Review: Steven R. Smith, “Cities”

Steven R. Smith is one of the most fascinating guitarists and writers this country has. Along with talents like Glenn Jones, Jack Rose, and Ben Chasny, he has composed a remarkable and singular body of work grounded in the history and spirit of America (guts and all). After nearly 15 years and well over 30 albums Smith has composed one of his best records yet, one that approaches the greatness of Tableland. Economical and sharply focused, Cities plays out like the soundtrack to humanity’s slow and sad funeral.

I don’t mean to suggest that Smith and Jones or Smith and Chasny have all that much in common musically, but they all produce distinctly American sounding music. What they write is married variously to folk and country traditions, the myth of the wild west, or American nature and mysticism. On Cities Smith focuses squarely on nature and myth, with an eye towards the reclamation of land and beauty lost. Beginning with “Cities in Decline,” Steven paints a portrait of man as criminal and of nature as judge, jury, and executioner. A shifting drone made from a frayed violin sets the tone for the entire album and for the appearance of a descending guitar melody that imitates the opening song’s title. With Smith we descend into a world set ablaze: skyline’s burn in the distance, cities become unsafe, and the unsympathetic stillness of the wild offers itself as the only shelter from mankind’s dread fate. Of course, it turns out to be a graveyard itself. Smith’s style is so sharp and perfectly honed that vivid images jump out of the music and offer themselves instead of laying in wait for an adventurous listener. On Cities the power of impressionism is utilized to its fullest. Bright and clear melodies populate the record, but they are used to contrast the vast swathes of tonal color and smears of texture that make up most of the record. Where singable melodies and familiar song structures emerge, they do so quite strongly and with a great deal of emotional power. “Line to Line, Pole to Pole” is one such instance. The song lasts but a minute, but in that time Smith splits open his record and reveals a fragile beauty full of wonder, remorse, and fractured memory.

As it turns out, much of the album sounds like an imperfectly recalled memory. There are spots on the record where Smith’s playing reaches for some unseen apex, but falls short and breaks down. It’s as if his fingers can’t quite remember what to do or as though they’ve become weak. On “The City Gate” a violin leads the action, but its typically brilliant tenor is rendered rough and feeble, like it would sound if a child were playing the melody but still learning how to draw the bow across the strings. Misremembered or misplayed phrases appear all over the record, but in a deliberate fashion. In other places, instruments sound distant and uncertain, as though the narrative being told is full of “maybes” and “I believes.” And this is what I mean by Smith’s playing being especially impressionistic: he’s not worried about songs so much as he is about painting a picture or describing a scene. “The Road” is an example of him combining both approaches in the same song. A guitar with nylon strings walks over a simple organ melody and the crackling glimmer of Smith’s electric accompaniments. The arrangement imitates the cadence of someone walking or stumbling down a path with a scorched and blistered plain providing the sad setting for this almost pathetic scene. The title and tone recall Cormac McCarthy’s novel of the same name and I have to assume Smith is referencing it, even if unconsciously. It would make the perfect soundtrack to that destitute story.

Cities is both painful and pleasant, much in the same way as McCarthy’s book. Small victories are won throughout the album, especially where simple beauty and awe burst through all the destruction and distortion. “All is One, One is None, None” closes the album on this note, where a kind of bittersweet reverence is intimated. A half-yelled, half-sung chorus of wordless notes is set beneath a buzzing wave of guitar noise and glinting harmony. As the song fades to nothing, a resigned quietude takes over and the bleak landscapes of Smith’s mind appear to silence the possibility of saying anything more. There’s no struggle and no pain in the music, just a quiet breath and a small feeling, like standing in the shadow of the world.

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Cities is available on Immune Recordings
Sound samples available at Brainwashed.com

Review: Nightmares 7″

The far off screaming of a tortured mass inaugurates Nightmares’ 7″ EP, sending a chilly wave of numbing synthesizer noise out into the world. Jonathan Canaday, David Reed, and Mark Solotroff’s work together is as severe and indomitable as the product of their solo productions might suggest. Though not as frightening as their namesake implies, Nightmares’ noise is oppressive and dense and more than a little uncomfortable.

