A WORLD OF SONIC/MUSICAL DISCOVERIES REVIEWED BY DOMINIC VALVONA
(Unless stated otherwise, all releases are available now)

(Photo : Zara Saraon @zarasaraon)

Luce Mawdsley ‘Northwest & Nebulous’
(Pure O Records) 29th March 2024

Over several years now the former Mugstar guitarist Luce Mawdsley has progressively shorn the more predatory slurred spoken-word mise-en-scenes and lurid, sleazy torturous self-harm from their music; gradually removing the “verbasier” programmed-like demonic effects from their voice and freeing themselves from a circled abyss of sonnets.

During that time Luce has also gravitated ever nearer towards a self-described “queer” vision of the Western soundtrack. This can be especially felt and heard on the last solo album to be featured and premiered on the Monolith Cocktail, Vulgar Displays Of Affection, which showed the Liverpool-based artist/musician moseying to a removed, transported alternative version of this Western re-imaging: a culminated merger of Morricone, Blood Meridian, Crime And The City Solution, El Topo and Hellenica.  

Now onto their sixth studio album proper, Luce not only fully embraces that Americana influence but also now joins it with echoes of the English pastoral tradition and chamber music.

Another alternative score, and another progressive step in Luce’s well-being and journey of self-discovery and identity, all traces of their voice have been erased to escape an unhealthy cycle of unhappiness. In penning those disturbed and candid poetics and morbid descriptions, Luce wasn’t released from their torment, but instead locked into a spiral of reinforced misery. Breaking free from that process, Luce has found sanctum with their latest journey-like score, Northwest & Nebulous – the first to be released on Luce’s own label imprint, Pure O Records. Through a “non-human lens” the often amorphous, sometimes ambiguous, landscapes of this new record seem to let nature take its course: wherever it may lead.

Under the auspices of a Grade II listed Scandinavian church in Liverpool, and with chamber pairing of Nicholas Branton on clarinets and Rachel Nicholas on viola (making another appearance after adding something of the ethereal to the Vulgar Displays Of Affection album) at Luce’s side, a magical bucolic spell is unlocked. The music and atmospheres are mysterious in part, yet more natural and placeable, invoking landscapes, lakesides, and woodlands simultaneously quintessentially English and yet also American – think the Catskills, the Appalachians, and the Deep South. Within that tapestry the wildlife is mimicked with pecking and swanned charm – on the cockerel evoked ‘Roosting’, you could imagine a Jemima Puddle-duck like character waddling across the barnyard, albeit to a reimagined vision of bluegrass music composed by Vaughan Williams.   

An holistic record that rescores the English scenery and places held near for Luce, the unfolding stages are both beautifully conveyed and hallucinatory in equal measure; a retold fairytale without any prompts, and without a human cast; a window in on the enchantments but also non-hierarchical, non-binary and free nature of the wilds and geography: a metaphor for Luce’s struggles to find an identity that feels natural, safe and unburdened.

One part classical, one part Americana, and one part folksy (a touch of the Celtic too) there’s still a very modern twist to what we may identify as the familiar: imagine Prokofiev on an acid trip, or Ry Cooder (all the melted, bendy, twanged, picked, tremolo guitar work down to Luce, who also provides the organ and percussion) in an English pasture laying down breadcrumbs for Hampshire & Foat. And then again, there are echoes of the occult, a little Wicca, and the occasional wilder sound of the clarinet harking like Anthony Braxton. The Moody Blues, Between, Jade Warrior, Federico Balducci, Andrew Wasylyk all appear on the horizon of this earthly paradise and portal. Luce might just have found their sanctuary amongst the unencumbered undergrowth; beside the refracted light inspired lakes, the gentle versants, and valleys of Northern England. Luce’s imagination is certainly in a better place, the organic nature of their music proving creatively successful in counterbalancing two great and much inspired landscapes together to produce something very beautiful and magical. 

Ivo Perelman, Chad Fowler, Reggie Workman and Andrew Cyrille ‘Embracing The Unknown’  (Mahakala Music) 29th March 2024

A true “cross-generational” (with two of the participants born in the 1930s) coming together of avant-garde, freeform and hard bop talent, the ensemble quartet of Ivo Perelman, Chad Fowler, Reggie Workman and Andrew Cyrille  “embrace” experiment. You could call it an extemporized gathering, with no prior arrangements and not much in the way of dialogue. And you called also say it was an intentional sounding collaboration, taking in, as it does, the Brazilian roots of the tenor saxophonist Perelman and the American roots (from Arkansas to Memphis, Philly and New York) of stritch (a large straight sax or alto sax without the curved bell) and saxello (a unique soprano sax with a curved bell and neck that lets out a distinctive sound) player Fowler, bass, saw and percussionist Workman and fellow percussionist Cyrille.

Released on Fowler’s own imprint, this circle of acclaimed and proficient artists/musicians brings a wealth of experience to the studio, performance space. Workman’s CV alone is incredible, knocking around with such gods of the form as Coltrane, Blakey and Monk, whilst drummer Cyrille had a long-standing association with the free jazz pianist-poet luminary Cecil Taylor. For their parts, Perelman has a prolific catalogue of albums stretching back to his debut in 1989 (moving from his native Sao Paulo that same year to New York), whilst the multi-instrumentalist Fowler has played on and produced everything from soul to R&B and jazz recordings.    

From the titles alone this pooling of experiences, from across 70 plus odd years, Embracing The Unknown takes an undefined freeform journey of the mind; the references to “self” to “reflection” and “introspection” obvious, prompted and described, in a fashion, by the tones, pitches, entanglements, wails, strains and blasts of intensity. An expulsion of expressive query, and maybe a lighthearted leap from the psychiatrist’s couch the self-exploration of the mind and soul combine to evoke shades of the Art Ensemble of Chicago, Marshall Allen, Pharoah Sanders, John Zorn, Barney Wilen, Roscoe Mitchell and Sam Rivers. The inner self is landscaped with the skylines of New York, but a semblance also of a transported South America and New Orleans in the untethered mix.

The various saxophones often resemble a gaggle of geese, or squeak, shrill, squawk, and squeal to the rafters. Hysterics of a kind are met with the giddy and more soul-searching passages. And then you get almost apparition-style spells: more playful than scary. Those horns can pierce but also serenade wistfully, as they do on the measured and near soliloquy sonnet, and Coltrane-light ‘Self-Reflection’. The percussive elements and drums can also be varied, with more springy “boings”, metal and tin cup scuttles and rattles, and the dusting, sieving of drum skins. Those same drums break out at times into a pattern of a kind; sometimes in an almost freeform swing fashion and at others, almost hitting hard bop. It’s hard to describe or even get across what I mean, but certainly the finale, ‘Self-Contemplation’, has the spindled and tinny semblance of something approaching Latin America.   

Making the abstract seem even more so, yet somehow conveying mood, emotions and self-expression, this descriptive and totally improvisational master class in free-thought-jazz somehow captures the internal struggles and reflections of the mind during an age of high anxiety, rage, divisiveness and unease.   

