Exotic Club’s dark dance music is an intoxicating mix of seemingly mismatched elements. “Alienation,” clearly visible against a dark night-time sky as backdrop. The album art is a perfect description the music contained within.
Well, it’s dance music for sure, while at the same time the effect of disassociation can not be overlooked. Exotic club uses the clean drum machine sounds and buzzing synths of a dance club, adding dark sounding, low and cavernously echoing vocals. When combined with the dancier elements the vocals seem to eschew the very aesthetic against which they are placed. The poppy, upbeat dance beats are not just countered, but downright denied. This is, as the title of the album states, no dance album. It’s dance music that is brooding and dark rather than the light, vapid instrumentals of the music that typifies a dance club. It’s dance music that’s run through an Interpol “Turn on the Bright Lights” filter.
I know that as I started to dig into this tape I found myself overcome with a sense of, maybe not anxiety, but more of a cautious and contemplative paranoia. Exotic Club has really found a direct line to some strange emotive places seldom explored. The desperately pleading vocals that come out of this dark texture, with lyrics such as “it’s Friday night, it’s Friday night, on the dance floor,” on “Lost in Music” that seem on the surface, reading them right there, like they are inviting and celebratory, but the delivery thwarts that interpretation in its droned repetition. The surface of the music, the danceable beats, drum machine hand claps, and buzzing synths paint a picture of a carefree night, while the lyrics and their delivery seem to simultaneously mock it. Ok, mock is a strong word, but listening to the track I think that the lyrics would be better translated as “it’s Friday night and you are supposed to be having a good time on the dance floor, so go have a good time because that is what it is that you are supposed to be doing.” Obviously, their lyric is better.
The robotic exactitude of the arrangement aids in the disassociation, by stripping away any human element, giving a deeper meaning to the coerced good time that the song is suggesting. Taking it out of the club is the track “American Zombies.” It uses the mechanical instrumental arrangement and dark atmosphere to comment on American consumer culture. “Runnin’ around in circles at the Walgreens, toothless smiles…,” listing off the automaton gestures that dominate the vast majority of American’s lives, and repeating each of these things line by line in a trancelike mantra, urging against deviation. Must consume. Must obey. “Forever, forever….forever….” as it is heard echoing into infinity at the conclusion of the track.
Melodies swirl and beats pulse, but don’t for one second take the music on Exotic Club’s “No Dance” as a given.
The tape, featuring a B-side full of remixes, is out now on Crash Symbols. Head over to their bandcamp to pick up a copy (only 100 made), or to download it if you aren’t into the whole physical media thing.
To be honest, this album sort of slipped through the cracks for me. It was released in April, which was a pretty busy time for me as I was in the middle of a term, performing a lot and generally running around teaching and taking classes full time. During those super busy times I tend to fall into the rut of listening to old favorites on repeat forever (read: of Montreal, Lightning Bolt and Titus Andronicus).
The last CD that I ever bought, ever, was Phoenix’s “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix” the day that it came out. I remember where I bought it, at the Eaton Center in Toronto. What I’m trying to say is that there was something about the PR machine that made a huge deal out of the release of that album, or maybe it was that I was somehow more exposed to it. I’m not sure. Or maybe it was that I had been listening to “It’s Never Been Like That” since 2006, thanks to my dealer. Either way, it was exciting that a band I had to explain to people who they were was now getting other people excited too.
And the style shift that happened between “It’s Never Been Like That” and “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix” was pretty noticeable. A post-production sheen was added to each of the tracks. Something about the atmosphere that was created really lent itself to drudging up feelings of 80’s nostalgia. Though similar in some ways to chillwave music like Washed Out or Neon Indian, Phoenix’s music does not look to replicate nostalgia through the use of vintage synths and “lo-fi” recording techniques (note: I’m putting that term in quotes because I actually hate the term, but it carries the connotations that I am looking for, so it serves at least a purpose here). Phoenix is somehow able to get to the core of it and producing a nostalgic sound authentically.
I know that it seems like it would be the same thing, but the difference is that the aesthetic is pure, it’s not a post-modern re-consideration, or a look back at the music and re-imagining it with updated techniques. It involves working with specific melodic material that conjures up feelings of nostalgia, rather than simply letting timbre do all of the work.