Of the three releases from Nightmares this year, their 7″ EP is the shortest and, for that reason, most forgiving recording. Their brevity is about all that makes these two songs tolerable. Both are filled with scores of sickly synthesizer tones and hissing noise, which together induce a claustrophobic tension and a nauseating sense of vertigo. Enjoyable only to the extent that discomfort can be, “Floating Above the Tracks” and “We Were Melded Together” do not allow for silence nor relief. Though there are spaces between the sounds and the band avoids creating an onslaught of pure noise, not one second goes that isn’t tattooed by menace. Whether atonal pockets of sound are bubbling up in the background or long, obvious screeches of phased metallic noise are ripping through the foreground, I always feel pressed beneath the weight of Nightmares’ unremitting electronics. The density they achieve isn’t the result of stereo-filling distortion, but the accomplishment of psychological dread and volume. On the one hand, much of what is oppressing about each song can be found in how one reacts to the band’s abstractions.

Whether or not I was intended to hear people screaming or to imagine the extent of infinite space while listening, I do hear and imagine those things and both cause some exciting reactions. I’m never quite scared by what I hear, but what’s implied is enough to keep me on guard, always guessing what might be around the next corner. On the other hand, both songs exhibit the kind of spaciousness I’d typically associate with ambient music. The songs aren’t so congested that I can’t hear events when they happen. All the dissonant tones that pop up and wobble through the songs are thus able to flex their muscle to the fullest extent. Because of this sharp production and clarity I can make sense of what’s happening both in the noise and inbetween its various instantiations. But, every moment is perverse and unfamiliar and haunted by an eternal horizon. Canaday, Reed, and Solotroff convincingly portray a threat out there somewhere, just beyond where you and I can see, but they never reveal it. So when the needle reaches the end of the record and the music stops, I’m almost a little too happy to put the record back in its sleeve.

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The 7″ is available from Bloodlust! / Fatal Beliefs / Malsonus
No sound samples available.

Review: To Kill A Petty Bourgeoisie, “Marlone”

In 2007, To Kill A Petty Bourgeoisie began their first album on Kranky with a shriek of piercing noise. The album that followed was layered with dirty rhythms and walls of sound that were as dense and deformed as they were pretty. On Marlone, Mark McGee and Jehna Wilhelm have opened up their sound and, as a result, crafted a spacious and sprawling album far more dynamic and layered than their debut.

“You’ve Gone Too Far” might as well be the mantra Mark and Jenha worked from while recording Marlone. The Patron wasn’t exactly an extravagant album, however the latest from this Minneapolis based duo is far more concerned with restraint and economy than its predecessor was. The aforementioned opening song builds and develops slowly, putting numerous textures and Jenha’s lovely vocals to good use. Wilhelm’s voice is, in fact, the single most important instrument on the album and also one of the most diverse. Without her, certain songs would fall apart or simply dissolve before they could evolve. On the other hand, her sometimes haunting melodies wouldn’t sound nearly as impressive as they do if it weren’t for Mark’s churning blend of guitar, bass, violin, and drums. Blasts of noise aren’t quite as important this time around as continuity and thick-as-a-brick atmospheres are, but waves of feedback, drone, and distortion still play a significant role on nearly every song. If nothing else, Marlone is a further refinement of the music we heard on The Patron, but there are places where To Kill A Petty Bourgeoisie have altered their sound more radically and produced music far richer than anything from their past. Those moments are Marlone’s defining ones. While some of the album proceeds at the same patient pace as past efforts, the band frequently ventures off into new territory with exotic and more exciting results.

“The Needle” is the first sign that TKAPB are ready to travel beyond their comfort zone. After “You’ve Gone Too Far” fades away, a pulsing keyboard melody and a thumping drum set emerge from the silence like a predator hunting down frightened prey. But this pace doesn’t last long and the song quickly segues into a drift of low-end melody and Jenha’s airy voice. Splashes of percussion and metallic noise swirl about her like a threatening presence, but they only break free and scream toward the end of the song. Even then, the name of the game is impressionism: Mark and Jenha’s music breathes and hisses more than it punches or attacks. The upbeat, nearly dancey rhythm promised at the beginning of “The Needle” doesn’t show up again until six songs later, when “In Peoples’ Homes” kicks the album into serious overdrive. In the interim songs develop throbbing rhythms, but they all move in unison like a blob. Even where sharp rhythms are distinctly heard, McGee’s production overtakes them with blends of melody, string textures, organic noise, and big doomy blasts of bass drums and cymbals. At times this combo manifests a romantic tone, but a kind of barren dread can be felt throughout the record, too. It’s as if Mark and Jenha were performing from the other side of the apocalypse.