Arushi Jain ‘Delight’
(Leaving Records) 29th March 2024

Rejuvenation, reinvention and reenergized, the melodious form of the Ragga Bageshri is adopted by the polymath artist, musician, composer, vocalist, engineer and ‘modular synthesist’ Arushi Jain on the follow up to 2021’s well-received Under A Lilac Sky album. Undergoing various changes, imbued with, and surrounded by, the wildlife, light, and art of an empty house on the seaside, that original romantic Indian ragga of longing conveyed the feelings of a lover waiting to reunite with their beloved, but Jain now replaces that devotional love with invocations of “delight”: or as Jain puts it, “…to instill belief in the ever-present nature of delight…assert[ing] the need to actively seek it when not readily found.”   

Jain also transduces and transforms the arrangement and the essence of that tradition into something very futuristic, artful, and ethereal sounding; the main sound, sonic and instrument being that incredible voice, which can be as sonorous as it can be vaporous. Across nine highly atmospheric tracks of the astral, celestial, ebbing, beatific and technological, that voice is built upon with layers of tonal lulls and coos or, in stark but reverberated contrast, sings to the heavens, the higher learning. Yet there are also assonant utterings that call to the “void”; propelled forward on a Basic Channel, Jeff Mills-esque chopper-like minimalist techno beat. At times those effected vocals and wafted harmonies are morphed into synthesized waves and lines (at one point almost monastic), and at other times are left to convey the sentiments of the theme – the quasi-remix like ‘You Are Irresistible’ being the clearest example; a mix of club, modern warbled R&B and hypnotizing cosmic dream spells.

Underneath, undulating or attentively in unison with that magical voice there’s a sophisticated envelope of light-giving arpeggiator and algorithms, and the distilled, transparent, and warping. The environment is itself, as I mentioned earlier, transduced into an artificial metallic menagerie, with the sun’s rays and beams gently radiating and penetrating the dreamy new age and trance-y ambience. Notes fall, cascade, and drop like crystalloid bulbs, whilst a synthesized symphonic orchestra pipes up with a whistled and fluty spring and bounce. I can hear a semblance of marimba, or something very much like it bobbling about on ‘Our Teaching Tongues’, which also features a building chopper, rotor-bladed circulation of minimalist electronic. And there seems to be some sort of mizzle-like seepage of a horn too in places.

Every element is put together wonderfully as a softened balance is sort between the soaring and suffused, insularly reflected and the amorphously never-ending. And through it all “delight” is sort out, courted, embraced and enraptured in a futuristic retelling of sagacious Indian arts, wills and universal feels; producing an extraordinary and diaphanous biosphere. 

Ill Considered ‘Precipice’
(New Soil) 22nd March 2024

Despite the hurry to lay down this stripped-down improvised vision of the jazz ensemble – recorded in a day, with no overdubs; mixed the following day –, the refreshed Ill Considered trio exercise a new verve and itch to reassemble, recreate and reignite without sounding in a rush. Back to a core triumvirate lineup of Idris Rahman on saxophone, Liran Donin on bass and Emre Ramazanoglu on drums, the very much lauded UK jazz collective set a new course free of augmentation and effects; an invocation of the great trios of jazz’s golden age through a modern lens, with all the history and development that comes with it.

Away from the dramatics of the album’s “precipice” title, this is a group in flux, reconnecting perhaps with the basics in an act of renewal (a lot the “re” going on I know); starting over you could say, but nothing so year zero as that. The dynamics and interactions of which are balanced: the wild with a certain tightness, and an abstractedness and playfulness that never quite breaks out into the freeform. Whilst Rahman’s saxophone penetrates and shrills, sometimes bristles and trills more fervently, you can always recognize it – a more melodic hybrid of Sam Rivers, Jonah Parzen-Johnson and Alex Roth. His foils on drums and bass seem pretty anchored as they lay down the various rhythms and feels. Donin seems to cross post-punk, no wave (there’s a particular Liquid Liquid spin on the Arthur Russell goes downtown ‘Linus With The Sick Burn’) and, of course, jazz bass lines, repeated prods, probes and elasticated wobbles, whilst Ramazanglu plays with breakbeats, drills, rattled spidery sticks and more percussive sounding scuttles.

Whether the titles came later, or were used as prompts, reference points, they do go some way in describing the performances: to a point. Name checking mythology, repair and the natural world, improvisations like ‘Vespa Crabro’, as in the European hornet, does have a real spikey buzz and sting to it; the bass like a rubber band being pulled and twanged in a busy manner, whilst the sax honks and cuts right through like the angry said wasp darting from one direction to the next. The fire ants, ‘Solenopsis’, that lend their name to the ninth improvisation on this album evoke West Africa; a desert farm setting in which the drums seem to work off the metals, the cattle bells and water troughs as the sax pecks bird-like, or flits about on the dry earth. ‘Kintsugi’ feeds into the thinking behind this slimmed-down chapter of the group; referencing as it does the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending the areas of breakage with slow-drying ‘urushiol’ based lacquers, dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum. The philosophy of which is that you treat breakage and repair as part of that objects history, rather than try to disguise it. Sound wise, the trio seems to touch on splayed Afro-rhythms and hip-hop, as the bass bounces in the spaces and skips, and the sax reverberates and drifts. ‘Katabatic’ on the other hand, takes a chthonian journey into Greek myth with a tunneled sax circulating in an underworld atmosphere of mysterious probes and J Dilla breaks. 

Ill Considered in trio form is neither reductive nor compromised, managing instead to transform and amplify the basics into a concentration of promising new material. Laid down in the moment, feeding off of each other’s energy but sense of control and direction too, they open up their horizons with a riff on the jazz trio idiom.    

Alison Cotton ‘Engelchen’
(Rocket Recordings)

In the wake of the barbaric terrorism of Hamas on October 7th, and the ensuing destructive retaliation/ obliteration of Gaza by Israel since, there seems little room – let alone nuance and balance – on the debate; battle lines have been drawn and divisions sowed. And so this inspired tale of ‘derring-do’ (originally performed live at the Seventeen Nineteen Holy Church in Sunderland) performance suite from the Sunderland composer Alison Cotton is a most timely reminder of dark history, but also of altruistic acts of kindness.

Scoring the story of the innocuous Cook sisters, Ida and Louise, and their incredibly brave rescue attempts to save the lives of twenty-nine Jews from occupied Europe during the build-up and eventual outbreak of WWII, Cotton ties in the modern plight of refugees escaping similar persecutions: the album’s reprised neo-classical pained and suffered leitmotif, and a capella style stirring voices, are used on the finale, ‘Engelchen Now’, to draw attention to a female Kurdish “teacher/activist”, making a similar passage and aided by similar “angels” over eight years later.

Originally from Cotton’s hometown, the Cook sisters moved on to London, with jobs in the civil services, and remained largely innocuous until their obsession for opera took them to Germany during Hitler’s rise to power. In an age when international travel was still very much the preserve and enjoyment of the upper echelons of society, the sisters managed to visit many of the famous opera houses on both the continent and across the Atlantic. Over the course of many years they built up friendships with such well-known and respected figures as the Austrian conductor Clemens Krauss and his wife, the Romanian opera singer Viorica Ursuleac, whilst also hobnobbing with such stars of the form like Rosa Ponselle and Ezio Pinza. Through sending boutiques to dressing rooms, requesting autographs and photographs with the stars, the Cook sisters would build up a network that would prove vital in saving Jews from the Nazi purge.