Anyway, this is all starting to sound really vague, and I apologize, the fact of the matter is that I sadly didn’t give this album the attention that it deserved when it first came out and now I feel as though I am playing a bit of catch up. What I do remember about it, from the first time that I listened was that they really like to use the pentatonic scale right out in the open. The album starts with one, and it keeps popping up in the same descending fashion in the back of other tracks like “Drakkar Noir.” But that really isn’t the important thing to remember about the album, in fact it isn’t worth really remembering at all, it’s just the thing that I think about when I think about this album.
Phoenix is the kind of band that is capable of doing their sound incredibly well. That capability comes at a certain disadvantage though, because now they are getting dangerously close to pigeonholing themselves into creating cookie-cutter “Phoenix” tunes. Similar melodic fragments start to pop up here and there, similar syllabic constructions and accents of vocal lines start to become noticeable. They tend to relax into a midtempo, synth-pop groove and stay there for long stretches of time. The guitar has taken an increasingly more background role with the synths bearing most of the structural burden. Also, the songs “SOS IN Bel Air” and “Drakkar Noir” start off sounding remarkably similar. There are certain parts of the album that sound like the same ideas stitched together in different ways. This is all in addition to a lot of the build up in their songs seem to come from an idea that they had in “Countdown,” or “Girlfriend” back on their “Wolfgang…” album.
Though I don’t think that this is my favorite Phoenix album, it is their most solid effort to date. It doesn’t have the rhythmic drive and the raw edge of “It’s Never Been Like That,” but then again they are almost a completely different band now. Their sound has made drastic changes in the past 7 years. “Bankrupt” is even a big shift in direction from “Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix,” but this is the sound that has really propelled them into being the headlining act that they are today. To be honest, 2000s “United” is one of the most scattered and disorganized albums I’ve heard. That one seems to be exploding in every direction in a desperate search for a sound with which the band can be comfortable. To that end it seems like “Bankrupt” signals their arrival at a sound. I can be more fond of “It’s Never Been Like That,” but in reality this most recent effort is more focused and stolid.
It’s really difficult to deny that the thick, buzzing low end synth isn’t a really great addition to their sound. And the ethereal and dreamy sound that shifts them squarely into synth-pop territory casts a hazy familiarity to each of the tracks on “Bankrupt.” Hopefully the next release will take this fully formed sound and develop it, before the band starts to run out of tricks. All in all “Bankrupt” is a good album, and deserving of a spot on anyone’s year end list, but we’ll have to wait and see where their next release takes them. Hopefully some time out of the studio and off the road will allow them the opportunity to come up with some fresh ideas. It would be really exciting to hear Phoenix go off in a completely other direction following the synth-pop 1-2 punch of “Wolfgang…” and “Bankrupt.”
The band recently did a Take Away Show for La Blogothéque that finds them performing on a chartered jet. You can watch that video below.
Foxygen – “We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic”
Again, my story is the same as before: I get obsessed with certain albums during the year and other ones that are equally worthy of several listens start to fall by the wayside. Foxygen’s “We Are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic” is one such album. And of course after I realized on what I had been missing out I started listening to the album several times a day. I felt like this was a penance of some sort, or maybe in some ways a way for me to “catch up,” if such a thing is possible.
The thing is though, that even after all that listening, I still can’t quite put my finger on what makes this album so great, and why I can’t stop listening to it. There isn’t just one thing, it’s the amalgam of poppy melodies, retro sounds, catchy hooks and the mixture of sounds past and present. One second there are Beatles-esque horns (“In the Darkness”) and the next thing you know Neil Young walks in the room and takes over an entire verse (“No Destruction”).
Speaking of Neil Young, it’s not like the verse of “No Destruction” simply reminds me of that of “Barstool Blues” from Neil’s “Zuma” album (my favorite of his), but it really just is the same verse with the words changed. I’m not faulting Foxygen at all for this, and there’s two reasons why: first of all, if you’re going to rip someone off do it unabashedly and obviously and steal from the best. Secondly, they use Neil’s verse as a starting point, it is merely the seed that the remainder of the verse springs from. They take everything in a different direction. Where Neil’s song is tense with pain and heartache, Foxygen finds relaxed thoughtfulness.
There are many points like that across “We are the 21st Century Ambassadors of Peace & Magic.” I know that I probably use the term “post-modern” far too much, but it’s so often apt for bands lately. Foxygen has some of the same characteristics of Brian Jonestown Massacre or White Fence, where you’d swear up and down that there is no way that this album came out this year. On the other hand, Foxygen retains that ability to use their influences as jumping off points, reaching beyond them, touching upon them and then following them wherever they may lead.