Still, whispers of hope and even happiness are implied on the album, as in the conclusion to “I Will Hang My Cape in Your Closet.” For nearly three minutes TKAPB prepare to take off and soar into the heavens, readying themselves to escape the dark and dimly lit world in which they have always lived. Of course, this preparation is summarily erased by an eerie transition and a giant, almost mechanical blast of distortion and martial rhythm. Because an uncanny mood dominates much of the record, a sense of monotony marks parts of the record. It takes four whole songs and part of a fifth for McGee and Wilhelm to break out of their mold and produce something with a little pep to it. This could be read as a mark of dedication and consistency, but Mark and Jenha blend their influences so well that I think more variety could’ve enhanced the album.

Happily, “In Peoples’ Homes” explodes near the end of the album and delivers a much needed surge of strong melody and succinct songwriting. Where previous songs either relied upon Jenha alone for melodic content or shared melodic duties among various instruments at various times, “In Peoples’ Homes” puts all the cards on the table at once. It is the closest the band has come to writing a pop song and its rather upbeat performance is a show stealer. The first time through, it was the most shocking thing on the album. Its yearning violin line and Jenha’s playful vocals contrast sharply the sludge and droney mass that makes up the rest of the album. Upon repeat listens it isn’t quite so shocking; its place on the record makes good sense and marks one of the album’s highest peaks. And though its violins, acoustic drums, and clean guitar lines make for a more open sound, Marlone still shows off a dense attitude. One of the band’s defining attributes is its willingness to move at a glacial pace; “Turritopsis” and “Summertime” are perfect examples of this. Big, chunky strokes of sound define both songs, which mix McGee’s love for noise with major chords and an altogether bright production. Without a doubt, this is a far less destructive record than The Patron. It’s also more diverse and, for that reason, a more pleasing record.

By shedding some of the darkness surrounding them, TKAPB have crafted an album with as much light to it as darkness. This lends Marlone a romantic tone, maybe even a tragic one. In any case, the freedom realized in incorporating further pop elements into their sound is significant. It both contrasts their typically intense and cinematic vision and provides it with some much welcomed depth. Without it, Marlone wouldn’t be the big step forward that it is.

It is worth noting that the copy of Marlone I received has some regretably blurry text settled among the already dark artwork. I understand that black and grey make an attractive couple, but reading the song titles and the contributor’s names in the liner notes was far more difficult than it should be. This is maybe a minor complaint, but it would be nice if I didn’t have to strain my eyes to figure out who engineered the album and provided the artwork!

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Marlone is available on Kranky
Sound samples available at Brainwashed.com

Review: Nudge, “As Good As Gone”

Brain Foote, along with Honey Owens, Paul Dickow, and a few new faces, have produced one of the most varied and unique records I’ve heard all year. The progress won on their Infinity Padlock EP has been further refined into a near seamless blend of miscellaneous musical styles and sleek, spaced-out atmospheres. With As Good As Gone Nudge has entered a world all their own; nobody else sounds quite like they do.

Initially, it isn’t clear what Foote and company are up to on their latest record. The opening song, “Harmo,” is a wheezing stretch of noise that never quite gels or finds a groove. It is held together in only the most abstract way: there are no strong rhythms, identifiable lyrics, or particularly notable sonic events, nor is there a particularly strong melody to which one might latch. Honey Owens’ voice merely slides in and out of intelligibility behind an orchestra of harmonica, vocal harmonies, guitar, bubbling bass, and other various electronic refuse. It develops a tangible tension, but release never comes. After listening to the album once, however, “Harmo’s” place is clear: it is the sound of Nudge warming up and preparing to blow minds. Over the next 35 minutes and six songs the band fuses together dub, rocksteady, drum ‘n’ bass, psychedelic rock, jazz, and various forms of electronic pop and dance music. The result is a dark, almost brooding album packed full of strong songs, memorable melodies, and an enormous (somewhat sexy) low end. Through it all Nudge sound cool and relaxed, as if these peculiar blends all came to them quite naturally. I imagine the opposite is true, however. As Good As Gone shows some improvisational color, but the album’s deliberate pace and sober tenor suggest that Nudge worked very hard to make this recipe sound as good as it does.

