The “choice” tracks that tickled our aural delights over the last few months gathered together now for your pleasure. Prepare yourselves for the most eclectic of selections, from the rock steady Spector pop protestations of U.S. Girls’ ‘Damn That Valley’ to the waltzing majesty of The Greg Foat Group’s Michael Moorcock inspired time-continuum surfing jazz odyssey, ‘The Dancers At The End Of Time’.
That selection in full:
U.S. Girls ‘Damn That Valley’
FFS (Franz Ferdinand & Sparks) ‘Police Encounters’
Alabama Shakes ‘The Greatest’
Many Things ‘Holy Fire’
Flies + Flies ‘Later On’
Heartless Bastards ‘Wind Up Bird’
Tyler, The Creator ‘PILOT’
Oddisee ‘Belong To The World’
The Greg Foat Group ‘The Dancers At The End Of Time’
John DeRosa ‘You’re Still Haunting Me’
Papernut Cambridge ‘Rockers Delight’
Jacco Gardner ‘Find Yourself’
C. Duncan ‘Here To There’
Frog ‘Judy Garland’
Dog, Paper, Submarine ‘Ms. Moonlet’
William D.Drake ‘Distant Buzzing’
Extradition Order ‘I Love An Eyesore (LBJ ’60)’
Pale Honey ‘Fish’
Falling Stacks ‘Pool Party’
Thomas Truax/Brian Viglione ‘I Got To Know’
Technicolor Hearts ‘Who You Are’
The Grus ‘To Be A Child’
Creature With The Atom Brain ‘Night Of The Hunter (Part 1)’
Psycho & Plastic ‘Day’
Die Wilde Jagd ‘Wah Wah Wallenstein’
Xaos ‘Free Fall’
Kobadelta ‘Open Visions’
Prince Vaseline ‘Radio On’
June 23, 2015
We’ve once again let our literary critic and resident Istanbul satellite Ayfer Simms loose. This time articulately lending a poetic exuberance to the new LP, Kind of Blah, by the hazy New York noise-niks Frog.
Frog ‘Kind of Blah’
(Audio Antihero) LP
A window. Scorching summer day, metal staircase and an alley. New York.
The breeze blows from the right, bringing with it a country sounding shine and bouncy melodies. It comes from the left and exudes an upbeat Indie abandon; from a distance, a concert hall with a languorous jazzy/rock atmosphere: All the styles wrapped around a gentle voice, while the heavy red bricks of New York cast a shadow from within.
With this album a surprise is around every corner; unexpected imagery, memories, impressions, alley cats, trumpets, noises, guitars, subtle effects, it’s definitely summer in the city and there is something dark, a world, seedy, defection, alienation, all sang lightly in a masticated slang, while the light gushes in a small apartment like a rolling wave, as if picked up by some artists in the street and thrown like a fire ball, gathering a fierce style on its passage: We forget the room, we go far, travel in time and space: There’s an air of intellectual mingling crashing through the guitar notes, all the neighbours are awoken and they want to join the party. Let’s knock on door 79!
The album is a guitar made of jazz, all improvised and rich, a ballroom filled with alternative shoegazers, beach boys waltzing in New York; snaps shots of images, the gloomy portrayed with words but not by sound, a bursting energy of chords and drums.
“The city is a womb of brown brick beds of clay”. Despite the lyrics coloured with a rough poetic rebellion, distorted with unusual additions the tone is joyful, catchy and soothing.
The orchestra bursts, it is made of modern guitars, heads are lost in a kind of sweaty trance, and we sing, “All dogs go to heaven”. The album is made out of a thousand pieces, smells, the abandon found in rock music from the 60s mixed with smoky parties on a staircase, civil unrest, wars, disheveled women running down the streets, “Countless boroughs filled with bars, all that matters is the scars”, kids and sulphuric temperature rises. It’s hot in New York tonight with Frog.
Words: Ayfer Simms
June 5, 2015
LP REVIEW & CELEBRATORY ANNIVERSARY
Marking her first anniversary as a contributor to the Monolith Cocktail cause, Franco-Turkish novelist and adroit music critic Ayfer Simms lends her literary bent to the new album from the rowdy Gothenburg duo Pale Honey. In a celebratory mood, we also include some of Ayfer’s most memorable and finest reviews.
Pale Honey ‘Pale Honey’ (Bolero Records)
Gothenburg: They enter the stage with a flippant presence; with the album Pale Honey, there is nonchalance, an immense amount of it, explosions, gentle melodies and a super funky cool allure: Between electro music and anachronistic indie sound of the 50s, 60s and 80s we are thrown in a slow motion atmosphere with layers of speed and bursting energetic guitars, pulsating sticks on bolted barrels and subtle psychedelic keyboard effects: Joined all by a suave cool, sweet and strong voice, a little girl? Fierce, a ballad, not so easy, not so fast.
Everything seems to role in a slow motion, we are on the side of a sunny road, the gleam of a charismatic presence in the distance hangs like the gold pot under the rainbow, at arm’s length: The drums shakes the hand of the guitar and flirts with the synth, mingles with the vocal as if this whole was of an organic build. Sounds and effects seem to be climbing on top of one another to assert dominance whilst respecting the aesthetic of the general cadence. This devilish cold blooded union has the effect of making the listener’s body agreeably shake and move in jerky movements, in a seemingly slow world. We are the lizards under a hard sun, pursuing that alluring flickering presence in the distance, and we are the owls twitching at the rustling of the leaves in the middle of a dry summer night.