One of my favorite traits of a lot of the songs is the way that the band is able to use a switch from simple-time to compound-time as a means for separating the verse from the chorus, take for example “On Blue Mountain,” with the the ultra soulful singing of Sam France taking center stage. And rightfully so, France’s wailing in the verse allows one to easily picture him dropping to his knees, arching his back and shouting to the skies, eyes closed, microphone in hand, as he sings “I was looking through a bible.” Similar rhythmic modulations and soulful singing appear on the funky, mellotron and synth lead song “Shuggie.” The breaks in “Shuggie” take on a life of their own as the funk and soul gives way to a bouncy outro with a tack-piano buried in the back of the mix.
But this soulful rasp that evokes images of James Brown is immediately contrasted with the gentle and sweet singing that appears on the following track “San Francisco,” a lilting melody appropriating the wall of sound. Doe-eyed hopefulness and peace are presented with the help of a glockenspiel and distant echoed backup singing.
I suppose, yes, I do hear the Rolling Stones influence through their songs, but to me there really is more of a focus on psych-rock, as evidenced in the shambling guitars and horns of “Bowling Trophies.” This really is, simply put, a melting pot of early rock, funk, and soul, and it’s a damn groovy album as a result. Every track is noteworthy and catchy as hell, making this one of the year’s best albums.
Paper Airplanes – “Scandal, Scandal, Scandal Down in the Wheat Field”
Earlier this week Airhouse records released Paper Airplanes’ “Scandal, Scandal, Scandal Down in the Wheat Field.” The release successfully bottles heady, thematic, album oriented rock music that is driving and passionate, and even more importantly, exciting and at times joyful and exuberant. A full album, that takes advantage of every minute that it has to offer. Like many song-cycle albums, it’s dense. There is a lot of material, but that is not a negative aspect in the least. I am of the opinion that the job of an album, and the job of an artist, a true musician, is to be able to create music that needs to be heard. The trick with an album constructed in this way is that the artist needs to create an entire album that needs to be heard as an album. Sure there are some songs that the listener will grab onto more than others, but in order to fully grasp the reality of the disc one must settle in and listen from front to back.
Paper Airplanes have managed to create such an album. A rare feat.
Like any good song cycle album, the listener is taken on a journey. The sequencing of the tracks is just as important as it would be with any other album, but this has the extra added challenge of needing to tie each element into the larger shape of the narrative arc. “Scandal…” deftly accomplishes the feat of creating a cohesive album of songs that are bound to each other to create a truly engaging solitary work.
Singer Marcus Stoesz’s voice stretches out from octave to octave, exploring the various shadings of tone in multiple ways for dramatic affect. One minute soft, relaxed and low, while brittle, reaching and tenuous the next. “Assembly” is a good instance of this type of song where the voice is reaching, soaring into the sky in a chorus that joyfully continues almost indefinitely in its soulful refrain.
The guitar tone, on that track, and throughout the album, is decidedly bright and clean. Everything is clean. Stoesz’s voice is very unique, and instantly recognizable or. In many ways, and I’m sure that this comparison has been drawn before, but there are elements of Paper Airplanes’ sound that are similar to that of The Decembrists. Aside from the album length narrative structure that ties all of the songs together. The way that everything was recorded, and the arrangements (beautiful use of strings appear throughout this album, as well. They underpin perfectly the keyboard and guitar led ensemble in the quieter moments. The band really does know how to use their resources to provide each song with a terrific amount of emotional depth) tend to be reminiscent of The Decembrists.
There are elements of this album that have the shade of prog-rock to it. The presence of the drums, and the large scope of the album in general are both big contributors.Something like “Chisolm Trail” that comes at the end of the album, takes its time building up momentum. A trumpet rises out of the keyboard texture only to become the backdrop to the climactic outro.
From the opening fingerpicked tension filled steel string acoustic, to the exuberant beginning of “An Account of Surprising Accuracy, Given the Messenger,” “Scandal…” simply floats from song to song.
The band is exceedingly adroit in building everything up to an exciting and memorable climax, but knowing when to back off and when to keep things simmering a bit. Take some time to listen to the album above, give it the honest listen that it deserves, maybe give it 2 or 3. You’ll be glad you did.
I guess I am about 5 years or more late to the party, but I just recently, maybe within the past month or so, started listening with intent to Neon Indian and Washed Out.