After “Harmo” shakes and buzzes away, “Two Hands” begins with a sudden rubbery bass line and a ruffled rhythm section that lends the song an uneven or unsure quality, at least at first. Strands of guitar hum to life and, shortly, Honey Owens sings a lilting tune that matches the music’s lazy gait perfectly. It also generates some forward motion. Once she begins singing the song takes off in a multitude of ways. Paul Dickow’s unmistakable rhythmic signature pops up almost simultaneously and is matched by both Owen’s screeching guitar work and a never-ending cascade of effects, synthesizers, and instrumental variations. To top it all off, Foote inserts some muted, highly processed trumpet into the mix, tacking a distinctly jazzy tone onto the end of an already complex and luxuriant song. That hint of jazz haunts the rest of the record, sometimes showing up obviously and sometimes only vaguely. This is partly due to Nudge emphasizing continuity and development over repetition and partly due to the album’s ambiguous use of otherwise familiar styles.

Aside from the repeating bass lines that anchor nearly every track on the album, loops seem to have disappeared from the band’s vocabulary altogether. The drums, guitars, and synthesizers featured throughout the record grow and shrink in unexpected ways instead of simply repeating. Nevertheless, strong grooves play a big role throughout As Good As Gone, whether they are subtle or distinctly felt. On “Tito,” rocksteady rhythms and unusual synthetic worms of melody produce a weightless or directionless effect, distorting time instead of keeping it. This makes the whole thing sound like a happy and drunken stroll outside a dance hall. As it turns out, the upbeat keyboard skanking, along with the pitch bending and shuffled effects, marks the brightest and happiest point on As Good As Gone. Nudge’s staggered beats and confused melodies are at their most playful here. Once it ends everything goes very, very dark, like the album’s artwork.

The howling dog on the cover reminds me of the slow and mournful atmosphere found on “Burns Blue” and “Dawn Comes Light.” The former is a churning song with a somber bass melody and slithering vocal effects. The airy keyboards and rumbling, cymbal-heavy rhythm generate an isolated mood and further develop the jazz themes only hinted at in the previous songs. The latter is a dreamy, somewhat barren piece populated by bouts of silence and splashes of guitar strumming. It brings to mind the closing song on Infinity Padlock, but this time around the band’s dynamic shift isn’t nearly as surprising. The quiet guitars and near-whispered vocals eventually give way to a wave of distortion and surging, pseudo-melodious strings, which contrast the previous five songs in a relieving and natural fashion.

The ideas first tested on Infinity Padlock have matured fully by the end of this album. Nudge no longer sound as though they are forcing developments or seeking their voice. Everything has its place, even if that place is chaotic and disheveled. On As Good As Gone, the band sounds completely in control with each member performing at the height of their abilities.

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As Good As Gone is available from Kranky
Sound samples available at Brainwashed.com

Review: Christina Carter, “Lace Heart”

Christina Carter’s music has been compared to Jandek’s lately, but that analogy goes only so far in describing what she does. Her style is bare and equally ghostly, but unlike her Texan brother’s output, Carter’s music on Lace Heart is immediately approachable and tranquil. Each song is a sigh of yearning and contemplation but the hypnotic strumming of her guitar and the power of her voice generate a heavy and sensuous undertow.

Two years ago a meager 300 copies of this album were made on CDR through Christina’s Many Breaths label, each adorned with a handmade cover that included newspaper clippings and original artwork. The patchwork nature of that CDr release has been eschewed by Root Strata in favor of a far more elaborate and stunning package of near equal scarcity (only 500 copies were pressed). New artwork and some flashy vinyl constitute the visual component of Carter’s record this time around, both of which compliment the delicate and airy sounds that populate the album’s six songs. The auburn bursts of color on the cover translate almost perfectly the blocks of chords that Christina pulls from her guitar. Her style is a blend of jagged rhythmic strumming and diaphanous, almost ethereal tones. Melodies often sound as though they are seeping from her guitar in quiet ribbons, but many of the songs feature awkward meters and broken phrases that jump from the strings in an almost improvised fashion. This juxtaposition is probably responsible for many of the Jandek comparisons Carter has been receiving, but her music is far more melodic and sober. For Christina, songwriting is obviously more important than anything else. The atmosphere she develops on the record emerges because of her quasi-ambiguous lyrics and ritualistic performances; the echo and reverb that soak it act only as decorations in an already ornate and severe structure.