They are fearless: Day, night, on dry land or under the ocean: they jump and dive: It is Rock and roll on an extraterrestrial ground made of moving sand: it’s dangerous yet the pleasure of being trapped in this throb is too good: Honey-like vocals, electro guns, detached; their sound “taste like a peach” says Dennis Hoppers’ character in True romance, the peach has the edge of a tiger living on top of our roofs with smooth paws.
The last track, ‘Sleep’, releases us from our gripping adventure with a calm kiss on our forehead: “I been going down, oh how I long, honey I’ve been gone too long.” Send us off in a slumber, on a small boat, we are off to reach new shores, but the destination matters little.
Elevating albums and songs to great heights, even when sometimes unwarranted, Ayfer has spent the last year honing her craft. Passionate to a fault, Ayfer has written some of the most poetically inspiring and descriptive critique; always respectful and always supportive of the artists she engages with (still insisting on buying copies of the music she reviews, she practices what she preaches). Here is just a mere smattering of her ‘greatest hits’, including her most popular review – and one that gained a massive response from our readership, all complimentary I might add – yet, Blue Rose Code‘s The Ballads of Peckham Rye. Click on the images below to read the full reviews.
Blue Rose Code ‘The Ballads Of Peckham Rye’
‘If all the beaten souls, the stupefied hearts, the vagabonds, the Christopher McCandless’ were to return from the dead, they would all gather around Ross Wilson’s to shake his hand in recognition of his prose, for rendering so well what many take to the grave: this album comes from a place between life and death, where the quintessence of the man’s core, drips slowly and beautifully in our ears like an elixir of life.’
Opal Onyx ‘Delta Sands’
‘The album is the sound of the shipwreck long after everyone has died in the deepest of waters, it’s the sound of the womb pumping the blood of life, it’s the sound of the planets silently creaking in the dark, it’s the sound of the devil himself disguised as a cellist who returns from the dead to heal the inconsolable grief of his beloved wife crying for his sake.
Opal Onyx, the atmosphere, the voice, the cello and other mysterious instruments and techniques used, and the esoteric theme running through the entire album calls for a standing ovation. Let the curtain fall, let them bow, humble and proud.’
Grumbling Fur ‘Preternaturals’
‘Grumbling fur is the tribal union of men crossing history, from the spark of life to the ancestral figures dancing in the collective conscience, it is all the things that gathered from nothingness, mingled in time with sometimes harsh or commendable experiences. Grumbling fur sets up the theatre of men’s evolution. Their sound is the sever gaze of man resigned in their efforts as they work the land and the iron, the face of the worker of the industrial age, the miner, the black smith, the farmer turning the earth in the vast lands, is the industrial fist of men, the cell under the water accidentally playing harmonious sounds.’
The Van Allen Belt ‘Heaven On A Branch’
‘Look up! Past the stratosphere, there is a psychedelic wavelength trapping a ghostly clamor, a cool jazzy voice, traces of an older era of sounds, perfectly paired, bred with something new, a feel, a new genre perhaps that has no label as yet. It is possible to name the instruments one by one, even describe the vocalist’s suave confident voice that echoes above our heads, yet put all together this become a breathless orchestra, upbeat and melodious that forbids any sorts of appellations: “don’t give her any, she don’t need none, she don’t need none”. Indeed, we want to apply this for the Van Allen Belt as they pull us in a trance like mood for a minute before throwing us in a befuddled happiness the next. The tracks are like a roller coaster, sounds from the past swirling above our world while carrying the darkest of us with it.’
Mike Gale ‘Sweet Marie’/
Camp Dark ‘Are You Hiding’
‘The track’s lyrics are like the echoes of known words diffused in the air, remote and impalpable. Yet, Sweet Marie, the chorus, comes out like the flutter of a bird that we grasp with ease and the rest matters less so; we embrace the mood through the guitar chords following and guiding the melodious whisper of a man wandering in a folk pop languor…Sweet Marie is, indeed, the ethereal traveler’s prayer.’
‘There’s a worrisome journey into the mind’s abyss’s, an inner excavation, a downward whirl to a place where one does not wish to go willingly, one must dig and one must face, yet, is compelled to it, from forces emerging from the very depth of the mind.’
Words: Ayfer Simms
May 29, 2015
William D. Drake ‘Revere Reach’ (Onomatopoeia Records) 15th June 2015
The object piercing the thin fabric of time and matter, high above the sky, is a musical arrow, one that has managed to travel all the way from medieval/renaissance times; William D. Drake’s tunes have landed in our world, catching in their descent our moods and our dreams, perhaps our fantasies too.
This is the music of the ancient men tiptoeing through a wild forest uneasy of the wolf, and the sound of old kings and queens giggling in the corner of a castle; as it touches our asphalt it becomes the music of the ‘urban-er’ walking through the modern jungle marching to the office (with the same fear of the wolf, a different kind). A musical play, a folklore concert or perhaps an old costume show in a trendy but timid quarter of town. Why not go to a sultry vintage jazzy soirée for a few minutes? Everyone there is dressed in shirts from the 18th century.