I missed the bus on Neon Indian the first time around for whatever reason. Who knows what phase I was in at that point that prevented me from paying attention to anything that was going on in the world around me. Let’s just blame Lightning Bolt. That was probably what I was listening to so much that prevented me from taking my friend’s advice and listening to Neon Indian.
But, actually, Neon Indian, is not the artist that I want to talk about right now, right now I am focusing on the release that Washed Out put out this year, Paracosm. It’s another album, like so many this year, that fell through the cracks for me and I’m only just now starting to give it the attention that it deserves. My only other experience with Washed Out is through hearing “Feel It All Around” about a million times (by the way, say what you will about the show Portlandia, they could have picked a more perfect song for the intro sequence. The way that the ambience makes complete sense to Portland’s grey and rainy atmosphere as pictured).
And that brings me to my main point, and that is the music of Washed Out (and Neon Indian, and Small Black etc. etc.) places a lot of focus on a visual aspect that runs parallel to the music. Sure, it’s called “chillwave,” and it’s good that this aesthetic has gotten a name pinned to it, it helps us to generalize a little bit, but I think that the music that fits the genre is more impressionist than anything.
The seamless construction, with synth sounds that smear the harmonies, preventing any harshness, or dry attack sounds. Everything on “Paracosm” seems to buff out all the harsh contrasts, swirls the colors together and then takes a few steps back, allowing the picture to slowly fade into focus. It’s music of great emotional depth and music of nostalgia, and it’s also music that depicts light and an aura, a landscape. It does this so well that somehow we are all able to pick up on it, and accept it.
More specifically, the songs on this album are a little bit more danceable than on (my only point of comparison right now) Neon Indian’s “Era Extraña.” Where they are both, in a sense, working toward the same aesthetic, Washed Out tends to, on “Paracosm,” tilt the scales a little more toward radio-friendly pop, or as close to it as chillwave will allow.
“All I know” plays elements against each other to great effect with its bouncing tempo and a soaring, yearning melody over the top, while the title track flutters into view, a bit more somber than some of the other tracks, vocals hiding a bit inside those blurred out colors. The addition of a slide guitar, awash in reverb and delay, is a nice added touch. Layers and layers of atmospherics continue to build, though never crowding the texture. Everything just floats out over top of everything else, there’s a sense of constant elevation that’s created; infinitely open and never claustrophobic, despite the dense fog of sound that grows and grows.
This album, and this music, is more about creating a picture than anything else out there. But that doesn’t preclude there from being great melodies and catchy pop hooks. That label that we are so ready to place on the music is merely a shroud that is draped over the form of the music. It’s the timbre that gives the music its defining characteristic, and I think the thing that I think most about when listening to this album is how good the songs would be if all of the atmospherics and aesthetic concerns were stripped away. I think that that is really the measure of an album, and it’s fair to say that had that happened with this album, it would stand up as a collection of great songs too.
I can’t help but hear “Mercy, Mercy Me” at the beginning of every phrase in the verse of “Great Escape.” And that’s a good comparison to leave you with, as it’s useful in summing up the sound that carries through the album from beginning to end. The soulfulness and attention to all the typical concerns of songwriting; creating a memorable melody, and a solid formal and harmonic structure, evoking a mood – all of those things are present here, and are what make the songs great. That extra layer of atmospherics are really what set them apart and keep me coming back again and again.
I feel like the more that I look into the albums that were released this year the more I am surprised by the things that I haven’t devoted quite enough attention to. I’ve honestly been listening to as much new stuff as I can, but it’s times like these that make it readily apparent that I have some serious issues with favoritism, especially in a year that saw the release of a new of Montreal album.
Kurt Vile has always seemed like an interesting contradiction to me. I specifically remember seeing him in Chicago a few years back and loving his super noisy, electric guitar driven music. Or maybe I am treating myself to some revisionist history and that isn’t what happened at all, because none of the music that I have heard from him since have been noisy in the way that I remember it being some years ago.
(Also, he pushed me out of the way while trying to get back to the bar at the Subterranean between sets by Zola Jesus and Real Estate, but that is neither here nor there. I just like telling that story.)
Walking on a Pretty Daze is fully of gently lolling melodies, sung and played with a carefree air. The only thing that I am left thinking whenever I listen to the album is that this is what Thurston Moore wants his solo work to sound like, but instead all that we get from him is recycled, boring adult contemporary or something. I don’t even know what the hell he’s doing, and that doesn’t even matter right now.