Almost like characters from an Ealing Comedy or Hitchcock movie, the sisters surface naivety and eccentricity proved a good cover; the sisters managing to bluff their way past SS guards on a few occasions, and remain undetected even when smuggling through those escapees furs and jewelry. Unflattering, but both sisters were described as being “plain” and “gawky”, their clothes made from magazine patterns by Ida. And so they were often dismissed: under the radar as it were. They used this to their advantage, and in so doing saved many lives in what was a most dangerous climate.

For their kind acts they were anointed as “Engelchens” (“angels”), and given the honorific title of Righteous Among the Nations: a title used by ‘Israel to describe all of the non-Jews who, for purely altruistic reasons, risked their lives in order to save Jews from being exterminated by Nazi Germany during the Holocaust.’

Despite this, the Cook sisters’ exploits have remained relatively obscure: although Ida did pen a memoir, We Followed Our Stars, in the 1950s (reprinted as Safe Passage in 2008), and there is a possible film adaptation in the works. (Ida incidentally wasn’t the only writer, sibling Louise, going under the pen name of Mary Burchell, had a sideline in writing romances for Mills & Boon). Through their connection with Cotton’s Sunderland hometown, that story is now picked-up and relived: reimagined through the use of strings and voice by a dedicated composer.

Less a morbid, dark soundtrack to the evils of the Nazi regime and Holocaust, Cotton instead conveys the enormity and the danger of the Cook’s enterprise through slow tidal movements, tones, intonations and changes in the atmosphere. Throughout it all a prevailing presence and emotional pull can be felt: The mood music of grief, the plaintive and sorrowful cumulating in a beautifully played series of arrangements and suites that are as somber as they are beautiful and moving – reminding me in parts of Alex Stolze, Anne Müller, Simon McCorry and Aftab Darvishi.

Both wordless Hebrew hymnal lulls and sung poetics hold and swim in the haunted ripples of time, as the story unfolds in bellowed and concertinaed breaths and to the bowed strains of strings. There are subtle drums too on occasion, either brushed and sieved, or marching like a softened military drill – prompting that danger I mentioned, militaristic Germany, the warning of a firing squad and peril.   

Some movements have a squeezebox, almost folk and near Celtic, saltiness that evokes the sea; none more so than the album’s first single, ‘The Letter Burning’. Pulled, drawn from obfuscation, the correspondence that was burned by Louise from that time, are ruminated upon to the strike of the gong and an organ-like (could be a harmonium) tide of simultaneously haunting and dreamy a capella remembrance and woe. Sung references are made to those “saved”, and the location where news of their plight was first discussed. Whilst the intentions behind the erasure of these letters are unknown, Cotton interprets Louise’s actions as a gesture of remorse at all those poor souls the sisters couldn’t save: literally haunted by the thought of their fates. Perhaps it was an attempt at moving on with their lives, to not dwell on such tragedy, and instead look to more hopeful times. The world was moving on, quickly forgetting, even aiding and abetting many former Nazis. After the anger and some justice, initial worldwide broadcasted trials soon vanished from the public psyche. Many perpetrators, facilitators of that regime were soon forgotten.

In the wake of another tumultuous, scary period of anti-Semitism, but in a more general manner, with hostility at an all time high towards to the refugee community, it is such stories and projects as Cotton’s Engelchen that remind us of the cost of our loss of humility and humanity. With so many layers to the Cook sisters’ story (let alone the obvious there’s a strong feminist angle to raise) and connotations for our own time, this score, soundtrack, performance comes full circle: the fates of 1930s/40s Jews in Germany tied to those of Kurds and other persecuted ethnic groups in the 21st century.      

Andrew Heath And Mi Cosa de Resistence ‘Café Tristesse’
(Audiobulb) 16th March 2024

Composer of “lower case” minimalism Andrew Heath and his willing foil on this collaboration, the Argentinian ambient composer Fernando Perales (under the guises of his Mi Cosa de Resistence alias), slow down time to convey abstract disquiet and a sense of the plaintive on their first proper album together – the pair previously worked together on A Speechless Body, but this is their first actual fully shared collaborative immersion. For the title translates from the French as “a state of melancholy sadness”; an encapsulation of a mood made famous and iconic by the lauded surrealist and poet Paul Éluard who in turn inspired his French compatriot Françoise Sagan to pen the 1954 novel Bonjour Tristesse, which went on to spawn a movie adaptation. Obviously the “café” part if that album title needs less explanation or inquiry, evoking as it does the legacy of ruminating whilst measuring the passage of time sipping on a cappuccino or knocking back espressos: The café as centre of every movement worth mentioning in the 19th and 20th centuries, especially in Europe where this sort of almost resigned and wistful contemplation.

Having built up quite the reputations and CVs (Heath no stranger to this blog, with his last solo album, Scapa Flow making our “choice albums of 2023” lists) both participants bring much adroit subtlety to this dreamy drifting traverse of feelings that cannot be described so much in words or song. Perales’ main job seems to be in picking out the right atmospheric guitar notes, the right motifs and bended mirages, which in turn either linger or float over Heaths vapours, ambient scapes and wafts. Across strange refractive sun-lit Western vistas, near ethereal visions and rain swept European boulevards, those synthesized and tremulous, gently plucked and pinged instruments – a signature presence too of Heath’s translucent and more dulled piano is also in attendance – somehow manifest images of the French waiter taking his break in-between services, taking a drag perhaps on a cigarette to unwind from the tensions, stresses as he or she watches the comings and goings on the street outside: Time seems to be suspended during these moments of contemplation.

And yet there are moments that, to me, suggest an almost Vangelis-style Blade Runner kind of pathos (especially the ambient vision ‘The Absentee’). There’s certainly the air of mystery suffused throughout this album of musical novellas. If the guitar work of Fererico Balducci and Myles Cochran enthuse merging perfectly with invocations of Eno, John Laneand Roedelius enthuse you then this perfectly matched collaborative affair of the heart and cerebral feels will very much impress.

NAH ‘Totally Recalled’
(Viernulvier Records) 15th March 2024

Not so much disjointed or a clattering collision but more an “overlapping” controlled chaos of influences, sounds and beats, the drummer, producer and visual artist NAH rebuilds and shuttles a polygenesis set of rhythms into a noisy assemblage of broken beats, cosmic effects, repurposed House and Rave music, removed jazz, hip-hop, d’n’b and Techno. 

Releasing this latest experiment, propelled from an effects pedal embellished drum kit, on the Ghent, Belgium art center of Viernulvier’s label (Use Knife, Youniss and Hieroglyphic Being), NAH’s sonic immersion is, when seen in the live environment, complimented with visuals. But I wouldn’t call this a art project as such, more an experiment in combining the chaos, constant generated overflow of information in a world in which technology encroaches ever more upon our understanding of being human: tying in with NAH’s balancing of the acoustic and synthetic.  