Strolling with William D. Drake is like being the main character in a Tim Burton movie. While the chloral’s chants elevate the feet to the heart level, the head is light with uncontrolled images from the depth of our memory and subconscious.
William D. Drake is the one who shot the arrow to the sky and, like a boomerang it comes back charged with a musical static energy of past times: The traveler won’t mind stopping at the tavern and plunging himself in the heartwarming dizzying effect of the local folklore songs and rhythm. And then the funny man, the echoing bliss made up of a thousand instruments, pianos, drums, and flutes? Vocals are grand, a perfect story telling talent ludicrous and poetic words flying around the tunes like a little colony of bees around honey.
I flung myself to catch the flight of the arrow, to stay on that trip, one toward the past, the future, one of fantastical characters. What William did is not merely reproducing sounds from an old Époque, out of taste or ethereal inspiration; he brought some dramatis personae alive from other times teaching them our gracious colors. And they sing and shine under a misty sound, filled with passion, and they gaze but they cannot see, us, they are ghost, vividly living through the power of their voices and melodies.
“London bridge is falling down” songs to become something else.
Words: Ayfer Simms
May 26, 2015
HIP HOP REVUE
Matt Oliver selects all the best Hip Hop cuts, videos, mixtapes and news from both sides of the Atlantic and beyond.
Welcome to Rapture & Verse, the utterly indispensable/highly disposable hip-hop appraisal that has blown its monthly writer’s fee on the Cam’ron range of shower curtains and Mother’s Day cards, when it really should’ve been saving for the white 7-inch edition of Clipse’s ‘Lord Willin’. All the while we’ve been startled by revelations that hip-hop has actually been more influential than The Beatles. Talking of skewed academic logic, Lil John was a speaker at Oxford University this month.
Future samplers of Bob James beware – the source of some of hip-hop’s best moments (Ghostface’s ‘Daytona 500’, RUN DMC’s ‘Peter Piper’) is suing Madlib and Stones Throw for copyright infringement. The Game’s TV dating show ended up in gun-waving chaos, while Lil Kim will no doubt make for similarly compelling view on her own reality show. Best step away from the gogglebox and instead check when Jurassic 5 and Oddisee are in your neighbourhood in September.
‘Against All Authorities’ by veteran agitators Onyx should only be listened to in full riot gear – fight music that creeps its way to a six-track ambush. Compare this to cultish stress reliever ‘Aunty Pearl’s House’, where Paul White turns up to a bleary smokehouse with Eric Biddines. Cause of neck cricks comes from De La Soul’s ‘God It’, a legends-know-best reminder with Nas chipping in on the hook. Then wrap said injured neck in a mink fur so you can match the lolling funk of Grand Daddy IU’s ‘PIMP Intro’, a bit of a guilty pleasure with Marco Polo making music to rock “gators and ostrich” by. Then get humbled by Dylan Owen’s ‘The Best Fears of Our Lives’, a passionate introspection examining the reality of reality in dreamy folk-blues-alt-hop desolation.
Straight-up rat-a-tat freestyles from Papoose on ‘Banned from Radio’, ‘Blackout’ and ‘Get at Me Dog’ shows he’s still got more bars than a chain of prison-themed public houses. MaLLy’s ‘Say My Peace’ is the Minneapolis emcee cracking his knuckles over the mic, completely commanding a beat with a temper resting on a tripwire. Less delicate are New Jersey’s 050 Boyz, bursting through and going for theirs over an instant, posse-shot horn banger asking you to ‘Pay Them No Mind.’ Wu-Tang tales of the unexpected cross the murder mystery of Adrian Younge’s unsettlingly good ‘Return of the Savage’, to Killah Priest fighting the final frontier on ‘Alien Stars.’
Lavishly packaged while feeding uncut hip-hop into both eyes and ears, Inspectah Deck and 7L & Esoteric re-energise Czarface for a second vengeful episode on ‘Every Hero Needs a Villain’. A glorious brawl letting fly with superhero special powers and bare-knuckled slugging, it’s a blockbuster sequel, pipping the original for high octane impacts. Full of body-bagging explosions, car chases, and epic fight scenes between three titans.
Not sure how many people saw this one coming…it’s Pete Rock’s ‘PeteStrumentals 2’, 14 years or so after the original. A clean-cut, layered loop session – not a groundbreaking voyage of flight and fancy, though it reaches out to a plethora of sets and scenarios – its humble alchemy of the funky fresh and effortlessly soulful is at home on both the streets and the beach. Marked by the Chocolate Boy Wonder’s high IQ of samples and kick-snare pressure, this has every intention of scaring off emcees as it rests in your headphones.
Sticking to the word-less script, HashFinger shows there’s nothing wrong with hitting an instrumental straight and narrow; headnodder’s sanctuary ‘Kites’ entwines closing time jazz, slow-handed funk, scratches and samples with the swing of a hammock in a Bradford breeze, equipped to kick like a coffee shop espresso. Instrumentalism in zero gravity from Beatnick Dee, Jaisu and Twiz the Beat Pro examines ‘Space’, a star strider regularly attacked by jitters. A classic exploration of back to the future boom-bap, as comforting as it is intimidating, will leave you wide-eared throughout.