The album begins with a simple and looping melody. The repetition is bluesy but the melody is less showy and played straight, at least at first. Christina’s chants of “Dream long, dream long” drift out of the speakers as though her voice were resonating from inside a cave. References to sanctuaries and partnerships immediately bestow a sacred quality upon the record and the simplistic, almost droning quality of the “Dream Long” melody appropriately recalls the spellbinding meter of some religious music. As the song slowly unravels, moans of melody bubble up over a dominant rhythmic plucking and send the record off on a solo jam that would be perfectly entrancing were it not for the sudden cut which ends it.

This quick fade or sudden cut is used to conclude a couple of the songs on Lace Heart. It represents the album’s greatest flaw and most annoying feature. After listening to seven or more minutes of sinuous guitar parts, the last thing I want to hear is a sudden fade or awkward stop in the music. The majority of the record is a continuous and calming string of understated phrases, however. Both Carter’s lyrics and her jumbled strumming elicit a relaxed and hazy sensation not unlike being half awake. On “I Am Seen” she combines a vocal fugue with a rambling guitar line and inverts the relationship typically shared between her and her guitar. Elsewhere, “Long Last Breaths” almost disappears into the midst of its own repetition, becoming very silent before settling into a rumbling, unaccompanied groove.

Lace Heart, like many of Christina’s solo records, exists in a meditative, almost obsessive place. In less capable hands a boring or numbing experience might have been the result. Lace Heart’s dream-like progression and somewhat obtuse character provide a lot of depth, however, and make it both a superficially enjoyable record and potentially deep listening experience.

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Lace Heart is available on Root Strata (2xLP) and Many Breaths (CDr)
Sound samples available at Brainwashed.com

Review: Rome, “Flowers from Exile”

Rome’s bold and prismatic vision is anchored by one of the strongest vocalists I’ve heard this year. Jerome Reuter’s commanding and resonant voice is a significant part of this band’s appeal, but it’s the exotic and manifold musical styles used throughout the record that generate the most excitement and make Flowers From Exile a joy to hear.

Jerome Reuter’s deep tenor recalls the deliveries of both Dave Gahan and Nick Cave. Coincidentally, the music he writes draws from the same deep well of drama, personal confession, damnation, and redemption implemented by both of those writers. On this record Reuter has more in common with the likes of Nick Cave or someone like Bob Dylan than he does with a pop star, but his music isn’t a simple reflection of any one musical genre. Flowers From Exile is supposedly based upon the events of the Spanish Civil War, a conflict in which Retuer’s family partook. The various samples used throughout the album, as well as its exotic arrangements, intimate an atmosphere of conflict and resignation, but specifics never quite materialize the way they would in folk music or songs of political protest. More plainly, Flowers tackles the familiar topics of isolation, desperation, and displacement whether it be political, familial, or religious in scope. Reuter’s use of broad metaphor makes personal investment easy and ultimately lends the album a melodramatic tint, but the band’s restraint and honesty takes the cheap catharsis of melodrama and converts it into a spectrum of various intrigues and ambiguities. In this way, the band’s claim that they are influenced by chanteurs makes sense, especially if that influence were to include the likes of Jacques Brel or Serge Gainsbourg. As is the case with nearly every album conducted by a poet-musician, there are spots of lyrical extravagance that border on cloying, but Flowers’ many merits make such excesses forgivable.

Many of those merits can be attributed to Rome’s other half, Patrick Damiani. Responsible for producing Flowers and writing its arrangements, Damiani populates Reuter’s world with the sounds of field recordings, foreign voices, martial rhythms, atmospheric howls, and a variety of musical styles from flamenco to pseudo-industrial collage. Despite that variety, the album stays focused and never degenerates into a formless mush. Comparisons to famous “neofolk” or “apocalyptic folk” groups makes sense to some small degree however the band’s versatility is enough to distinguish them from groups like Death in June or Sol Invictus, not to mention their subtlety and restraint. Rome concentrates the majority of their energy on quality songwriting, a fact crystallized in both the memorable melodies and diverse forms employed throughout Flowers. The group rarely falls back on the verse-chorus-verse formula, they never rely on atmosphere or pomp to hold their music up, and the train of samples and instruments that pepper the record gel with the songs more often than they clash.

