuum. Tentative, moody notes drip softly into a starlit pool, like Porcupine Tree covering “Echoes” by Pink Floyd. A nervous shimmer of tension lurks at the edges, but never quite comes into focus. Like a dream, there is no control as the tune slowly unfolds at a calculated pace. The nervous energy can’t shake the calm lack of volition and it builds towards a thin trickle of terror. The piece summons more of a sense of sleep paralysis than scary clowns for me, but the savory element of fear certainly comes through. Unfortunately, the song is over all too quickly, moving on to the moody drive of the title track.

In fact, with the exception of the epic piece, “The Bridge”, which runs almost 12 minutes, most of these songs are shorter vignettes. This is what gives Lucid its sketchbook feel, but this, too, is part of Stevens' artistic sense. Where many of his post-rock peers drag out their songs into long-running feasts, he prefers to make instrumental tapas, which showcase a idea with clarity and then set up the next exciting flavor. Lucid collects all of these into strange collection of contrasts and surprises, but the net result is a great musical meal.

Recording review - Caspian, Hymn for the Greatest Generation (2013)

Cinematic elegies and bittersweet memories

Memory and loss cannot be separated. Less a hymn than a classical ballade, Caspian’s recent release effectively serves as an elegy for their bass player. Chris Friedrich passed away unexpectedly in August, and although the band pressed forward with their scheduled shows, his death colors Hymn for the Greatest Generation. The first half of the six-song EP features new tunes while the second half offers a demo and couple of remixes of songs from their 2012 album, Waking Season. Even in short form, Caspian’s cinematic side comes out, although it’s never as sweeping and heroic as the heights to which the band has risen in the past.

The title track eases in with ambient tones introducing the thoughtful theme on an acoustic guitar. Soon, an electric guitar appears and completes the feeling of sweet reminiscence. Over the course of the song, the simple motif takes on many different moods as it’s revisited with varying settings. Chained together, these sections form a story: determination in the face of challenges and fine deeds, followed by a spinning loss of direction leading to a bittersweet sense of fading dreams. Finally, the theme is halting and fragmented. Spaces open up and the story reaches the end of the line, where the electric guitar haunts the acoustic and memories fade back into the past. It’s a richly evocative soundtrack.

“The Heart That Fed” has a similar slow start, taking a moment to coalesce from the wisps of aleatoric fog. The soft-focus drifting is like a bomb blast in reverse slow motion, where the track runs back the clock to see why everything flew apart. In this context, the tune reaches a driving rhythm that suggests the conflict before a sharp jump cut forward to the explosion. From here, swirling melodic lines build into a bristling wall of reverberation, underlaid with processed vocals. This moment comes closest to the band’s epic roots, but it retains a contemplative aspect that carries over from the earlier dreamy detachment. The big sound is a sharp contrast to the breathy beauty of the tune that follows. “CMF” centers on a finger-picked acoustic guitar with synth washes and echoes that slide the track into surrealism. It’s safe to say that the tune is a tribute to Friedrich and what he represented for the band. The raw production leaves in the finger squeaks and burdened breathing, which imbues the delicate love song with humanity and grief.

The remaining alternative versions that fill out Hymn for the Greatest Generation bring their own power and perspective. “High Lonesome” is my favorite of these. It shows that the album cut didn't stray too far from baseline of the demo version included here. Both feature the same slow rising tide of ringing sound. But where the official release suggests a celestial purity, the demo take is darker and more intense. Lower tones lurk underneath the surface and eventually come to dominate with a chaotic distortion burying all sense of comprehension under a thick haze. In the wake of “CMF”, the alluring pain and cathartic oblivion serve as a fitting summation of the band’s loss. That would have been a perfect end to the EP, but the remix tracks serve as an added bonus. Arms and Sleepers tentatively take “Procellous” into a spacier realm, while Lazerbeak (Doomtree collective) sands the rough edges from “Halls of the Summer”. Each has its appeal, but the real impact comes in the first four tracks.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review - El Ten Eleven, For emily (2014)

Finely crafted musical snow globes

Great music transcends technique. El Ten Eleven's music is built on an intricate dance of looped layers of guitar and bass, beautifully reactive drumming, and expansive compositions. Quite rightly, their live performances (review) exploit this complexity, making a show out of split-second timing and fancy footwork. But Kristian Dunn and Tim Fogarty understand that their recordings can't rely on mere visual flash to connect with the audience.