This latest album “serves headphones submersion” but is better “witnessed live in all its decibel meter breaking glory.” It’s certainly full of noise and constantly on the move, shuttling, galloping and barreling around, or in pneumatic fashion, drilling those beats into the conscious. A jumbled cacophony at times of J Dilla, People Like Us, Plug, Wagon Christ, Bugz In The Attic and Cities Aviv (who is just one of many artists NAH has collaborated with over the years, since his debut in 2011) with transmogrified and more clearer vocal samples (many of which seem to have been borrowed off soul and R&B records), Totally Recalled is like an inner rolodex of logged breaks and snippets pulled together to create “alternative” movement of musical ideas, dynamisms. And so you might hear an alternative version of Tony Allen drumming on R&S Records in the 90s, or, Kosmische-like star gate synthesized space takeoffs as envisioned by Tomat. Some tracks seem to discombobulate hip-hip, d’n’b and hardcore Techno in one go; clattering together in the same space without sounding a mess, but somehow making perfect sense – imagine Madlib working with Jeff Mills. There’s even, what sounds like, a beat made out of a typewriter at one point.

Looped, remodelled, recharged and rebuilt, NAH’s methodology and processes continue to wrong-foot and drum up invigorating or overloaded rhythmic, percussive accelerations into immersive and exciting uncertainty.    

Various ‘Africamore – The Afrofunk Side Of Italy (1973-1978)’
(Four Flies Records) 22nd March 2024

Shedding ever more light on Italian curiosities of a certain vintage and status, the Four Flies Records label digs out of the vaults another selection of cult finds; building on a rich archive catalogue of Italian film composers, personalities with a compilation of African and Afro-Caribbean inspired nuggets from a mixed bag of mavericks, entertainers, obscure bands and producers.  

Covering a five-year period and the advent of the disco era, this showcase explores the Italian music industry’s fascination and adoption of African music and sounds in the 1970s, from the most sampled and covered African track of all time, the Cameroon saxophonist Manu Dibango’s ‘Soul Makossa’ – covered in this instance by African Revival (whoever the hell that was), who take it via the grasslands into Peter King and Fred Wesley territories -, to the imported vodun spells of Hispaniola – the Italian-Eritrean singer, entertainer, impresario and record producer Silvana Savorelli (who went under both the Tanya and, in this instance, the Lara Saint Paul aliases) works her kitsch magic on ‘The Voodoo Lady’; the sort of fake swamp mist effected Afro-Caribbean tropical lilt, with chuffing woodwind, that you might expect to hear in an episode of Miami Vice (and to think Savorelli was once produced by Quincy Jones, and this particular track, featured on her winning, commercially successful 1977 LP Saffo Music, amazingly enough featured The Pointer Sisters on backing vocals).  

Prompted and influenced by what was developing across the Atlantic in the States, with the already mentioned Dibango classic picked up by such impresario DJs on the New York scene as Dave Mancuso (mentioned in the liner notes to this compilation) Italy gratefully received the Afro-funk, Afro-beat and Afro-Latin sounds. The infectious groove that would propel a boom in nightclubs, these sounds, tribal rhythms were both fired up and exploited in equal measures; although the Italian husband and wife duo behind Chrisma (made up from the couple’s names of Maurizio Arcieri and Christina Moser; later on in the new wave era renamed Krisma) has the legendry Ghanaian-British Afro-Funk band Osibisa providing the rhythm section on their delicious, tropically-lilted, semi-Gainsbourg mating dance, ‘Amore’ (produced, extraordinarily, by Nico Papathanassiou and his more famous sibling Vangelis), and the Jamaican actress, model, presenter, singer and, of all things, aphrodisiac cook book author Beryl Cunningham fronts the hand drum heavy, ocean side view cabaret ‘Why O’ – Beryl, who famously starred in the Italian erotic Le Salamandre drama before shooting to semi-fame in such films as The Weekend Murderers and The Black Decameron, sounds like a cross between Marva Broome and Miriam Makeba.

Expanding on that international field, there’s even room on this collection for the Indian percussionist Ramasandiran Somusundara, who offers up his “bean smuggling” single from 1973. A member at one time or other with Bambibanda E Melodie, Maya and New Trolls Atomic System (is that even real?!), his musicality in this regard seems to combine bush whacker rituals with Black Level on a classic Italo-funk record.  

Returning to the Euro fold, Luca D’Ammonio mixes NYC Latin soul with Joe Baatan and Cymande on his white boogaloo mover ‘Oh Caron’, whilst the film composer (The Bronx Warrior, Our Man In Bagdad, The House By The Cemetery) Walter Rizzati rustles up a quasi streets of San Fran action thriller score on ‘L’unica Chance’: a paler shade of Black sounds, with a soft scuzz on the whacker guitar, some chuffing Jeremy Steig flute, and a touch of cool jazzy-funk organ and claves (the sort of music lapped up by Sven Wunders and Greg Foat at one time).      

The strange pairing of The Real McCoys and Italian composer, arranger and TV personality Augusto Martelli (famous for his Il Dio Serpente theme, which topped the charts and set his career in motion) come up with the collection’s most unusual track, ‘Calories’, which seems to marry Nino Ferrer and the new wave in a limbo of libido thrusts and alluring promises of coquettish sexual desires. Covering everything from Saravah Records to the Jorge Autuori Trio, Idris Muhammad, Drummers of Burundi, Mongo Santamaria, Paulo Ferrarai, Bruno Nichols and the disco era, this compilation of cultish singles and album tracks is more Dr. No than Shaft In Africa – I’m almost detecting Iron Butterfly’s most famous riff on the more flowery, slick but wild ‘Africa Sound’ track by the duo of Jean Paul and Angelique, who were a woodwind/strings and guitar combo of note, originally making records together under the Elio & Angelique moniker. But then I’m being too harsh, as there are some right stonkers and infectious dancefloor fillers amongst the kitsch and enervated Afro influences. And many better known tracks and composers (see Albert “Weyman” Verrecchia) already finding an audience in the crate digger and vinyl aficionado communities. But if you thought you’d heard it all on the Italian music front, then Africamore will give succour to new discoveries, and fill in some of the history.  

Hi, my name is Dominic Valvona and I’m the Founder of the music/culture blog monolithcocktail.com For the last ten years I’ve featured and supported music, musicians and labels we love across genres from around the world that we think you’ll want to know about. No content on the site is paid for or sponsored and we only feature artists we have genuine respect for /love. If you enjoy our reviews (and we often write long, thoughtful ones), found a new artist you admire or if we have featured you or artists you represent and would like to buy us a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/monolithcocktail to say cheers for spreading the word, then that would be much appreciated.

SELECTED BY GRAHAM DOMAIN, BRIAN ‘BORDELLO’ SHEA & DOMINIC VALVONA

Welcome to PART TWO of this year’s favourite/choice albums features. If you missed PART ONE, follow this link.

2023’s list, as ever in alphabetical order, is broken down into three more digestible parts.

And as we have since our inception back in 2008, the Monolith Cocktail continues to avoid those silly, factious and plain dumb numerical charts that our peers and rivals insist on continuing to print – how can you really suggest one album deserves their place above or below another; why does one entry get the 23rd spot and another the 22nd; unless it is a vote count. We’ve always chosen a much more diplomatic, democratic alphabetical order – something we more or less started in the first place.

Whilst we are proud to throw every genre, nationality together in a serious of eclectic lists, this year due to various collaborators commitments, there will be a separate Hip-Hop roundup by Matt Oliver in the New Year.