Patrick garnishes Jerome’s songs with layers and layers of instrumentation, but uses the guitar to hold his ideas together. So, while welters of noise sizzle beneath some songs and operatic voices swell up beside others, Damiani’s strumming moves forward and provides both a musical and narrative momentum. And the best songs have quite a bit of momentum to them. “The Secret Sons of Europe” and “To Die Among Strangers” are heavy and propulsive numbers with explosive qualities. One is a rhythmically intricate piece with sharp corners, sampled choruses, understated solos, and a gilded horn section. The other is an emotionally heavy performance accented by a quickly strummed guitar and an elegant violin part. They put the album’s slowly developed tension to good use and, as a result, are two of the more memorable songs on the record.  Rome’s slower, more traditional songs do not inspire equally glowing reactions, however. Both “Odessa” and the titular closer feel somewhat empty or unfinished next to their richly decorated brethern. These songs are no less strong than any of the others, but they represent the places where Damiani’s production does not rise the occasion. This is a minor annoyance, but it reveals that Reuter’s voice is only as compelling as the music that surrounds it. Flowers From Exile is a gem of a record nonetheless, and its lackluster ending does little to compromise its many virtues.

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Flowers from Exile is available on Trisol
Sound samples available at Brainwashed.com

Review: Magnolia Electric Co., “Josephine”

The passing of bassist Evan Farrell was enough to make Jason Molina think about breaking up the band, according to some recent interviews. Instead, Molina turned to his guitar and ended up writing what might be the best Magnolia Electric Co. record since the group’s 2003 debut. Josephine finds the band looking forwards and backwards, breaking new ground and mining old territory and creating something strangely seductive in the process.

Molina has been surprisingly candid about his latest record. He doesn’t quite explain Josephine, but he doesn’t hide the fact that it is a reckoning with the death of a friend and fellow musician. Appropriately, the record is one of the darkest the Company has crafted. In places it recalls the subterranean gloom and lonely isolation of the best Songs: Ohia records, but it doesn’t linger in the past long enough to be a step backwards. From the opening “O! Grace,” which features a surprising sax solo, to the romance of “Rock of Ages” and the punchy organ on “Little Sad Eyes,” Molina and his band avoid falling into clichés by refusing to sit still. The variety of musical styles and instrumentation is, in part, a tribute to the ideas Farrell had for this record, but also proof positive that Molina is one of the best songwriters this country has. He moves gracefully from the straight rock of “Josephine” and “The Handing Down” to the woeful sludge of “Knoxville Girl” and the bar-room balladry of “Heartbreak at Ten Paces.” Keeping these disparate adventures in tact is Molina’s magical lyricism, which deserves a review of its own in many ways. Although the familiar images of horizons, bells, moons, and birds persist on this record, they acquire a personal dimension in light of Molina’s forwardness.

It would be easy to say that Josephine is a concept record about the loss of a bandmate, but that’d sell Molina’s songwriting ability short. Perhaps the most emotionally overwhelming song on the record, “Whip-Poor-Will,” was written at least as early as 2003. It appeared on the bonus CD to the Magnolia Electric Co. debut in acoustic form and it remains largely unchanged lyrically. So, while the song might sound like a letter to the deceased, it is more likely a song about loss and mortality in general. With Molina it’s hard to tell, however. He’s called the lyrics to “Josephine” a rebus and refused to say too much about who or what Josesphine is. As honest as he is on this record, he’s also just as obscure and impressionistic as he’s always been.

Josephine focuses a lot on ghosts, hope, and believing in something, but that only solidifies the album’s central figure enough to make her something less than an abstract name on paper. She’s mentioned throughout the record with references to hope, freedom, and foolishness surrounding her. On “Hope Dies Last,” the band half cries out for her, like she’s a lost lover far beyond their reach. Musing over the album’s many themes is probably best left to each listener, who can mull over lyrics, images, and the album’s evolution in the same personal way that Jason created them. But, I think it might be possible to decode Josephine by listening to the deep, resounding bass that dominates nearly every song. Its sensuous, pulsing sound is the album’s lifeblood. It is at the center of the best songs and, like a gift, encourages Molina to explore the dark territory that has always marked his best work.

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Josephine is available from Secretly Canadian
Sound samples available at Brainwashed.com

Review: Aidan Baker, “Gathering Blue”

I can’t tell if Aidan Baker is releasing old material and calling it new or producing muddy sounding music on purpose. Much of Gathering Blue has a basement tapes quality to it, but the reissued material that composes the second LP of this two-LP set is mostly stunning, as is the packaging that accompanies it. Baker might be in need of some quality control when it comes to his latest work, but his back catalog continues to impress me.