Listening to For emily, the music dominates and the band's savant execution is  just a footnote behind the finely crafted progressions. EPs are often just a stopgap between albums, but there's nothing lightweight about any of these three tracks. Philosophical post-rock melds with rock-postured power, glitchy electronica minimalism evolves into crystalline art rock, and noisy experimental wandering finds psychedelic pop in a hall of mirrors. Each piece takes off from a simple starting point and grows into a rich offering, full of depth.

Of the three, the lead single, "Nova Scotia" is my favorite.  I have no idea how the piece connects to the Canadian province, but I love the roundabout feel of the five and a half minute statement. The jangling guitar figure and aligned bass line remind me of Rush. Come to think of it, maybe there is a touch of Canada in the sound of open spaces and crisp air. The initial section is expectant, making the following part a revelation of refracting mathematical phrases. Dunn sets his loop and builds around it, but Fogarty's drumming has an organic feel that takes on an emotional weight. His tight rolls create a sense of determination. By the time Dunn crowns this phase with Northern Light shimmers, the mood has shifted from epiphany to a hopeful optimism. This stands out as great example of El Ten Eleven's balance point between brightly twinkling math rock and visceral post-rock expressiveness.

The other two tracks provide their own little snow globes of musical imagery. "Yyes!" grows from its minimalist beginning to a mix of thoughtful and forceful themes before revisiting its roots to wrap up. "Reprise" is best thought of as a couple of evolving pieces welded together via a fade out ending in the middle that sets up the more experimental second half. All of these pieces capture the duo's yin-yang musical essence: playful, serious, free-flowing, and structured. What more could you want? Well, more, of course, but, for the time being, we can settle for 19 minutes of El Ten Eleven's well-crafted excursions.

Recording review: Joe Satriani, Unstoppable Momentum

Raise the prog-fusion flag and respect the axe!

There was once a golden age of progressive fusion. Back in the early ‘90s, performers like Eric Johnson, Steve Vai, and Joe Satriani astounded audiences with showy fretboard work and expressive melodies. The genre took its parentage from jazz fusion guitarists like John McLaughlin and Jeff Beck, but it borrowed heavy metal techniques like extreme whammy bar abuse, two handed tapping and speedy sweep picking. Largely instrumental, these songs followed jazz’s modal structure rather than relying on metal-style riffs or old school verse-chorus-bridge arrangements. After a few short years of public acclaim, though, the imposing style fell out of favor. Johnson became hamstrung by his own perfectionism after releasing Ah Via Musicom (1990) and Steve Vai’s followup to Passion and Warfare (1990), 1993’s Sex & Religion, got mired in band politics and ego clashes. Satriani had a good run of albums from 1987’s Surfing with the Alien through The Extremist (1992), but the next year’s release, Time Machine, didn’t fare as well. Like all but his truest fans, I lost track of his solo work around that time, but Unstoppable Momentum seems to pick up where The Extremist left off.
The songs run through a variety of moods from the introspective Gaelic feel of “I’ll Put a Stone on Your Cairn” to the funky electric boogie of “Jumpin’ In”. But Satriani’s ability to tap into the emotional well of each tune is a constant strength across the album. His playing mindset also separates him from his metal-head shred-meister cousins. Treating his guitar like a vocal track, he doesn’t burn through all of his technical tricks in a single song and he’s rarely repetitive or constrained by a collection of riffs.

On “Can’t Go Back”, Satriani’s initial guitar melody effectively sings a chorus, “Can’t go back/ Though you try,” which forms a recurring foundation for the rest of the song. The tune has a new wave feel anchored by Chris Chaney’s bass and Mike Keneally’s keyboard shimmers. The guitar takes on a reflective tone as it argues its point. The energy builds, capturing the frustration of looking back and fighting the past. His solo opens into that emotional turmoil with cathartic abandon that culminates in a dynamic drop to reset the song for a second pass. The band restates the earlier arguments, but never falls back into the same frustration, creating a sense of acceptance.