UK grit ground into exotic, sometimes foreboding Indian flavours and colours, Statue Stance’s ‘Nomads Notepad’ is an ambitious culture clash with positive results, with Ryan Amos and Bambu Hands fully engrained in the locale and not just here as postcard-writing tourists. Your appreciation will be for a good cause as well. High Focus’ 5th anniversary is commemorated by Pete Cannon dropping off a generously chunky remix gift bag covering all the label’s top bombers – Dirty Dike, Edward Scissortongue, Fliptrix and Jam Baxter all take the cake on a comp ready for a stupendous number of rewinds after the candles have been blown out.
Once upon a time this columnist interviewed Murs, who basically revealed he was on the verge of retirement. That was 12 years ago, and now here’s his umpteenth album, ‘Have a Nice Life’. Still a slept-on, relatable storyteller, ever willing to let listeners in on his personal ups and downs, his craft and craftiness remains on the up. Sonically it spotlights the man sufficiently, albeit with some unspectacular and some over-reaching moments.
If you’ve followed the evolution of Lyrics Born, you’ll be pleased/unsurprised that ‘Real People’ doesn’t hold back on the big band numbers while showing he’s still one of the nimblest and most quotable emcees around. A rollicking good time stands up to hip-hop’s insularities, hotfooting its way across the stage with hard-to-hate pop gloss and invites of crowd participation. Also enterprising and opening itself to audience investment, STS and RJD2 combine for a very bluesy and funkily organic record, with the rhymer slaloming through the latter’s bold licks and pieces that foster his prestigious discography. RJ looks to lure you to a backwater bar with melody and musicality, while STS’s slick vocab has a peskiness that plays up to the music while also playing the game on its own terms.
Should you feel the need to hot-wire a flatbed truck and run red lights galore, head for the sign marked ‘Welcome to Los Santos’, which sends Earl Sweatshirt, Freddie Gibbs, Ab-Soul, E-40, A$AP Ferg and more to meet a gang of electro-rock/pop ruffians on the command of Alchemist and Oh No. A medley made to reflect GTA’s in-game radio twiddling, it does enough to avoid the use of a joypad. emC, now a triple threat of Masta Ace, Wordsworth and Stricklin, present ‘The Tonight Show’. Strengths in group interplay, beats-and-rhymes standards and a smooth-to-rugged balance, are let down by too many skits peppering the album’s talk show concept. Yet another Canibus LP – his 16th – selects Bronze Nazareth as his latest soundboard. ‘Time Flys, Life Dies’ strains for supremacy, but shows there’s still fire in the belly of the ‘Bus – notably remaking Black Rob’s ‘Whoa!’ – and that he can still pull in a guest and shred a suitable beat.
On the back of some pretty preposterous artwork and an outdated acronym-title concept, Raekwon’s ‘F.I.L.A.’ isn’t without moments of Gambino goodness but doesn’t quite hit the spot, despite fronting up with A$AP Rocky, Ghostface, French Montana and Rick Ross. Still knocking the funk back and standing tall in the Bronx, Camp-Lo’s ‘Ragtime Hightimes’ doesn’t miss a step with Geechi Seude and Sonny Cheeba shoring up their back catalogue and coming in on the blindside of year-round choices.
Versed in the ways of the golden age and not budging one inch from jump-up boom-bap and call-and-response throwbacks, Dutch rhymer BlabberMouf is hyped throughout ‘Da BlabberMouf LP’: like Mac Miller reworking the ‘Scenario’ remix or mid 90s Queensbridge 14 times over. A reissue of Lil NoID’s 20-year old ‘Paranoid Funk’ shows Southern swag in its gloomiest light, though the quality of the pressing may have something to do with the unease that’s like the album meeting a watery ending after passing through a sinkhole, grabbing at its gun and groin as it goes.
Mixtapes & VT
Muj’s ‘Beat Tape’ series harvests a prime crop of breaks, funk, 80s pop splices and TV bric-a-brac from Irn Mnky, a rogue visitor to the back of the second-hand shop putting shit together to a Yorkshire tee. He’s followed by Mr Galactus, another maverick arranger of dusty wax piled into a collage of suss funk, shambling rock and instrumental slyness to feed the hunger of those wanting the inside track on raw source materials.
Gruff trap from Ryan Hemsworth on the thrusting ‘Just Rap Mix’ fixes forty minutes of paper chases and rowdy pleasures put on by Gucci Mane, Future, Chief Keef et al, and low-rider schmoozing from Luniz ‘High Timez’ finds sunshine in predictable subject matter. Remi, who is presently scooting around the UK on tour, lays down ‘Call It What You Want’ with kindred boardsmith Sensible J, a flexible seven-track snapshot of the able Australian’s rising stock.
Hark: the reign of Oliver Sudden, Bishop Nehru pushing it, Lee Scott’s blurred lines and MNSR Frites balancing the books.