It’s like everything on “Walking on a Pretty Daze” sits between classic rock like Bad Company or something and singer/songwriter fare. The backbeat is kept simple and low-key, just unobtrusively tapping out time in the background while Vile’s guitar is pushed right to the front, next to his half-snarled singing. If you are at all familiar with the music of Joel Plaskett, that would provide a nice point of comparison. Both artists wear their influences on their sleeves, though Plaskett tends much more toward the obvious in this regard.
Vile’s open string suspended chords and extended harmonies give him a sound that is immediately identifiable as his own. The riff from “Was All Talk” manages to capture the essence of Don Henley’s “The Boys of Summer” in a single chord. When you hear it you’ll know what I’m talking about. And I think that, again with the points of reference, will give us all (those of you that don’t know the music of Plaskett) something a little more universal to compare it to. That aura and atmosphere that is bottle on the Henley track is the basis for most of these songs, and the overall mood of the album.
It’s that moving though cautious and tentative mood. Even the synths that Vile uses attempt to capture the mood of “The Boys of Summer.” I remember that song being on the radio non-stop when I was younger, and all the same images that it conjured in my head back then are being brought back while listening to Kurt Vile.
Aside from that long aside, Vile’s music is well written and interesting. He creates a solid album and has fun with it. I mean he’d have to be having fun with song titles like “Air Bud,” and lyrics such as “makin’ music is easy….watch me!” Naturally that quote is delivered in a sly deadpan, where one could picture him trying to make you interested, but at the very same time not getting too invested in it. The music just flows out of him, and as I said earlier, it just seems so effortless. Effortless in the way that a Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks album sounds effortless.
Overall, give this one a listen before the end of the year, I’d file it just to the right of any chillwave music that you may have. All around good album, front to back. Deserving of attention well past 2013, and that’s really the point of lists like these, isn’t it? Who will survive and who (or what album) will fade into obscurity forever? Kurt Vile has many more albums in him, I’m sure.
It’s about that time of year. Album releases are slowing to a trickle as the year draws to a close. I think that since I have been listening to so many new things this year, things that I haven’t had the opportunity to talk about yet that I will begin with my year end posts interspersed with all of the other things that I normally post about. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to get through all of them, but I’ll try.
It took me until the release of “Halcyon Digest” in 2010 to really get into Deerhunter. I had made several unsuccessful attempts to really get into “Cryptograms,” but for some reason I just couldn’t. It made me feel out of place, because when that album came out everyone was going crazy for it. I needed to come at the band backward apparently, because after falling in love with “Halcyon Digest,” and now “Monomania,” I have finally gained an appreciation for “Cryptograms.” If nothing else Deerhunter’s latest has done at least that.
Somewhere along the line Deerhunter shed its ambient leanings (and a few band members) to become a powerful and moving rock band. Songs like “Leather Jacket II,” with distorted vocals and guitars that are constantly feeding back, being paired with “The Missing” show the range that the band has developed since their first releases. I don’t want to throw the word “folk” around, because that is really not fitting at all, but the style of Bradford Cox’s lyric and melody writing have allowed the band to sound a bit more vulnerable in general. Deerhunter is perfecting what it means to them to be a band that can release album after album of compact singles.
To me, the band is more effective and affecting in their quieter moments, but that isn’t to say that the title track isn’t one of the tracks that I automatically go to when I put this album on. And there are songs that fit nicely in between the extremes, such as the country twinge of “Pensacola.” That tracks rambling and bluesy vocal approach, “the girl that I loved, well, took another man” followed by a dejected “ohh” is followed immediately by the excitement contained in the line “well nothin’ ever ends up quite like how you planned!” These elements play an important role, the juxtaposition of elation and sadness. The sadness is kept in check through the nature of the tracks being upbeat major key (mostly) 3 to 4 minute pop tunes, but lyrically things may take a turn on occasion. For example on “Sleepwalking” the line “can’t you see, we’ve grown apart, we’ve grown apart?” is repeated or in “Back to the Middle” the lyric “You and me, you broke free. You broke free, and you left me these little pieces,” both obviously come from places of sadness, though that sadness is hidden behind the music.
To that end, maybe it isn’t as upbeat an album as it appears to be on the surface. Perhaps the album is about covering up true emotions, putting on a good face to go out and greet the world. If one was to look at things that way then perhaps this is actually the most tortured album of Deerhunter’s career.