By contrast, “Shine on American Dream” is simpler and more direct. The throaty rock vamp of staccato guitar crunch supports a bluesy Americana vibe. The uplifting sense of pride lacks subtlety, but the earnest delivery gives the tune an anthemic quality. With the right set of words to convey the song’s optimism, this could be the breakout radio single for the album. Satriani stamps the tune with his imprimatur, adding a fluid, show-off lead that adds the perfect touch of pomp. The other radio-friendly cut, “A Door Into Summer” is less effective. Like “Shine on American Dream”, it relies on a less-developed structure, but the busier vocal line of the guitar doesn’t make the same impact.

Over several times listening to Unstoppable Momentum, it was the pensive darkness of “Lies and Truths” that gradually became my favorite. Keneally’s keyboard opening creates a sense of chill. This turns to tense calculation with Vinnie Colaiuta’s tight syncopation on the drums. The production ping-pongs Satriani’s detuned guitar from side to side, suggesting an argument. The next section lurches into a malevolent counterpoint groove reminiscent of Robert Fripp’s tense angularity, which represents the lies part of the title. In the “truths” section, the band comes into harmony, flattening the rough edges into a simpler forward drive. The layered guitars sing rising tones of affirmation before dropping the song back into the difficult question: which are the lies? A ripping two-handed solo vents its anger before the song runs through the lies and truths again. The interesting back story to this song is that Satriani played an experiment on the band with this track. Although he had already decided on the final title, the band was given a working title of “Fast Robot” during the recording sessions. He liked the effect this had on the band’s decisions about what to play. Colaiuta, for instance, gradually picked up complexity in his drum part until it built into the sound of a robot gone haywire. In the context of the real title, this helped drive the anger and tension of the song’s second half.

I’m glad to check in again with Satch and find that he’s still keeping the prog-fusion flame alive. While it’s not likely to spark a popular revival of the genre, Unstoppable Momentum is solid offering sure to please fans and impress guitarists of all levels of experience.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

Recording review: Colin Stetson, New History Warfare Vol. 3: To See More Light (2013)

Sonic illusions show how far the sax can go

Synthesizer washes, keyboard loops, and throbbing electronic bass – it’s all a sonic illusion. While Colin Stetson’s new album might sound like an electro-interpretation of contemporary minimalism, there are no effects added beyond equalization and saturation. Stetson sculpts his bass saxophone into avant-garde mutations using a host of free-jazz techniques, like multiphonics and vocalization, combined with circular breathing, percussive valve work, and microphone manipulation. Producer Ben Frost augments Stetson’s remarkable playing to create the sounds of strings, bass guitars, and grinding metallic tones.

New History Warfare Vol. 3: To See More Light is the third in series of New History Warfare albums. Spaced out over several years, each volume has offered richer technical and sonic refinements since the first release in 2007. New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges (2011) was a major critical success and this release builds on its strengths, featuring features longer tracks and greater physical demands on Stetson. Tempering Phillip Glass style minimalism with raw, challenging textures may seem like a recipe for “difficult listening music,” but the music feels like a natural blend that could be compared to progressive electronica. Even as he focuses on virtuoso performance, it’s never self-indulgent. Performance artist Laurie Anderson provided “vocal presence” on Judges along with Shara Worden (My Brightest Diamond). This time, Justin Vernon of Bon Iver steps in to take on the small set of vocals and his style is very different from Anderson or Worden. I appreciate how Stetson has used these more familiar artists to expand his vision. In a reversal of roles, he teases out their specific characters for this album. Normally, he’s in demand for their projects because of his unique voice. Aside from collaborating with performers like Anderson and Vernon’s Bon Iver, Stetson has been a touring and studio wildcard for other artists like Tom Waits, Arcade Fire and Feist.

Any track on the album could serve as a good example of Stetson’s chameleon-like playing. On “Hunted”, for instance, his sax is closer to a deconstructed industrial sound than what the instrument is normally known for. It’s raw and ragged, throbbing with tension. A minimalist flutter superimposes percussive bass notes over the main register, building rhythmic and tonal complexity. Richly evocative, his raspy vocalizations add the tortured yowl of a big cat on the prowl. Through the course of the song, Frost’s production dynamically adjusts the proximity between distant searching and close-in threat. The arrangement is so thickly layered that it’s almost inconceivable that this performance is free of instrumental overdubs or multiple players.