Words: Matt Oliver
May 22, 2015
To celebrate the return of Bavaria’s number one psychedelic acid rock export to UK shores next month we’ve put together our very own ‘choice’ appraisal of the band’s most fruitful musical period (1969-1975). For the first time in aeons the group will be performing at The Village Underground in Shoreditch, London on June 12th; no doubt sharing the golden moments package from their most coveted albums Phallus Dei, Yeti and Wolf City, alongside more recent material – though performing together in various outfits and versions of the band over the years, they took 28 years to release an original album, 2010’s Düülirium. Announced almost out of the blue and with scant news on the horizon, who knows what to expect. Which makes it all the more exciting. Grab your chance to catch one of Germany’s rock music titans before it’s too late.
The Amon Düül II in brief: a short essay.
Borne of the Munich political arts commune, brought up on the lingering transatlantic hashish smoked coattails of the acid west coast scene, the quasi Egyptian and Germanic etymological entitled Amon Düül II spilt (with almost immediate affect) from their ephemeral and omnivorous bedfellows when they decided to put to tape all those previously untethered freeform experimental jams, and to whittle out all the stragglers and less talented musicians from what was an unregulated love-in. Two versions of the band co-existed for a while, before, as one of the latter’s founding fathers Chris Karrer had already sussed out, the more languid, free-spirited and amorphous Amon Düül fizzled out (but not before recording their own musical peregrinations; releasing a number of albums over the course of five years, but all recorded at roughly the same time as their debut in the late 60s).
Sharing both a sense of mystical cosmological fantasy, and for a time, a bass player (former Kipperton Lodge roadie holed up in West Germany, Dave Anderson) with England’s own psychedelic acid flight crew Hawkwind, the Düül’s own career mirrored that of their counterparts. A politically-charged kool-aid band of ‘heads’ carving out their own mythology; journeying way beyond their own Earthly prism for sonic adventures in space, yet articulating all the ‘shit’ that would threaten to crush their well-meaning attempts to escape the lines being drawn in West Germany by the radical left and the hung-over ex-Nazi’s and their sympathiser authorities, during the late 60s and early 70s. Close personally to the Baader-Meinhof members, but appalled by their actions, the group’s ‘make love not war’ mantra of resolution through revolution didn’t cut it: too slow, too forgiving and too bourgeoisie; a hang-over from the Woodstock era that promised so much but delivered so little. Sparked by ‘black power’, women’s liberation, generational alienation, the continuing horrors of Vietnam, calls for disarmament and the removal of Allied army bases from West Germany’s soil, and one of the main catalyst for a change in tact from protest to guerrilla war, the shooting of the student Benno Ohnesorg by a policemen as he attended a rally orchestrated by the exiled Iranian Marxists, against the Shah of Iran, the mighty Düül articulately forged their own folkloric ascetic.
An ever rotating cast of the extremely talented and miscreants joined, left and then on some occasions, rejoined the ranks during the band’s reign as one of Germany’s experimental rock music titans; even swapping and picking up members from their sibling counterpoint MK I. The founding hardliners, Karrer, drummer Peter Leopold, guitarist/multi-instrumentalist/vocalist John Weinzierl and school teacher turn Valkyrie siren Renate Knaup were joined by UFO sound effects organist Falk-Urich Rogner, the already mentioned Dave Anderson, another drummer, Dieter Serfas, vocalist/percussionist Christian Thierfeld and, both infamous reaper shearing band logo silhouette and bongo/violinist, Sharat (whose image would of course grace the cover of their second album Yeti) on their first outing.
The band’s inaugural Phallus Dei outing would be their most cosmically loose and primal. Channeling a esoteric Gothic totem and piqued by the alien siren vocals and haunting morose of Renate, the band attempted to break away from Germany’s past Prussian and Nazi dominated history and culture to found a ‘new hope’. They at least succeeded in lifting off, and certainly produced an unworldly evocative atmosphere, one that seemed on the surface a light year away from the mounting social unrest, student demonstrations and dawn of armed political insurrection – carried out to a destructive end of misconceived martyrdom by the original members of the Red Army Faction.
Already finding a narrative through the uninterrupted passages of exploration and Gothic dream weaving, the band was already enervating the original freeform blueprint and honing their songwriting skills. Their mythical, Tibetan esoteric follow-up Yeti (a musical and lyrical theme the band would return to again and again, especially on Wolf City) was tighter with the emphasis on transcendental west coast psych and acid rock trips. Yeti would prove to be the band’s compass and feature heavily in their live sets for the years and decades to come; if the band ever strayed too far, the lure of this, one of their most acclaimed and venerated albums, would act as a returning beacon.