Aidan goes for broke and begins his latest endeavor with a side-long meditative jam. It’s composed mostly of a strong, low-end rhythm, an indistinct weave of harmonies, and the kind of processed haze found on nearly every fuzzy, electronics-heavy record out there. A fraction of the way through, Baker begins to half-mumble some vague and mostly incoherent lyrics with a heavy-handed dramatic tint to them. “Bond of Blood” is a risky way to start a record and it mostly fails to capture my attention. It is mixed entirely too low and contains a repetitive structure that completely betrays Baker’s typically intricate and subtle approach to writing. Anything on the I Wish Too, To Be Absorbed compilation bests this muddied work by a country mile.

Thankfully, the reverse side of the record picks up some of the slack with “Gathering Blue” and a cover of Joy Division’s “24 Hours.” Nevertheless, a strangely under-produced sound hovers over these songs. When compared to the second LP, all three opening tunes sound like unfinished demos tossed together without a thought given to production. Sometimes the rawness of poorly recorded albums can be appealing, but in Baker’s case nothing is gained and a lot is lost. In any case, “Gathering Blue” is another mostly quiet amalgam of processed guitar and quiet melody, but it brings a little more structure and diversity to the table than side A did. The Joy Division cover is both amusing and disappointing. For the duration of the song Baker simply plucks its familiar melody and sings the lyrics in the same half-mumbled way employed on “Bond of Blood.” The result is a dreary and dark remake of an already dark and weighty song, but without the driving rhythm or bitter anger of the original. It works to an extent, but I’ve come to expect more from Baker. Vocally, he doesn’t seem capable of expressing anything beyond doubt, remorse, or self-loathing, none of which compliment the music on this record.

The second LP illustrates just why Baker became so popular in the first place. It collects the Cicatrice and The Taste of Summer on Your Skin EPs from 2003 and 2004 as well as a couple of remixes included on the Arcolepsy remix EP from 2005. The Cicatrice EP and a remix by Building Castles Out of Matchsticks take up the entirety of Gathering Blue’s third side. Each of the five songs are soulful and carefully layered productions that move along at a slow and sensuous pace. The contrast between their shimmering high end and substantial low end produces an almost dub-like and hallucinogenic effect, which reverberates and throbs like a inhuman organ and lends a substantial amount of movement to the whole production. Colorful echoes and subtle nuances decorate Cicatrice from top to bottom, but Baker doesn’t rely on them to be effective. An indistinct, but persistent sense of melody and intensity carries these pieces, which are seamlessly meshed together by crisp production and clever sequencing. It’s a shame that an already limited and hard-to-find EP such as this one had to be re-released on a limited vinyl collection.

The fourth and final side of Gathering Blue is something of a mixed bag, but Cicatrice is a hard act to follow. The Taste of Summer on Your Skin is an upbeat and mostly busy production with drum ‘n’ bass rhythms populating a portion of its length. Dark, atonal pulses and cosmic noise constitute the rest of the it, which is entertaining but not altogether enthralling. I’ve heard lots of spacey sounds like these and though the effects and arrangements employed are attractive, they’re also a little predictable. The dark colors and menacing passages work for me, but are familiar and well-trodden, too. The Troum remix, which ends the record, is a lovely mass of sound built from metallic trembling and futuristic horn sections. It ends the record on a high note, but doesn’t exactly strike me as an appropriate closer.

On a record this uneven, a killer Baker original could have saved the day and left me musing over his many talents, but instead I’m left thinking of another band and their consistently excellent output. Gathering Blue is a sloppy and strangely fractured collection, but still worth seeking out just for the Cicatrice reissue and gorgeous packaging. Everything else will likely intrigue Baker fans, but fail to win anyone else over.

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Gathering Blue might be available through various retailers; check the sidebar to your right if you want to find a copy.
Sound samples not available… sorry

Review: Kyle Bobby Dunn, “Fragments & Compositions of…”

This carefully arranged and whisper-quiet record on Sedimental squeezes the time right out of life. Kyle Dunn’s slow orchestral pieces emphasize tiny movements and utilize subdued instrumentation as a means of stopping the clock and highlighting minuscule developments. It’s a beautiful and flawed record, one that shares a lot with early Stars of the Lid records, but Fragments & Compositions of… is absolutely bare-bones with little dressing and no pretense.