The awe-inspiring centerpiece of the album is the epic title track, “To See More Light”. The 15 minute sojourn begins with a sparse, exploratory feel. For once, Stetson tosses out simple saxophone stabs without mutating their texture. A hollow echo suggests a large space to be mapped out and understood. The song becomes more purposeful and complex as his line transforms into a thoughtful, repetitive series. Searching and building, he sets a trance groove. His sax bubbles and vibrates, then twists back on itself. The tempo pulses with speedy sprints and eddies of reflection. A moaning undertone and brittle surface create an anxious sense of dread. Gathering murky energy, it resolves into a sonic juggernaut on the move. The quivering pattern from before is completely subsumed by shifting synthesizer-like tones and a heavy percussive plodding. As if the beginning explorations inevitably led to this marching darkness, the music recalls Robert Oppenheimer’s thoughts at the Trinity nuclear test, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” Stetson lets the resonant vibration build and break down the track into unformed chaos. The title may aspire to growth, but the narrative arc offers a cautionary perspective. It’s followed by a cover of Washington Phillips’ gospel hymn, “What Are They Doing In Heaven Today?”, which offers a moment of repose, much like how the Beatles used their lullaby “Good Night” to soothe after “Revolution 9”. Vernon’s overdubbed vocals offer African chorale harmonies. It’s almost acapella, with the sax providing a mere flickering flame of accompaniment.

Isolation is a recurring theme throughout the New History Warfare series. Stetson’s anguished tones are tap into a well of disconnection and need. Those emotions are rawer on To See More Light, making it a compelling collection that transcends the impressive playing and recording techniques.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture)

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)

Recording review - Akron, Voyage of Exploration (2012)

Akron's exotica suggests an alien art walk


Voyage of Exploration presents a fine collection of retro lounge/space music that imagines a much cooler future than our paltry dimension can offer. Like The Traditionalists, a branch of Secret Chiefs 3, Akron shares a love of classic exotica like Les Baxter, Martin Denny and Esquivel!. On the one hand, his sound is utterly 1964 retro, but it also has a timeless quality. These songs mix and match elements from Denny’s exotica, Joe Meek’s production on songs like Telstar, Ennio Morricone’s film scores and early Pink Floyd psychedelia to reveal the inherent stylistic connections they share.

The album opens with a spacy sound that overlays throbbing organic machinery with bits of grinding, tinkling glass. This motif returns repeatedly throughout Voyage of Exploration, like it’s the background sound of some bizarre museum where each song is a holographic display to be entered and explored.

The first installation in this alien art walk is the focused instrumental progression of "Picabu". This retro-hip lounge groove has a tightly syncopated foundation with a simple, repeating guitar line. Washes of synth flutter through like electro-magnetic curtains blowing in the wind. After an accent break of rhythmic breathing, echoplex artifacts hint at Denny’s wildlife sounds in the background. Then the song fades back into the motif as we move towards the next display.

Stepping ahead to "Tricorder", the song begins with a tribal percussion beat. The music initially sounds like an Italian soundtrack, perhaps a Spaghetti Western. But the electronic melody in the left channel wobbles and bubbles like an overheated liquid energy, giving the song a science fiction vibe. It eventually melts down into a strange, open cavern, where odd snippets of sound conjure the sense of small creatures lurking in the shadows. These sonic pictures are perhaps very personal, but Akron’s songs are very evocative that way. Each tonal component seems to represent some element of a greater story.

Another great example of this programmatic style of music comes later on "Memory Hole". The track features a pastiche of various fragments from Pink Floyd’s Piper at the Gates of Dawn crossed with experimental Krautrock. The steady bass line at the start suggests a purpose or organizing principle. Burbling electronic tones zip by and create a sense of space along with a steady percussive tap. A steady staccato guitar strum provides a subconscious murmur as a keyboard line seems to be searching for something. Suddenly, a jarring electronic interference breaks the concentration. The bass and percussion reassert themselves, but now, they’ve internalized the distortion into the original principle.

Moments later, the distortion is traded out for yet another sound. Each new context for the bass line feels like an experimental repositioning of base idea. All along, the Krautrock repetition creates a hypnotic focus. Eventually, the bass line theme is abandoned as an ambient, swaying section takes over. Organic creaking suggests sails and ropes as a new meandering keyboard line wanders like a distraction from the earlier focus. But the original theme reasserts itself to finish the song.