The lists, broken up this year into three parts (A to F, H to N, P to Z), includes those albums we’ve reviewed or featured on the site in some capacity, plus a smattering of those we just didn’t get the time to include. All entries are displayed thus: Artist in alphabetical order, then the album title, label, who chose it, a review link where applicable, and finally a link to the album itself and a quote.

So without further ado, cast your eyes over the H to N entries for 2023.

 

H________

Hackedepicciotto ‘Keepsakes’ (Mute)
Chosen by Dominic Valvona/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘The sound of Berlin with stopovers across Europe and New York City, Keepsakes conjures up evocative visions, dramas and characters out if the arty, the gothic, the cerebral and surreal; creating an alternative photo album and collection of memories, events. As earthy as it is dreamily floating in a constructed world of fairytale, myth and magic, the creatively sagacious couple draws upon a lifetime of experiences, friendships to produce another captivating album for the Mute label.’ DV

H. Hawkline ‘Milk For Flowers’ (Heavenly)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by Gillian Stone/Link

‘Starting out a certain way, where you think you know what you’re getting into, then taking you by surprise, is the thematic journey of H. Hawkline’s Milk For Flowers (Heavenly). So is lyrical vulnerability.

Milk For Flowers begins steeped in traditional songwriting, takes you on a breathless journey, then brings you back into a place of safety, where feelings can be acknowledged and processed.’ GS

Healing Force Project ‘Drifted Entities Vol. 2’ (Beat Machine)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘The re-rebirth of cool in an ever-forward momentum of flux, Antonio Marini’s Healing Force Project once more tumbles across a broken-beat, jungle, free-jazz and cosmic spectrum of reverberating exploration and spliced assemblage.

A splashy mirage of effected, realigned beats and reframed jazz inspirations sent out into space, Volume 2 in this series continues the ‘spiritual music mission’ but offers something once more eclectic and boundless.’ DV

Andrew Heath ‘Scapa Flow’ (Disco Gecko)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘A geopoetry; a psychogeography of that famous body of shallow waters, Heath’s gauzy drifts, serene washes, glassy piano notes, Myles Cochran and Joe Woodham-like post-rock refracted guitar bends and harpic zither spindles coalesce to score an effective mysterious soundtrack to the former naval base and battleship graveyard.

Andrew Heath plays a combination of instruments, merged with ambient and real sounds that falls somewhere between such notable artists as his old foil Roedelius, Eno, John Lane (i.e. A Journey Of Giraffes), Jon Tye, Ulrich Schnauss and Flexagon. Stirrings from beneath are conveyed with a subtle drama and sonic history on yet another exemplary album of minimalist music.’ DV

The Holy Family ‘Go Zero’ (Rocket Recordings)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘A phantasmagoria of occult manifestations, conjured or drawn from out the old soil, from out of the ether, The Holy Family’s Go Zero album offers darkness with glimmers of light. The Holy of their name, taken from the controversial Angela Carter narrated documentary on Christ’s depiction in the Western art cannon, not so forgiving and Christian, but an open vassal for confronting and exploring the divine and ungodly. Guidance there is none, as the band unnerve, rush, grind or prowl across a mystical dreaded mind fuck of a world that mirrors our own mortal chaotic, ungovernable hell hole. In short, it’s a great dense trip with dramatic voodoo and accelerated velocity.’ DV

James Howard ‘Peek-A-Boo’ (Faith & Industry)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘To a languid soundtrack of bendy, dreamy blue Hawaii (relocated to Margate), and Tales Of The Unexpected and Third Man waltzes performed in a spoiled ballroom that Strictly Come Dancing couldn’t even revive, James Howard once again wanders wistfully across a worn, battered, disconsolate post-Brexit landscape.

Augurs of a reckoning; the sullied state of a septic Isle; an English seaside Ennio Morricone; just some of the feels and atmospheres all listlessly and longingly channeled into a well-crafted songbook (complete with leveling-up asides/intervals). Howard shields the hurt to an extent with his soft stinging observations, aphorisms and melodramas on yet another fantastic album; one of my favourites of 2023 already.’ DV

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Carmen Jaci ‘Happy Child’ (Noumenal Loom)
Chosen by Dominic Valvona/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘A brilliance of candy-electronica and Casio symphonies, Happy Child is a clever work of unburdened, unpretentious, but indeed deliberate and well-crafted, kidulthood. Jacki Carmen’s magical, if occasionally straying into the mysterious, new album pings back and forth with humour and, above all else, playfulness. Not for the burgeoning artist (I say burgeoning, Carmen is quite the professional technician with some years of experience: you can even pay for one-on-one tuitions at her own studio) the sour-faced seriousness of many of her peers, this is electronic music with a taste of fantasy and fun recollections of childhood.’ DV

Kenneth Jimenez ‘Sonnet To Silence’ (We Jazz)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘Taking a leap into the untethered realms of Kenneth Jimenez’s dreams, the jump off point for his newest album literally takes flight. The Brooklyn-based bassist, composer and quartet bandleader runs for the mountains and sprouts wings; flying over the valley and the versant contours of free jazz and hard-bop: ala New York style.

So much is happening on this incredible, engaging and sometimes challenging (in the best possible way) album, which draws you in and then ups or changes the tempo, mood and direction. This is free jazz at its most promising; certainly encouraging and with dreamy quality that lifts you up into an imaginative vision of soaring and more complicated expression. Kenneth Jimenez and his quartet have produced one of the leading jazz albums of 2023.’ DV

Darius Jones ‘fLuXkit Vancouver (i​̶​t​̶​s suite but sacred)’ (We Jazz/Northern Spy)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

Absorbing all the history and ethos of Vancouver’s multidisciplinary Western Front hothouse, the acclaimed alto-saxophonist, composer and bandleader Darius Jones conceptually, artfully embodies the spirit of that creative hub’s avant-garde, Fluxus/Duchampian foundations on his new album of free-jazz movements.

Jones and ensemble have created something emotionally charged and highly expressive (challenging too, in a good way) from a site and history. The home of the avant-garde in Vancouver proves fertile, fiery kindle for an impressive, raw at times, catharsis and unload of free thought and art.’ DV

Junkboy ‘Littoral States’ (Wayside & Woodlands)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘A loving tribute, romantic cartography and healing process, Littoral States provides an alternative pathway from another age; a world away from the vacuous self-absorption of popular culture and the distractions of the internet. It’s a wonderful, magical, and for the most part reassuring, gentle gradient landscape that the brothers dream up; tailoring nostalgia and influences into something picturesque, peaceable but above all, moving. Folklore from a recent past is woven into much older geological layers, with the emphasis on the element of water; acting as the source, the road that connects the stopover on this West and East Sussex travelogue photo album. It’s good to have them back in the fold, so to speak, waxing lyrical and dreamily envisioning such beautiful escapism.’ DV

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Laraaji & Kramer ‘Baptismal’ (Shimmy Disc)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘Divine styler of radiant ambiance zither spiritualism Laraaji can be found in communion with no less a pioneer than Shimmy Disc founder and downtown no wave doyen Mark Kramer, on this latest release from the New York label. Two pioneers of their form together over four movements of immersive, deeply affected mood music, draw on their extensive knowledge and intuition to create suites rich in the mysterious, the afflatus and more supernatural. What’s not to like.’ DV

Natalie Rose LeBrecht ‘Holy Prana Open Game’
Chosen by DV & Graham Domain/Reviewed by Graham Domain/Link

‘This is a beautiful album of cosmic folk strangeness singular in its vision and unique today, in its combination of sounds.