Accessible is a trite word and can’t possibly justify the band’s most accomplished – in both the eyes of many dedicated fans and Krautrock connoisseurs – grand outings, Wolf City. Arriving at the end of an extremely volatile period, the group losing certain friends and members after their fairly experimental progressive soundtrack Dancing Of The Lemmings in 1971 failed artistically and commercially – an ambitious if amorphous and at times somewhat directionless double album -, yet picking up again the following year with the release of their most folk rock heavy song collection, Carnival In Babylon – which even made it onto John Peel’s radio show at the time – they would also record their transcendental zenith. In the upper echelons of Krautrock folklore (thanks in part to the talents of Popol Vuh band member Danny Flichelscher’s short term transfer to the Düül team) the keys to this majestic kingdom high above a panoptic dreamscape viewed from one of the ‘chariots of the gods’, would be tarnished slightly as the Düül embraced a weird concoction of Roxy/Bowie glam and earnest sincerity bordering on whimsy for their next two outings Viva La Trance and Hijack. Utterly disingenuous, both albums if of their time also featured the odd highlight and glimpse into the future, especially Viva’s almost debauched Weimar Republic punk hysterical ‘Ladies Mimikry’ and Renate’s prophetic Kate Bush performance on ‘Jalousie’. Hijack would be their most schizophrenic album of all, with a cast of returning band members from the days before the Düül I & II schism, and a musical direction that tended to work the art school pop sound into a cul-de-sac, with prog, jazz, strings and a vague boogie glam Mott The Hopple mish-mash.
Caught up in the burgeoning ‘Krautrock’ phenomena, with the major labels now taking a cash incentivised interest in signing up any half-decent band from West Germany, the band shook sweaty palms with Atlantic Records. The first release of that fatal US deal – though the band would also continue to release material on other labels in their homeland, principally the Nova imprint – Hijack was followed up with the highly ambitious Valkyrie rock opera Made In Germany. A kaleidoscopic pop, rock and glam misadventure through the country’s history (from the eve of German unification in 1871 through to more recent events), taking in various misdemeanours, including the drowning/suicide of the disney castle crowned King Ludwig and a satirical ‘shock-jock’ radio spot interview with Hitler, the eventual double-album (though it was initially released in both the States and UK as a condensed single version) would meet with hostility from label boss Ahmet Ertigon who was unimpressed with the mockery and Germanic political hubbub. Coupled with an extravagant, if misguided, PR stunt from the band who wished to fly a Zeppelin across the Atlantic to launch their grand opus on the unsuspecting American audience – remember this was still only 30-years after the war – the album was almost suppressed by Atlantic. The Marlene Dietrich homage cover masterpiece would eventually drop in 1975 and prove to be their most diverse if derisive outing, splitting opinion on the band and marking the end of a golden period.
Of course they would still carry on meeting under the banner, releasing a handful of albums until the beginning of the 80s before breaking up into various fractions, yet touring every now and then to feed the faithful’s hunger. Returning with their first original material in nearly 28-years in 2010, de facto band job-sharing leader John Weinzierl announced publicly that surviving members of the band would release a new album, Düülirium. Packaged alongside a number of live dates, the 21st century, internet savvy incarnation would take the caravan back out on the road. In correspondence with Weinzierl during this period, he was constantly drawing me away from the band’s past to concentrate on the present and future; sometimes dissuading me from eulogising the band and dismissing the whole ‘Krautrock’ mania – he also launched a few criticisms and dismissive broadsides at a certain past producer, the Baader Meinhof Complex film’s director and the whole nostalgia industry.
This latest, and if my memory serves me correct, their first performance in London since 2010, is a mystery. Will they perform the hits package or try out new material? Or both perhaps. Whatever happens on that June night in Shoreditch, it will prove to be an enlightening, evocative and transcendental mind fuck.
Give me the Bavarian soul, passion and faith of the Düül any day over the cold motorik monotony and steely futurism of Dusseldorf and endless improvised Cologne recordings.
Words & music selection: Dominic Valvona
Full in-depth fanboy reviews and such can be found on all the above albums. Just click the image below…
NEW MUSIC REVUE
Our regular ‘polygenesis’ mix of ‘tickling our fancy’ reviews includes debut albums from Brighton psych, acid-rock and lo fi mavericks Prince Vaseline and the Dusseldorf neo-Krautrock duo Die Wilde Jagd, plus the new bonkers Theremin avant-garde LP from Italian adventurers OoopopoiooO. We also have the new single from Swedish new wave rockers Dog, Paper, Submarine; the latest EP from Austin psychedelic entranced dreamers Technicolor Hearts; and the upcoming survey of lost British jazz finds from the Jazzman Label, A New Life.
Prince Vaseline ‘A Naturally Coloured Pleasure’ (Sunhorse Records) LP out on June 2015.
I’ve never quite understood the demarcation lines that mark out a mini-album from an extended EP, but the Brighton based cornucopia that is Prince Vaseline are being quite generous with their “mini” debut LP A Naturally Cloured Pleasure. A showcase that runs to the sort of running time and boasts the sort of track list size you’d expect to see on the average full album, the group have cut the proverbial wheat from the chaff to produce one of the years most pleasantly sophisticated and purposeful psychedelic pop soundtracks. The pedigree is good with this one, the group featuring members from the coastal city’s lo fi, psych dreamers Milk & Biscuits and local institution the Brakes. All these various halcyon synth, acid folk and Wurlitzer fairground circling organ garage rock influences congruously gel together. But the real inspiration behind this album is the synth/baritone vocal partnership of Pulp’s His ‘n’ Hers classic, with occasional gestures made towards the pastoral diaphanous and carefully plucked tones of the Incredible String Band and Fairport Convention.