Finally, as the stately, nostalgic "Funeral For Euclid" drifts out of focus, we find ourselves at the end of our tour. Linger in the museum atrium a moment and savor the sensations before returning to the mundane world. The exhibits in Voyage of Exploration will wait here for your next visit.

(This review first appeared on Spectrum Culture.)

Recording review - El Ten Eleven, Transitions (2012)

Duo creates a rich sonic world, flowing like a set of evanescent thoughts

You can't turn around without tripping over hipster duos going for a full band sound. Bands like Best Coast and The Raveonettes produce albums with dense arrangements, but the live show experiences often simplify the sound or rely on touring musicians. In rare cases, a duo can match their studio work, but this is more common with electronic or DJ oriented groups. El Ten Eleven shatters those preconceptions.

With Kristian Dunn playing a double necked guitar/bass and Tim Fogarty on drums and electronic percussion, the band performs dynamic shows featuring live looping, heavily processed sounds, and a large stage presence. Their latest release, Transitions, is another strong album with an eclectic mix of post-rock, indie rock, atmospheric film score sounds, and electronica flavored grooves.

Listening to El Ten Eleven's music, it's easy to forget that that there aren't four or five players building these songs. The illusion of multiple musicians is driven by Dunn's remarkable technical ability. He simultaneously plays bass and guitar using a two handed tapping technique. The parts are repeatedly layered into loops until the track is dense with detail. These elements fit so smoothly that the music transcends the technology.  It would be easy to assume a lot of studio editing and overdubs, but Dunn's live performance delivers all of this combined with a dynamic, dancing stage presence.

Fogarty's contribution is equally vital. His rhythm picks up on the subtleties of Dunn's progressions, pulling in the right balance of cooperation and contrast. On "Thanks, Bill", the guitar sets a tick-tock, clockwork feel, which Fogerty emphasizes with a mechanical 16th note beat on the kick and then the high hat. Once the song gets moving, he layers in a slower beat that propels the song with the perfect snare hit. When the song opens up into a power chord punch, his bass drum rhythm is almost irregular, leaving plenty of holes in the beat to match the more expansive feel.

Transitions flows like a set of evanescent thoughts or daydreams. Ideas blossom, develop, and then lose focus as new musical elements overtake them. As instrumentals, the songs leave themselves wide open for interpretation. This is clearest on the title track. "Transitions" has a series of musical vignettes that balance between meandering exploration and purposeful direction. The full collection seems to reflect a creative process culminating in a sense of satisfaction. The first segment feels anticipatory. Dunn expands on that with a twinkling flicker of notes that sound almost electronic. Then a dirty, distorted bass note pushes through and recontextualizes the interlocking complexity as rock overture worthy of The Who. The next section is more reflective, as if it's assessing a set of options. E-Bowed swells of notes mesh with a post-rock bass line. Later sections create moods of quiet certainty, focused direction, surprised contrast, and inspiration. The song comes full circle as it revisits the first section, but with a new urgency that concludes the long track with wonderment and pride.

The other musical journeys on Transitions aren't as extended, but El Ten Eleven infuses them with a wide range of styles: "Yellow Bridges" crosses progressive rock with a bit of film score expansiveness while "No One Died This Time!" relies on a choppy bass line to create an exhilarating electronic vibe.

My favorite track was "Tiger Tiger", which starts out with a simple bass line cribbed from Lou Reed's "Walk on the Wild Side" but slowed to an opiated tempo. This sparse intro is punctuated with a set of trippy guitar arpeggios, twisted with echo and flange effects. The main groove of the song has a King Crimson feel; a smooth guitar line snakes through the interlocking flicker of backing notes with psychedelic shimmers along the edges. Eventually the track is densely packed with details, creating an image of a wild, verdant jungle. Dunn's playing is very reminiscent of Adrian Belew's expressive guitar work.

Transitions' biggest weakness is the short 36 minute running time. But El Ten Eleven mitigates this with moments of quiet beauty, staggering complexity, and gut-grabbing power, sometimes all within the same track.

