>>> Key
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:: A sideline symphony for the street. Sounds like cars whizzing by in the rain, lots of contemplation, space, space, space. Jos Smolders, a graduate of the collective known as THU20 (back to the mid 80s), reveals a softer, deeper side of his senses on Habitat, an acoustic outing. Become a passive outside listener to indoor goings-on, draw wisdom from the wind, and bear in mind that when Smolders is ready, he will take a most industrial turn, with a metallic varietal that he’s aged to perfection. A majority of the beginnings here, “Nacht 3:30AM” and “Zondag” just float gently. This is “lose yourself, headphone listening.” These vague field recordings of birds in the distance and car doors and engines are spliced and repeated giving the impression of a childhood history of open space and its man-made interruptions to the balance of nature. It’s damn subtle (until “Beton”). The assorted percussive noise actually sounds like a writhing, heavy-breathing organism. It’s more intricate and awkwardly self-aware than caustic noise for the sake of it. More like the choreography of electric friction, especially heard on “Arvika” which is a motorized spring-like doorstop that just rips and purrs and moves so organically. The track also boasts the howling of what could be boys in an old, cavernous school hallway. This is a complex listen and may take several sittings to pick up the delicate minutiae between the static and metallics.
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:: A steel junkyard battle as caught on cassette tape, for sure! This sounds in parts like two monster trucks fu*king. But with the dual simplicity of school yard recess and vibrant, sawing feedback Greg Kelley let’s go of something unlike a big ole bomb. Not like a stinker, but the real kind, noise-o-matic deluxe. There are many bends in this foiled plan, aerated madness as it stands. His crediting Tommy James in the liner notes and excerpting some royal-speak ala Leif Elggren don’t begin to whisper half the story here. In fact, I would call most of this quite demented, hard listening. Aboard he’s got his Beantown buds Mike Bullock, Jason Lascalleet, Vic Rawlings and others who contribute, er, de-assimilate and destruct maybe, most of this 36 minute frosty adventure. Hmmm, my guess is you won’t see many of these in the discount bin.
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:: Robin Storey has evolved as Rapoon and vice-versa. My Life As A Ghost is something of a contemporary soundtrack for light travel. It’s full of beats and energy (“Adrift”), but alas, it leaves room for voice concepts and plenty of drama (“The sky was blue”), slightly dotted by the second wind of Laurie Anderson. In a moment we are transported from a late night rave into a steely subway. It’s quite haunting and elusive. The percussion is gassy and full of quirks on the gawky “Neyyatt” punctuating itself like a broken alarm clock with an attitude. It’s time to pay even more close attention to this once serious master of macabre world ambient and distinctive experimentalism. He’s making something palpably within the edge of techno, with the crispy heat of the KLF on “Terrain Sounds” and the bloated trippiness of “Silver Comp”. “BIG Land IN” sounds like Kraftwerk’s “Tour de France” redux, just the breaths, nothing else except some spare part beats. The final “Tell Charlene” starts off like a house night in some darkened leather club in Berlin, but Storey adds vocal cut-ups and buzzing interludes transforming it into an instant dichotomy of mixed styles that heats up and remains in the balance.
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:: The playing is something that puts you on the edgy end of your seat, like the moment when something peculiar is about to projectile towards you in a film thriller. This duo paces themselves on some instruments that may be partially designed and developed, but that most have never heard of as is Heribert Friedl’s cymbalon, and Bernhard Günter’s xiao and traverse shakuhachis, and the electric cellotar (cross between a cello and guitar?). One thing is for sure, the acoustics make for some orchestral drone that is harmonically twisted. The wind instrument brings a needed flare into the bass sound space of worked metal. This could be a harvest gathering of natives, it could be a hymn before slaughter. That it makes the listener wonder gives credence to its symbolic and conceptual scope. In the way the sound interacts with my own space I feel right there live, and we are peasants in the altogether. There is an improvised, yet controlled feel to the entire layout, and the fact that there are short pause/segues in between builds up short vignettes. As they paint the air like tribesmen, there’s something of a wild calling, something from an earth meets body perspective.
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:: The tribal drum calling of the brief Russian folk song “As for the Little Grey Rabbit” opens Insignificance, the latest by the Brooklyn-based seven-piece Barbez. This ain’t your average outing either, it’s some magical cross pollination of Lene Lovich, Spiritualized and folk rock blended into a aural frappe. The overall orchestral sound of the entire group working together to churn out a track like “Strange” is hugely dimensional, almost arena style. Ksenia Vidyaykina’s vocals are Klaus Nomi opera, with a gentle warble that is akin to the new vaudeville of current players like Antony & the Johnsons, this is most certainly the edge of what rock music is all about. I am gonna call it beat-rock (as in beatnik, not BPM). In moments it’s a séance, others a funeral pyre reigning high, still at others (“Song of the Moldau”) the spirit of goth punk rises from the ashes but all the while, the flavor of the psychedelic 60’s (with the eerie fairy sounds of the theremin) is bred in a refined way. The aforementioned track welcomes The Lonesome Organist to the foray of players. ‘Insignificance’ is a massive crockpot of sacred, contemporary hymns that has much in common with everyone from Diamanda Galas and Siouxsie Sioux to Godspeed You Black Emperor and back again. These boys and girls are wise interpreters of an original spirit that has flown, and is about to set sail.
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:: Modernity recreated in a hushed tongue. Amantine Dahan Steiner and Isabelle Gaborit’s voices are spoken and crooned in repetitive, woven whispers awakening nymph spirits and recalling like masters Meredith Monk and early Susanne Vega (poetry minus pop). It’s a forty-five minute breathy French lullaby that is sheer and fluid. Steven Stapleton elongates tones, like lips in the breeze, ephemerally fluttering about deconstruction and composition. The women drench our ears with hazy, singsong harmonies with a background of subtle raspy snake and insect-like recoil. This poem is light, airy, free and all about the stunting warmth of summertime. Glittery.
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:: Again, I just melt to Valerie Trebeljahr’s steamy vocals, there’s just something distant enough, shimmery and subtly coy that grooves my heart. This set is a compass of mixes and hard to find b-sides from a range of work from Y2K until yesterday, and it’s crisp, refreshing and bright. “40 Days” (from ’02) sounds like a sped down version of something out of Garbage’s stash or perhaps even Curve’s first disc, ethereal with a rock sharp edge. Bomb the Bass’ treatment of “Clear Cut” has a down tempo flavor and a spontaneous afterbite that cries as it flies high. This German quartet have all the savvy beats down pat, but as reflected through the ears of other like producers and artists they plant colorful fields of groundcover. The colors range from evocative drop-pop in the hands of Two Lone Swordsmen (“It’s not the worst I’ve looked”) to stingingly twee, acoustically broken down techno as featured in Boom Bip’s recreation of their EP “Micronomic.” Along the way lost pieces such as “Harrison Reverse” shows off their inner penchant to take a Stereolab-like approach even further, with muted washes of stretched vibes and 80’s retro percussion. Their cover of Phil Oakey and Giorgio Moroder’s classically cheeky “Together in Electric Dreams” (from the eponymous 80’s flick) is just distorted and trippy enough to make for a great late night naked elevator excursion in Vegas. “Grin and Bear” gets the muted effects of To Rococo Rot, bringing in lilting strings that dance and fade the vocal to a whisper so when she sings “you’ve been told” it’s a bit of a stretch of the lobe. This is a totally Summery disc that will spin for many hours to come.
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Essential Links ::
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Read more Microview’s ::
11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1
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