The album serenely drifts from the Ian Curtis fronting Inspiral Carpets of ‘Hungry Dog’ and ‘Walden Pegasus’, or a Postcard Records’ Velvet Underground on the leading classic pop nugget (featured above) ‘Radio On’, to the John Martyn stroked majesty of the beautifully acoustic ‘China’. There’s even an atmospheric excursion made to a land before, during and after time on the searing instrumental vignette, ‘Dino’s’, adding yet another spoke to the ever rotating Prince Vaseline kaleidoscope wheel. Impressively linking together musical time zones with the both the burgeoning dawns of the late 70s synth and pop scenes in Sheffield with the progressive folk of the earlier Canterbury and Scotland scenes, and breathing in a highly agreeable fumes of the late 80s Manchester and Liverpool alternative garage rock and pop days, they managed to circumnavigate nostalgia for something fresh and amorphous.
Technicolor Hearts ‘Now We’re Here’ EP out now.
Veiled and rising from a dazed sepia ether of psychedelic pop and trip hop, borne in the renowned bastion of live music, Austin, Texas, the Technicolor Hearts have carved out a particular niche of hypnotizing, opium induced lushness on their latest odyssey, Now We’re Here. With trained-violinist, vocalist and multi-instrumentalist Naomi Cherie (ex-Agent Ribbons; guest violinist on Camera Obscura 2009 tour) and the equally talented beats maker and musical sparring partner Joseph Salazar (ex-Death is not a Joyride) combining their taste for the suffused majesty of artful electronica and opulent dream state orchestration, the results fall between the most languid (on the Portishead coy to passed-out megaphone raspy doo wop vocal, trip-y affair ‘I Dreamed You Brought Me Flowers’) and the searing synth lushness (the redolent pulsating heart beat pop hit ‘Who You Are’, which makes the usual saccharine and over-used repeated refrain of “shooting star” sound suddenly illuminating and profound). Naomi channels many such redolent sirens and placable whisperers of the genre, including Sarah Blackwood of the successful 90s Britpop electronic popsters Dubstar and Beth Gibbons. Not so much in the vocal department, but musically the duo hint at Beach House on the dry-ice 80s film score that never was ‘Return To Eden’ opus, the EP’s grand finale.
There’s something about the dry Texas air that proves inspiring, or it could just be that it prompts escapism. The Technicolor Hearts have certainly escaped their earthly surroundings to hitch a ride on an illuminated chariot to more sedate, magical worlds.
Dog, Paper, Submarine ‘Ms. Moonlet’ (Small Bear Records) 7” out now.
Launching into their scuzzy punk, bordering on a love-in between The Cars and Weezer, storming ‘Ms. Moonlet’, the Swedish fuzz rockers Dog, Paper, Submarine remind me of a lost Britpop band. Redolent also of the more melodic fringes of the grunge era, and obviously picking up the transmissions from Television et al, the group’s power pop latest sounds like a jolt from the past. Clean though bristling with grime and swagger, this lively number wastes no time with flouncy introductions: the meat and bones succinct production and tampered energy grab you from the very first guitar chugs to even the dawdling shoegaze come-down: a real head-turner.
(Tremoloa Records) LP out now.
More a phonetically Dadaist statement than a band name, the bizarre coded cry of OoopopoiooO sets off on a Theremin heavy voyage of lunacy. From adventures in the primordial soup of life to ever stranger ‘loonscapes’ where mooning Italians narrations meet an updated art of noise, the theatrically avant-garde duo of Vincenzo Vasi and fellow compatriot Valeria Sturbia explore the most extreme and most elegantly dreamlike crevices of electronica and trip hop. It will come as no surprise, even in the disturbing, comedic and often hyperactive experimental Italian scene that these two mavericks are producing some of the best and most far out music to emanate from the ‘boot’.
A seasoned traveller so to speak known mostly for his work with Italy’s answer to Tom Waits, Vinicio Capossela, and Faith No More’s Mike Patton, Vasi teams up with the relatively fresh-faced Sturbia for one of the year’s most eye-opening debuts. Highly sophisticated and surprisingly tuneful, songs which start off on one course often veer off into new directions, such as the huffing, paddled percussion and string yearning opera turn Frankie Knuckles Chicago house style ‘How Do You Feel To Be In Love With A Ghost?’ Plucked Dante excursions and Holger Czukay like sonic trickery are rife, the surreal nature – of what is a thematic soundtrack – offering up ever-more interesting sounds and dynamics, though often heavily accompanied by a yearning and adroit classical backing.
Odd in a recommended way, the OoopopoiooO have to be heard to be believed.
Die Wilde Jagd ‘Die Wilde Jagd’
(Bureau B) LP out on 25TH May 2015
Meaning business from the outset, the mythical named Die Wilde Jagd duo use German technology at its most adroitly sleek and well oiled to explore a semi-organic and industrial sounding series of spaces. In neon lit pursuit of their Dusseldorf inspirations Neu! and Kraftwerk the city’s future-past echoes are melded with the imbued spirit of DAF, Einsturzende Neubauten and Liaisons Dangereuses to create a kind of Krautrock “hunting music”: the “raucous jeering hunters from the netherworld” of the duo’s moniker in a redolent exploration of a well founded venerated music genre, echoing Herbie Hancock’s Headhunter transduction and appropriation of jazz.