Sitting somewhere between Nico, Linda Perhacs and Alice Coltrane, the six haunting songs have superb intricate arrangements and a wonderful spiritual element! It could easily be mistaken for a long-lost album from the 1970’s, such is its charm.

Every home should own a copy of this album and play it each day as the sun rises bringing hope to the world.’ GD

Legless Crabs ‘American Russ’ (Metal Postcard Records)
Chosen by Brain Bordello Shea/Reviewed by BBS/Link

‘What if Joan Jett was telling lies and she did not love Rock ‘n’ roll at all, and she was just playing at it to make her millions, and really she loved nothing better than to listen to the old sequence dance compilations – the Swing And Sway series say – or was really a closet Pat Boone fan and preferred his version of Long Tall Sally and not in a ironic way, and did not believe in the old adage that the devil had all the best tunes (which to be truthful is not true, as Cliff Richards Jesus single was one of the finest singles of the 1970s). If Joan Jett was indeed a fake I am sure The Legless Crabs could and would turn the leather panted one to the dark side. And I don’t mean the Dark Side Of The Moon as that is as rock ‘n’ roll as a defrosted box of Fish Fingers. I mean the dark side of rock ‘n’ roll, the side filled with feedback and Cramps like guitar riffs and both sexual frustration and sexual exploitation (in a seedy 70s porn like way). See, that is what I like about the Legless Crabs, they are rock ‘n’ roll in a seedy 70s porn like way.’ BBS

Yungchen Lhamo ‘One Drop of Kindness’ (Real World Records)
Chosen by GD/Reviewed by GD/Link

‘This is a fantastic album of beautiful spiritual music by the wonderful world-renowned Tibetan female singer. Accompanied by a variety of acoustic instruments from around the world the seven songs are offerings to the Great Divine Spirit ‘devoted to spiritual awakening, unconditional love and compassion for all beings!’ A record to treasure – a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.’ GD

The Lilac Time ‘Dance Till All The Stars Come Down’ (Poetica)
Chosen by BBS

‘Why Stephen Duffy is not as big as Bob Dylan, I will never know. Maybe it is because Dylan did not form Duran Duran or make albums with Robbie Williams and Nigel Kennedy (one of the best LPs from the 90’s). Dance Till The Stars Come Down is yet another album from The Lilac Time‘s that is criminally ignored.’ BBS

Antti Lütjönen ‘Circus/Citadel’ (We Jazz)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

During the initial pandemic wave of April 2020 the double-bassist maestro Antti Lötjönen released his debut proper as bandleader to a quintet of exciting Finnish jazz talent.

That album, Quintet East, with its monograph vignettes and flexible free-play of be bop, Sonny Clark, the left bank and Bernstein-like musical NYC skylines, is improved upon by the ensemble’s follow-up, Circus/Citadel. With a title both inspired and imbued by the Romanian-born, German-language titan of 20th century poetry, Paul Celan, the issues of a tumultuous world on the precipice of disaster is channeled through a controlled chaos and a reach for the old and new forms of expressive jazz.

I’m always building the We Jazz label up; always aggrandising that Helsinki based hub of Scandinavian jazz. But really, this is an enriching, immersive and artful start to the label’s 2023 calendar with a classic jazz album in the making. I reckon it will be one of the year’s best.’ DV

Lukid ‘Tilt’ (Glum)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘Those of you waiting on a new Lukid album will not be disappointed. If more ‘refined’, composed and ‘simplistic’ than before, there’s still a real rhythm to Luke’s form of subtle but effective electronica. A ‘tilt’ perhaps of process, method and outcomes, this is a minimalistic iteration styled vision of dance music, submerged in lo fi veils, fuzz and gauze.

Tilt is an album of real quality; a cerebral distillation of Ambience, Techno, House and Electronic forms into some reification of time and moments caught before they disappear in smoke. This is a great returning album from the Lukid alias, one of the best in its field in 2023.DV

Lunar Bird ‘The Birthday Party’
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘Disarming malady and alienation with such vaporous gauzy diaphanous veils of dream wave, Lunar Bird with a myriad of fellow Italian artists and musicians weave vulnerability and fragility into the most purified of intoxicating pop songs.

Not so much dipping as submerged fully in that drowsy intoxicating dream vision, Lunar Bird entwine emotional pulls, anxieties with the most delicious, sumptuous of Southern European ethereal pop. The Birthday Party is a spellbinding songbook that subtly pushes the Italo-Welsh group into swimmingly new waters without losing the signature diaphanous bohemian sound we all love them for. There’s absolutely no reason they shouldn’t be much bigger, well known and successful with potential hits like this.’ DV

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June McDoom ‘With Strings’ (Temporary Residence Ltd.)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘Despite the diaphanous, wispy and hushed delivery, June McDoom’s voice is anything but evanescent or forgettable. Because just like one of her most cherished heroines, Judee Sill, every word and expression is believable as a lived experience of heartbreak, yearning and a close relationship with the elementals of an ethereal, but deeply felt, nature.

McDoom’s inspirations are worn on the sleeves, and yet I keep racking my brain to fathom who she reminds me of. An American Maria Monti? A softer Natalie Ribbons? Maybe a passing resemblance to Connie Converse perhaps? McDoom settles somewhere in-between them all as a refreshing, heavenly talent as she disarms the hurt and depth of emotional turmoil, inquiry and wonder with the most beautiful and impressive of deliveries.’ DV

Jean Mignon ‘An/al’ (Metal Postcard)
Chosen by GD/Reviewed by GD/Link

‘Raucous debut album by New York based Johnny Steines. A mixture of high energy garage punk and high-speed rock and roll – it sounds like a live album such is the energy contained in the grooves!

‘Tackled By Men’ recycles parts of ‘Jumping Jack Flash’, whilst ‘Canadian Exit’ has echoes of Warsaw’s ‘Failures’. If he can produce this excitement in a live-setting he will surely make his own impact! Primal Rock and Roll that screams from the speakers andexcites like a high-speed car chase!’ GD

Liela Moss ‘Internal Working Model’ (Bella Union)
Chosen by GD/Reviewed by GD/Link

‘There are some great melodies and expressive vocal performances on the album. At times, she reminds me of Sarah Blasko at her most colourful and daring! ‘The Wall from the Floor’ sounds like a James Bond theme with its ethereal vocals and ‘Bad World’ refrain! ‘Ache in the Middle’ meanwhile has a melody that falls somewhere in-between Tears for Fears Mad World and Kate Bush the Sensual World! ‘New Day’ feels like a hymn to World Leaders for a better tomorrow – a call to feel empathy for others, concern and love for each other! If the overall feel of the electronic music is one of dystopia, alienation and oppression, the intent, the motivation is human – love and kindness as the antidote to isolation and inertia, feelings of helplessness transformed into positivity and action!’ GD

MultiTraction Orchestra ‘Reactor One’ (Aion Records)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘A moving, evocative odyssey [through] a myriad of imaginative, mysterious environments and landscapes. One of those albums that truly gets better and better with every listen.’ DV

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N’dox Électrique ‘T​ë​dd ak Mame Coumba Lamba ak Mame Coumba Mbang’ (Bongo Joe) Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘Continuing to circumnavigate the depths of Africa, on a quest to connect with the purest origins of that continent’s atavistic rituals, the Mediterranean punk and avant-rock motivators Gianna Greco and François R. Cambuzat seize on the adorcist practices of Senegal’s Lebu people. 