Recording review - Delicate Steve, Positive Force (2012)

Delicate Steve's unique sound creates a happy hippy mood

Delicate Steve's new album Positive Force comes out next month. It's a solid follow up to his earlier release, Wondervisions. Guitarist Steve Marion continues his experimental compositions, this time capturing a retro, hippy optimism. It's cheery pop, yet earnestly heartfelt.

Like Wondervisions, the new album is largely instrumental. Backing vocals creep in, but Marion's guitar sings in the place of lead vocals. "Sings" is the operative word. Marion's guitar is fluid as it slides through his melodies. His phrasing often suggests a lyrical flow.

While Marion played all the instruments on Positive Force, the guitar is the centerpiece. His tone is unique. It's closest to Adrian Belew's synth guitar, but more geared towards wild pitch shifts. At times, his effects make it hard to identify as guitar.

The opening track, Ramona Reborn serves as the perfect introduction to Positive Force. The '60s psychedelic pop feel celebrates a George Harrison toned slide guitar. The theme promises redemption and all good things in their time as it repeats like the coda from Layla.

A couple of tracks later, Two Lovers' ambient beginning sets the space for acoustic lines to coalesce into a song. The relaxed pop rhythm loops languorously. The guitars here are much less processed, creating more natural vibe in comparison with the synth-like, frequency shifted guitar sound that Delicate Steve tends to favor. The backing vocals set up the Beach Boys harmonies on the following track, Big Time Receiver.

One of my favorite tracks, Afria Talks To You offers a hint of Led Zeppelin's Fool In The Rain in the intro. The percussion recalls Peter Gabriel's work, but I really like the simple, clean guitar line in the middle section. It's easy to imagine lyrics here but the impact is stronger letting the guitar sing instead.

Delicate Steve's compositions on Positive Force place more emphasis on pop oriented songs, even as his guitar work remains edgy and experimental. Sometimes, it takes on an insistent whine as the notes soar ever higher, but the album is still warm and inviting.

CD review - Matt Stevens, Ghost (2010)

Experimental acoustic guitar. It conjures up images of foaming potions, electrical cables, and challenging music. My first impression of Matt Stevens' Ghost was that it seemed too satisfied with its own experimental nature. Fortunately, I gave it a second listen. Maybe the moon was in the right phase, but this time, the experiment was a success.

Ghost is full of atmospheric sonic poems that often veer towards a kind of soundtrack-like programmatic music. Stevens assembles his compositions with acoustic guitar parts (often looped) and minimal touches of bass, percussion, and keyboard. Each song has its own unique melodic elements -- stuttering rhythms, odd tonalities, and intriguing harmonies. At the same time, most of these songs are very evocative, pulling up moods and images. Musically, there are elements of jazz, folk, rock, and progressive rock, but Stevens isn't too worried about genre: a single song may shift from jazz to prog rock and back.

As a guitarist, Stevens has a wonderful touch. The playing varies from brilliantly crisp notes to looser glissando notes to a tightly controlled vibrato. In every case, Stevens achieves the effect the song calls for.

It's hard to reduce the review to a small handful of songs. There are many nice moments here.

Eleven sets up a relentless arpeggio as a foundation for a simple repetitive finger picking line. A smooth lead lies like over the top like a coverlet. Small chimes accentuate the guitar. The song is thoughtful, but there's a satisfying tension between the arpeggio and the finger picking.

My favorite track is Burnt Out Car, which balances an upbeat major 7th groove with a darker, more pensive section. The cheery part has a Pink Floyd vibe and an open, golden meadow feel. Some passes, it has a jaunty angular flow over the top. The contrasting part is like stepping into the shadows, where there's a slightly threatening feel. The song whipsaws these shifting moods, but the changes are smooth.

Both Lake Man and Ghost are more introspective and fitful, but in different ways. Lake Man is stripped down and spooky. The beat and growling bass lay out a techno feel under the classical lead line. Ghost, on the other hand, sets up a lurching rhythm and swells of sound to create a slightly mournful mood. It's busier, with more moving parts. One thing these two songs share, though, is a sense of breath...a taste of chaotic life.

This feel is pervasive throughout Ghost. The writing and execution stand up well with each other. I'll suggest Russian River's Pliny the Younger as a nice pairing.

Ghost is available on Matt Stevens' site, where you can stream it or download it and name your own price. Give it a couple of listens and, if you like it, support a great musician.