Ralf Beck of the duo has worked with electronic pioneer and one-time member of the Kraftwerk factory Karl Bartos in the past, whilst his musical partner on this metallic sheen peregrination, Sebastian Lee Philipp, plays in the electro-pop group Noblesse Oblige. For the most part sonically driving those UFO engines over industrial landscapes and firing up rasping synths and sterner modulations, there are more peaceable reflective moments – such as subterranean mournful procession ‘Morgenrot’ – to be found.
Seasoned ‘head’ fans and motorik disciples will find much to admire and lose their self’s in, though much of what is on offer has already been created and shared endless times before, Die Wilde Jagd do it extremely well and with conviction. It’s hardly surprising to see this release on the Hamburg label Bureau B who continue to hold aloft the flag of Krautrock and its inspired bedfellows high, releasing both some of the more interesting contemporary electronic, filed music, avant-garde experiments alongside carefully chosen reissues from Germany’s illustrious, gene-defining past.
Various Artists ‘A New Life’
(Jazzman Records) LP to on 1st June 2015.
The reliable resource for all your spiritual, modal and most esoteric jazz needs, the Jazzman label’s reissue roster continues to dig up previously lain dormant and unloved treasures (though they’re just as reliable with releasing contemporary finds too; three, and soon to be four albums from the mighty Greg Foat Group for starters). Whether it’s through their individual compilations or reverential Spiritual series, the dust is blown off and the music rediscovered; collated from both sides of the Atlantic, and from the furthest reaches of eastern Europe to North Africa, these born-again finds are accorded due-respect and lavished with the most subtle but refined re-mastering, adroit essays and beautifully put together packaging.
Closer to home once more after excursions around the globe, the latest collection surveys a forgotten British independent and youth jazz scene, for the most part only ever available on private pressings. Plucked from obscurity by the Francis Gooding and Duncan Brooker team that also compiled the jubilantly praised, hotfooting, Next Stop Soweto series, A New Life starts with the sophisticated cocktail hour in Soho ‘Sweet Martini’ by Joy, and moves through the abstract-expressionist horns and drum solo showcase of ‘Sixes and Sevens’ by the Nottingham Jazz Orchestra and summons up a spot of Cuban high spirits on Billy Jenkins & The Voice Of God Collective’s bustling exchange ‘High Street/Saturday’; all of this within the first three songs of this thirteen track collection. Mirroring those cosmic, progressive and psychedelic explorations on the other side of the Atlantic, the beautifully chorused but mournfully themed ‘Death Is Near’ by the London Jazz IV could be a lost recording from the late fifties and early sixties spiritual St. Louis or Chicago scene, and both Lori Vambe’s ‘Drumsong (One)’ and Edge’s ‘Danielle and the Holly Tree’ allude to a pan-African influence, whilst Cameo’s piano led psych bulletin ‘Poliphony’ paves the way forward for the 90s acid-jazz explosion.
Other discoveries on offer include Spot The Zebras’ gentle clarinet led dedication to natural history doyen David Attenborough, ‘Living Planet’, and the Walsall Youth Jazz’s swanky San Francisco China Town soundtrack ‘The Dragon’. Informed by the ongoing trends both in the USA and Europe, each track seems to drift further away from its original roots in the UK. And if no one told you, it would be extremely difficult to place these performances geographically or culturally. But then if the grey exterior and drab weather of a Midlands town is all you have to draw inspiration from, then perhaps dreaming of more exotic climes and magical jazz is your only form of escapism. Gooding and Brooker have delivered the goods and found a whole untapped resource of British jazz; the missing link – in some cases, just a joyful abandon – of experimentation during the late 60s, 70s, 80s and on the eve of the 90s.
Words: Dominic Valvona
May 11, 2015
Ayfer Simms‘ lends her customary flowery poetic critique to the new solo project from Postcode guitarist Kieran Bell.
Skyline Advantage ‘The Songs Of Stuff EP’ (Small Bear Records)
The Songs About Stuff EP is an energetic alternative rock ballad trip to the sultry world of Kieran Ball, who with his fond guitar bestows a familiar indie glow upon us. The 4 track EP opens ajar the door of a quiet and simple dwelling: Letting us catch a glimpse of the intimacy of a frail young spirit armed with hope and fidelity: “I want to be the one that comforts you when you have a bad day”.
With these earnest lyrics and a melodic delicate voice, Kieran extends a welcoming humble arm, like a newly blessed knight: a modern hero with disheveled posture and soft gaze: a romantic younglings perhaps.
The cords of the guitar are fierce and bring speed to the music, Kieran’s voice tones it down, the drums push it forward, and Kieran sings, to create a gentle “laissez-aller” in our steps.
There’s enough gentleness in the melodies to feel rocked, while guitar riffs surges though the tracks. He is encouraging: “You’re not the only one scared, don’t give up now”, yet Kieran is not a father figure, rather the progeny attempting to uplift the heart of his peers. He appears like the young dragon slayer, his guitar, a gilded instrument for crusades: Kieran is at the beginning of the journey, and the armor is covered with yet untarnished shiny scales; He is leading the way to a joyously moody walk under a semi cloudy land of green pastures, the dulcet sound of his voice rings…this is only the start off, it is grunge and it is good you see. The romantic slayer will soon become a roaring indie star.
Words: Ayfer Simms