Generally more upbeat in outward tone when compared to “Halcyon Digest,” the album, to its merit, doesn’t exemplify its title. The songs here are not simply variations on a theme, or expressing one color of the musical spectrum. There are differing shades at work that peak with the title track (that, yes, is an undeniably great song to depict the idea of monomania), allowing for the songs that lead up to it a lot of license to go exploring. The closing track allows Bradford Cox some time for reflection. “Punk (La Vie Antérieure),” makes peace with the past, perhaps allowing himself to accept the different phases in his life that have allowed him to get to the place where he is now. I think it’s more a cross between that and Cox still searching for his true self. Either way it is a song about growth and change, and coming to terms for better or worse.
I can’t help but think (and I’m probably fairly safe in this assumption) that Cox’s Atlas Sound project, and the process that he goes through to write and produce those songs, has been influencing the songs that are ending up on Deerhunter albums. A song like “T.H.M” or “Sleepwalking” only have the slightest hints of where the band came from, but nothing as driven and tuneful as these two tracks appears prior.
This album belongs on anyone’s year of, best of list. And a performance on Jimmy Fallon stands as another favorite from this year. Check out Deerhunter playing “Monomania” just prior to the May 7th release of the album below.
A few weeks ago I talked a bit about one particular track from Tim Hecker’s latest album, but now that I have had the chance to spend some time with it I feel that I can give it the proper review that it deserves.
There is more of a focus on not only the ambient sound that envelops the music, but also on percussive effects and layered timbres. Now, when I say “percussive effects” I guess what I am really getting at is that the sound of piano keys is recorded such that one can actually hear the striking of the string.
Hecker leaves some mysterious clues for us as audience to piece together, or at least some things that we should think about, not just as we listen, but things that we should think about the world around us. I’m not saying that each of these tracks are tone-poems by any means, though perhaps that is the way that Hecker composed them. There are a few questions raised in at least a few of the songs.
I’ve already talked about the track “Live Room” in some detail. The main point that I made was that by using Steve Reich’s motive from “Piano Phase” as source material, though detached and disjunct he was demanding us as listeners to think about the connections between that early minimalist piece and “Live Room.” Considering that could result in any number of conclusions.
Though that is only the beginning of the trail that is left for us. There are also the implications of the cover image that seems to allude to an famous picture of a prisoner being tortured at Abu Ghraib. It’s not very much of a stretch to see that those two photos are related, though Hecker places his figure inside what looks to be a church. Several things come to mind when this is investigated further. Obviously there is the surface level implication of modeling the album art after a picture with such loaded, dark and heavy implications. As soon as you notice it, it’s going to conjure up all sorts of thoughts. Perhaps you had forgotten all about Abu Ghraib, or maybe you mistook that for something that happened at Guantanamo. Either way, you are going to come to a shocking realization that both of those things happened/are happening. Right now. We live in a world that allows those things to happen.
Torture at Abu Ghraib
Then there is the fact that the album is called “Virgins” and the album cover seems to place this figure inside a church. The prisoner’s pose, as well as the figure on the cover, are like that of Christ on the cross. And all of this combined with the fact that songs have been given titles such as “Incense at Abu Ghraib,” “Stigmata I,” “Stigmata II,” and going with the latter two – “Stab Variation” that closes out the album.
That’s a lot to consider and we haven’t even started thinking about the music.
Hecker is at the helm of a larger, more varied sound palette throughout “Virgins.” Sudden shifts in timbre and dynamics intercut with his usual, decidedly ambient sound. The percussive nature of the piano is really brought out in the tracks “Virginal I” and “Virginal II,” where it is found to weave in and out of focus first in front of any drones and then behind them. Though, in “Virginal II” the minimalist piano percussives become a static pattern, though a bit off kilter in the same manner as “Live Room.” The mixed timbres and layered lines creates a crystalline shimmer like perpetually shattering glass, before a thick, low square-wave synth comes in toward the end. Again, the palette of evolving timbres as a compositional device is evident.
“Prisms” comes careening into view as the opening track, immediately bringing to our attention dense harmonies, motion and shifts in timbre. It’s the set up to “Virginal I,” where the piano comes into play. “Radiance,” “Live Room,” and “Live Room Out” work as a nice parenthetical aside between the “Virginals.” A nice little trilogy that restates the opening idea of the album.