The successor to that partnership’s Ifriqiyya Electrique collaboration with the descendants of Hausa slaves (a project that produced two albums of exciting Sufi trance, spirit possession performance and technology), the next chapter, Ndox Électrique, radically transforms the Lebu’s N’doep ceremonies of spirit appeasement.

Between worlds the Ndox Électrique transformation moulds spheres of history and sound, whilst creating a dramatic new form of communication and ritual. Summoning up answers to a sickening society, both groups of participants in this blurred boundary exchange rev-up the sedate scene with a blast of authentic regeneration and dynamism. One that is neither wholly African nor European. Dimensions are crossed; excitement and empowerment, guaranteed.’ DV

Neon Kittens ‘Nine Doesn’t Work For An Outside Line’ (Metal Postcard Records)
Chosen by BBS & GD/Reviewed by BBS/Link

‘Post-punk beatnik shenanigans are afoot with this the new release from Neon Kittens. Their second album [I think] carries on where their last left off, with spoken female vocals purring erotically like an attractive nun filing her nails, smiling, knowing her crotchless knickers are only slightly hidden by her too short mini habit wondering just where to place her oversized cross next, over the scratch and sniff guitar yearnings that are part Fire Engines, part Scary Monster & Super Creeps, part rock ‘n’ roll, and part sexual abandonment. Yes, this is the true sound of total derailment. This is the sound of a 15 year old girl French kissing her jazz induced slightly older best friend with benefits; an album of pure off-center genius.’ BBS

Sam Newsome & Jean-Michel Pilc ‘Cosmic Unconsciousness Unplugged’
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘Joining the ranks of the great jazz (although they go beyond that, into the blues, classical and avant-garde) duos, the partnership of experimental soprano saxophonist and composer Sam Newsome and pianist, composer and educator Jean-Michel Pilc left a critically acclaimed marker with 2017’s Magic Circle album. Before that, and ever since, both foils in that collaborative duet built up enviable reputations, notably with Newsome as a soloist, and Pilc with his trio.

There’s some real class mixed with the unburdened pouring through every second of this album’s fifteen pieces; a real sense of freedom on the move, with the destination uncharted, unsettled and in some small part, mysterious. But as a showcase, the ‘unplugged’ consciousness platform reinforces the reputations of Sam Newsome and Jean-Michel Pilc’s explorative mastership and ingenious collaboration.’ DV

Greg Nieuwsma & Antonello Perfetto ‘Earth’ (Submarine Broadcasting Co.)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by Andrew C. Kidd/Link

‘The score offered by Nieuwsma and Perfetto is as complex and intricate as the source material. Their waveforms and filters arpeggiate poetically to illuminate its idealism. They bring me closer to the chimaera of collectivisation that Dovzhenko was perhaps intending to showcase.’ ACK

Gard Nilssen’s Supersonic Orchestra ‘Family’ (We Jazz)
Chosen by DV/Reviewed by DV/Link

‘The debut from Gard Nilssen and his Supersonic Orchestra Family album is ambitious in scale and musicality; a real impressive first effort that in which Prikoviv, Ayler, Coleman, Braxton, Dolphy and Phil Ranelin mix it with Ill Considered, Binker & Moses and The Hypnotic Brass Band over an octet of extended suites. I can hardly do it justice in the brief space I’ve got left, but suffice to say, this is an incredible cacophony of every era in the jazz and classical cannon you can think of; everything from Latin to bop, the soulful, theatrical, wild and even stage. Wow. A real feat.’ DV  

Hi, my name is Dominic Valvona and I’m the Founder of the music/culture blog monolithcocktail.com For the last ten years I’ve featured and supported music, musicians and labels we love across genres from around the world that we think you’ll want to know about. No content on the site is paid for or sponsored and we only feature artists we have genuine respect for /love. If you enjoy our reviews (and we often write long, thoughtful ones), found a new artist you admire or if we have featured you or artists you represent and would like to buy us a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/monolithcocktail to say cheers for spreading the word, then that would be much appreciated.

A WORLD OF DISCOVERIES REVIEWED BY DOMINIC VALVONA
(Unless stated otherwise, all releases are available now)

Chouk Bwa & The Angströmers ‘Somanti’
(Bongo Joe)

Reuniting for a second explosive dynamic album of electrified Vodou and Mizik Rasin, the Haitian collective Chouk Bwa and the Belgian production duo The Angströmers once more propel ritual and ceremony into an otherworldly futuristic setting.

Originally crossing paths back in 2016, formulating a project performance two years later followed by the release of the partnership’s inaugural album, Vodou Alé, in 2020, this Euro-Haitian combination was interrupted by the Covid pandemic. Unable to meet in the flesh, as it were, for two and a half years they still managed to release a string of 12” EPs; the bridge to what would be that eventual reunion in the May of 2022 and an intensive workout tour of Europe.

This enabled them to record their second album together, Somanti, in a Brussels studio; the culmination of tour performances and interactions, quickly recorded in just one day, such was the energy.

Framed as a more “mature” record, and different in focus to Vodou Alé, there’s now an emphasis on the ritual, ceremonial aspects of this African exported religion, spiritualism and rites, and the sagacious proverbs that are hailed, harnessed and playfully invoked by the Vodou chorus of voices. The hypnotizing and galloping barrage of drums are back, with each ritual subscribed its own rhythm and call. But if we go deeper, the hotbed of Haitian independence Gonaïves-hailing Chouk Bwa also invoke their ancestral African homelands; that being the once powerful, rich and pivotal kingdom of Oyo (growing to become the largest Yoruba speaking state in what is now eastern Benin and western Nigeria); the central African kingdom of Kongo (a Portuguese vassal but independent state with 600 years of history behind it); and key regional kingdom of Dahomey in what is now within the borders of Benin (once uncoupled from a tributary state to the larger Oyo, a global trading post built unfortunately on slavery and conquest). The latter of which, a prominent source of Vodun, the belief system that was torn from its roots and shipped with the poor souls that were transported into slavery, to the Americas and Hispaniola.        

That age-old roots music, summoning of spirits, pummeled, beaten and danceable rhythm is given a transformation by the Belgian duo, who zap it with shooting laser beams and cosmic fuzz, fizzles, buzzes of oscillations and reverberations. The dub genes of Lee Scratch Perry, African Head Charge and Major Lazer can be heard throughout, alongside post-punk, Ammar 808, Moonlight Benjamin and Ifriqiyya Electrique on an album of both mysticism, danger (in an exciting way) and spirit world communion.