The nature of Dunn’s work invites all kinds of cinematic ideas and fantastic daydreams. As the stringed instruments he employs stretch out and breathe their harmonic sighs, an irresistible urge to impose lonely environments and isolated people upon the record arises. Ordinary and familiar events acquire a special dimension in the light of music such as this and, if experience is any indicator, that’s simply a natural consequence of well-written, well-produced chamber-drone. Kyle employs this potential well, shying away from overt drama, goofy samples, and imposing or unnecessary narratives while developing a natural and sensuous cycle of hushed pseudo-sonatas. His manner of constructing songs depends largely upon a natural and convincing tapestry of sounds: violins, cellos, pianos, and processed sound drift together throughout the majority of the record; expanding and contracting naturally as though Dunn’s influence was not at all involved and the music spontaneously seeped into existence. This sometimes generates a wash of pure sound and sometimes results in an intricate and subtle dance of classical instrumentation. Kyle fluctuates between emphasizing either drones or delicate and mesmerizing patterns, with one instrument or another sometimes assuming solo duties. He manages to extract a fair amount of variety from this formula but never injects the music with surprising dynamics nor does play with sharp contrasts. The album floats along at a pleasant enough pace but it doesn’t travel as far as I would like and it never deviates from the tone established in the first minutes of its playing.

The album’s one-dimensional quality might be an artifact of its development. These pieces were recorded over a period of two years and, if the title is any indication, were not originally conceived as parts of a whole. In that light the static quality of Fragments… acquires a sensible logic: think of the album as little more than a compilation of closely related compositions from the same time period and the uniformity becomes understandable. The austere beauty of the record is ultimately its greatest virtue and its most annoying element. Nonetheless, its uniformity is not especially damning. The quality of the songwriting combined with Dunn’s restraint is enough to make this a good record. A broader dynamic range and a greater instrumental variety would’ve helped it a great deal, however.

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Fragments & Compositions of… is available on Sedimental Records
Sound samples available at Brainwashed.com

Review: Jack Rose & The Black Twig Pickers

After listening to the last few Jack Rose records religiously, it’s something of a shock to hear vocals on a Rose-related record. But that’s just what you get as this self-titled disc starts up: a cover of “Little Sadie” rambling and swinging hard like the rock ‘n’ roll cornerstone it is. Colored with shades of bluegrass, blues, and country music, this self-titled record takes American roots music and strips it until all that’s left is its energy and attitude.

Except that the group covers a couple of tunes from Kensington Blues and Dr. Ragtime and His Pals, it’s tempting to think that The Black Twig Pickers are the stars of this record more than Rose is. When “Little Sadie” kicks the record off, the first thing I hear isn’t Jack’s guitar. Instead, a flurry of fiddle, tin can percussion, and harmonica blow out of the speakers with either Nathan Bowles or Mike Gangloff blurting out lyrics like a drunken member of the audience. “Little Sadie” has seen many incarnations, but most people probably know it as “Cocaine Blues” and are likely to be familiar with the Folsom Prison version by Johnny Cash more than any other. The need-no-one attitude and rebellious quality of that song sets the pace for the rest of the record, which teeters between bluegrass, country music, and the sobriety of Rose’s well-crafted instrumental jams.

Many of the album’s highlights are the songs with vocals. It’s fun to hear “Kensington Blues” played by a talented bluegrass group, but Jack Rose’s typically contemplative mannerisms don’t exactly match the band’s upbeat tempo and tendency to play a ramshackle style. Nonetheless, Rose’s performance falls in line perfectly with the rest of the band and his rhythm playing holds together its myriad impulses. On the surface there seems to be a lot in common between this album and Dr. Ragtime and His Pals, but where the former often wound itself up into hypnotic patterns, this one lets loose and aims for a grittier, more physical satisfaction. To that end the band keeps their songs strong and simple. They forgo showy instrumentation in favor of solid melodies and galloping, dancey beats and in the process give their music a tough, almost punk-like exterior. That’s not to say they’ve cramped their country style any, they’ve just amplified it with the kind of swagger that was once synonymous with it.

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Their self-titled record is available on VHF Records
Sound samples are available at Brainwashed.com