The piano returns on “Black Refraction,” though (again) with a different timbre than before. This time the bare piano is played sans all harshness, sostenuto, with the overtones collecting in the lower register over a repeated pattern. Minimalist repetition seems the M.O. across many of the tracks on “Virgins,” but there is great care taken to break down the patterns, cut out parts, divide them up into smaller pieces that are then repurposed, electronically manipulated (there are some pitches that are synthetically drawn out for emphasis on “Black Refraction,” allowing certain lines to be brought out in a different way without necessarily changing anything musically, only changing the timbre) buried and then brought back.
Closing the album with “Stigmata I,” “Stigmata II” and “Stab Variation” (the last of which I can’t help but think is another reference to help create the image of Christ on the cross with the stigmata being related to the violence of being nailed to the cross) just brings us back full circle. We are still left to wonder what the connotations of the music and imagery that is put forth on this album could ultimately mean. As “Stab Variation” comes to a close, is that the vague remnants of Reich’s theme buried in the background? Does the minimalist repetition go with the torture and christ imagery in an effort to say that this isn’t the first time that humans have brought upon horrible atrocities to other humans, and this won’t be the last? Is it that we are forever doomed to a never ending cycle only periodically broken? There are any number of unanswerable questions raised throughout this album. It’s up to us to decide what it all means.
The album is set for official release on October 14 as a CD or double LP and can be pre-ordered through Kranky (Kranky 153) by following the link at the bottom of the post:
Catch Tim Hecker live, currently out on tour:
December 14 / Chicago, IL / Constellation
December 8 / Rio de Janeiro, Brazil / Oi Futuro
November 16 / Minneapolis, MN / Walker Art Center
November 8 / Seattle, WA / Chapel Performance Space
November 6 / Los Angeles, CA / Human Resources
October 31 / Paris, France / Théâtre du Châtelet (TBC)
October 17 / Vancouver, Canada / Vancouver New Music Festival October 12 / Chicago, IL / TBC
October 5 / Essen, Germany / Denovali Swingfest / Weststadt Halle
October 4 / Milano, Italy / Centro Culturale San Fedele
October 2 / Bologna, Italy / Palazzo Re Enzo Web//Kranky Records//Twitter//
Diarrhea Planet – “i’m rich beyond your wildest dreams.”
Not many bands (I actually can’t think of any off the top of my head) would be able to make use of 4 guitars and have it all make sense. Diarrhea Planet, on the other hand, are bringing shredding back to rock. And right from the opening of the album they aren’t afraid to let you know that they are not messing around.
“Lite Dream” moves from quadruple guitar solo, to straight up punk rock right before they march right into Iron Maiden territory. It makes sense to get as much use out of everything on stage as possible, so in order to do that there is a lot of stretching out, doubled guitars, solos, layered solos etc.
You may have heard about these guys before if you are a fan of Titus Andronicus (and why wouldn’t you be?) whom Diarrhea Planet opened for last year when Titus was touring for “Local Business.” I remember Patrick Stickles tweeting over and over again about how these guys would knock it out of the park night after night, but there was no way for many of us to know what he was talking about because they were pretty much just getting started. Now it turns out that Stickles was right. He was very right. The New York Times even agrees, as does NPR, who featured them on their All Songs Considered podcast.
Long story short, these guys are blowing up and you need to get in on the ground floor, it’s worth it. For a full album of guitar assault that knows how to make use of its resources, while at the same time managing to control songs to the point where they don’t go too far. Apparently it is possible to have a band like this with a minimum amount of wankery going on.
This live clip of “Kids” says it all. It starts out delicately enough, but it’s really only holding back before all hell breaks loose.
They are currently out on a seemingly never ending and constantly expanding tour (I’m actually leaving my apartment right now to see them here in Eugene) with support from NYC’s So So Glos (founders of Shea Stadium) and putting on a fantastic, amazingly energetic live show. More on that later.
The album, “i’m rich beyond your wildest dreams.” is pure rock and roll. I’m already sick of various sites saying that they are “equal parts Weezer and Whitesnake” as NPR does, or something similar that evokes the name of some crappy corporate rock hair metal band from the 80s. Whitesnake has nothing to do with this music. Whitesnake were a product of money-grubbing, coke-addled music execs in the 1980s. Whitesnake, in short, sucks. They sucked then and they suck now. There is no point in listening to them at all. But I digress.
There is a purity of the song writing here that takes more from the punk/DIY aesthetic than it does from the hair metal aesthetic. Sure, on the surface there are guitar solos all over the place, there’s finger-tapping, there’s palm-muted eighth notes on the lowest string (tuned to D or even C sometimes) but those things don’t add up to “hair metal.”
A song like “Separations” has a lot more to do with catchy hooks and punk attitude than anything else. Let’s not discount the fact that these guys can play. There is not a single second of insincerity on this album. “Hammer of the Gods” is more punk than it is metal. The entire album walks the line in that way, which places it firmly more in the Misfits camp than it does with Whitesnake. There is a lot more going on than what it sounds like after listening to one guitar solo doubled in thirds. Everything on the album is done because it makes sense to the song, everything serves the song. We know this because not every track on the album is structured in exactly the same way. Some have verses and choruses, while others have extended intros followed by a verse and an extended outro (see “Ugliest Son”). At no point does anything sound out of place or arbitrary due to trying to jam ideas into a form that doesn’t make sense for that particular song. The same can be said for the album as a whole; there aren’t any songs in the sequencing that are placed there because, say, they needed an upbeat 1st single and then a slow song for a 2nd single (that a band like, say, Whitesnake would do. And maybe that is one of the reasons that they are pointless to listen to, Whitesnake I mean. They are so of the time. Everything about music like that and albums like theirs is that they are very “of the time.” Taken out of context, or listened to in 2013, those albums can’t connect with us anymore because they just don’t make sense anymore).
Diarrhea Planet is currently on tour practically non-stop, criss-crossing the country until the middle of December and it seems like they are adding dates into all the free time they can. If you live anywhere between Sand Diego and Portland, Maine it’s only a matter of time before they are in a town near you. Get out there and see them, say hi, and buy the album. It’s currently available on CD and Gold Vinyl (with download code) from Infinity Cat.
There is really nobody else creating music quite the same as Julianna Barwick’s. Her recordings have a unique way of connecting with the listener in a much more direct way than anything else being produced today.
It’s the character of her voice, and that her music is created almost solely with the sound of her voice that makes Barwick’s music at once is ethereal and otherworldly while retaining an ability to make a deep, meaningful connection with her listeners.
On her album “The Magic Place” layer after layer of Barwick’s voice are built up throughout the songs, but her ability to delicately shade the timbre across her entire vocal range means that there is never a dull moment. Despite the material perhaps being repeated several times before something entirely new is added through these accumulated minor changes. It’s more than enough to just sit back and listen to each sound, to explore the ways that the layers of her voice are interacting with each other until the fabric is interwoven in such a complex manner that other elements of the melodic lines are able to take flight.
Managing to take such a distinctive style of songwriting and approach while not allowing any of the tracks on an album to sound even remotely the same, despite obvious similarities, is quite the feat. However, each song on “The Magic Place” manages to take a different approach, from the pure angelic chorus of “Flown” to the shorter loops and added minimal synths and percussion of “Prizewinning.”
And on her latest album, “Nepenthe,” Barwick does it again, creating beautiful sonic sculptures with her understated, yet powerful vocal abilities that are equal parts Zola Jesus and Heinrich Górecki’s “Symphony of Sorrowful Songs.” And her tour in support of this album involves opening for Sigur Ros, a band that has, essentially, a matching aesthetic, yet requires an entire band to do what Barwick can readily do on her own.
It is also no wonder that this album comes from the same place as Sigur Ros, geographically speaking, as it was recorded in Iceland this past February. Not only was the album recorded in Iceland, but it was produced by Alex Somers, Sigur Ros’ producer. He enlisted the help of a string ensemble and chorus during the recording sessions where Somers and Barwick worked very closely. The word “Nepenthe,” by the way, refers to a magic drug of forgetfulness used to wipe out grief and sorrow in ancient Greek literature, and this album comes from a place of grief, though Julianna describes the process of creating the album as a way of moving away from that grief and moving forward, finding a way through difficult times – of retaining a feeling of hope.
The song “One Half” retains the signature qualities of Julianna’s vocal and compositional style, but the use of a small chamber ensemble of strings, playing sans vibrato to add a degree of the early baroque sound to the mix is the perfect touch. The vocal benefits greatly from an increased clarity that creates a bit more texture within the track without sacrificing any of the effectiveness of the densely layered, seemingly perpetual crescendo that is created.
You can watch the video for “One Half” below and find her out on tour now with Sigur Ros. “Nepenthe” is currently available on CD/LP/MP3 from Dead Oceans.