The groove on the female lead and group sung ‘Fèy Nan Bwa’ is like a cool no wave vision of Vodou-House music – it actually reminded me of Glasgow’s own international project, The Green Door Allstars. But that contemporary fused electronica of magnetic force fields, echoes, phasers, subsonic bass thumps and metallic elements never overshadows the authentic rollicking, tribal bounding and bobbing drums and the expressive, sometimes bordering on hysterical and manic vocals/voices.

Music from another dimension, the Haitian roots music and performative religious invocations and words of wisdom from Chouk Bwa are sent through a vortex into the future on another successful union.

Crime & The City Solution ‘The Killer’
(Mute) 20th October 2023

A decade on from the last project inception of the Simon Bonney and Bronwyn Adams led Crime & The City Solution, and yet another restless move back to one of the city’s that solidified their gothic, hard won reputation and shadowy presence, Berlin.

If 2013’s American Twilight was suffused with the dying embers and toxic fumes of Detroit, with its mass unemployment, foreclosures and desperations, then The Killer seems almost resigned to the fate and inhumanity of our divisive post-Covid times. Incidentally, American Twilight was itself released after an even longer hiatus of twenty years, and with a, near enough, entirely different lineup. Although conceived back in Bonney and Adams native Australia (where Crime & The City Solution were born in the late 70s, burning up the Sydney and Melbourne scenes before following their skulking bedfellows of Nick Cave and Mick Harvey to London, and then onto Wim Wender’s Wings Of Desire backdrop Berlin) during the harsh conditions of lockdown, the band and production were forged in the German capital. The roll call of which includes Frederic Lyenn (on piano, bass and synth), Donald Baldie (guitar), Georgio Valentino (synth and guitars), Chris Hughes (drums and percussion) and Joshua Murphy (piano and guitar). That ensemble is overseen, or rather, ‘conducted’ as it were, by the highly respected producer Martin J. Fiedler.

Originally conceived as a PhD application on decision-making in Afghanistan during the late 1980s, the initial brief was expanded by Bonney’s work delivering aid programmes across the Indo-Pacific region, his professional and personal relationship with Adams, his brief time in post-invasion Ukraine, and lyrically by the ‘syncopated’ delivery rap styles of Mos Def and Talib Kweli’s Black Star collaboration. Although America isn’t mentioned, its leading part in the events that unfolded during the 80s in Afghanistan is impossible to deny. As part of the Cold War strategy to checkmate an expansion-driven Soviet Union, America unintentionally stirred up a viper’s nest in aiding the Mujahedeen and warlords in their outgunned fierce war against the invading aggressor. In forcing the Soviets into a humiliating withdrawal, followed by the entire collapse of the Bloc and regime, and the fall of the Berlin Wall, those Cold War partners turned on their enablers, as they became hardline Islamist fanatics.

Decades later, and after the still never reconciled bloody Balkan wars, and it’s the turn of Putin’s Russia to unleash barbaric bloodshed. But this time, after successfully propping up the heinous regime of Assad in Syria, death and destruction has been dragged to Europe’s front door. The scenes of dead bodies may keep Bonney awake at night, but it’s also the resilience, the matter-of-fact manner in which lives go on in the face of such despairing evil that filters through to the music, themes and lyrics of The Killer. Just as one of his idols, Scott Walker, could convey horror and resignation but love too, Bonney and his foil and muse, Adams, churn up a tempest of emotional tumult in which romance of the hungered, yearned, longed and sentimental kind offers some sense of humanity: the spirit not yet crushed by the enormity of it all. And again, though never mentioned, it is to a both Southern Gothic and Cormac McCarthy-esque America that they turn musically. For this is the broody, Biblical Western terrain the band and their Bad Seeds, Wovenhand peers have trodden for decades; a kind of almost esoteric Americana and dark moody Southern rock ’n’ roll signature that offers haloed magnificence, reverence in the face of apocalyptic dread.  

The album begins with the morbidly sinister entitled ‘Rivers Of Blood’ and Bonney’s plaintive, ached declarations for his muse, under a blood moon lit panorama. Danger prowls the Chris Isaak on the road with Cave mood, as a broken Bonney pines with fatalistic worship for his flame, and makes sense of, processes the turmoil in his psyche.

‘Hurt You, Hurt Me’, with its subtle sentimental, wept strings, sounds more like a loose duet between Avalon era Bryan Ferry and Patti Smith. Two voices starting at different points, shadowing each other, emote pain and suffering, and breath languid despondency on frosted glass. Angels cry and faith is promised on a flange affected entwined romance.

A sullen longing pervades the dramatic, slow, testament-poetic ‘River Of God’ (another of those river metaphors). And yet despite the various references to death, the suffrage of the “children of war” and somber tones, there’s a message that “you can be anything you want to be” after all, and a sprouting of wings encouragement – the very opposite of Icarus’ sticky fall to Earth.

As mentioned and alluded to earlier, Bonney pays a most deeply felt form of romantic thanksgiving to his partner Adams with the resounding ‘Brave Hearted Woman’. Going through sophisticated changes – from Cohen to Dylan and Barrett vibrato psychedelics -, Bonney, with the occasional lofty yearns from Adams herself, shares his passionate wants for the woman he so obviously holds in the highest of regards, respects, loves, falls to his knees for, and forms part of his very fibre: “She is ecstasy, filled inside me”; “You are creation for all to see”.

I’m sure it’s Adams’s coos on the next song, ‘Killer’, a piece of torn gothic withering noir, malevolence and redemption. It’s yet another protagonist who’s no damn good, strung out, morose and struggling with self-identity, their place in the world, and perhaps, their heinous crimes. Those syncopated influences that I mentioned much earlier, can be heard weaving an almost non-stop serious-voiced incantation of consciousness and gristlier Western preacher’s song. It seems to take notes from Amon Düül II (Yeti period) and The Rolling Stones.

It’s followed by the outlaw pained ‘Witness’ wake-up call and the seriously hard won conclusion of ‘Peace In My Time’. With a resigned sadness to suffering and a gothic simmered weep of Diamanda Galá style piano arrangement, the latter song, and finale, finds some reconciliation with a world in eternal chaos and torment; Bonney unsurprised, yet not humbled, to the atrocities and harm that we humans dish out on a hourly basis. And yet, there’s an eventual peace in the valley moment there; a glimmer that love will lead Bonney out of the nightmare of his own troubled psyche.

As a statement on Afghanistan, the references are very cryptic, symbolic and veiled. Rather it’s a catalyst, prompt for the Bonney and Adams and the band to expand those horizons and murky textures, and to say much about the external and internal state of the world we live in.

Tele Novella ‘Poet’s Tooth’
(Kill Rock Stars)

A wistful, almost disarming, Tele Novella weave their magic on an album that takes its cues from Harold & Maude and a removed version of the heartbreak yearning vulnerability of Nashville and Texas country music; albeit a version in which Cate Le Bon and Aldous Harding sip despondently from a bottle of life’s despair.

As whimsical and beautifully executed as it all is, Poet’s tooth is a moving album of timeless tropes, somehow delivered musically and visually through a slightly off, sometimes surreal, vision of the familiar. Natalie Ribbons and foil Jason Chronis dream up an idiosyncratic staged world, their moniker taken from the serial drama/soap opera phenomenon of the “television novel”, a format most prominently produced for the Latin American markets.

It’s a world in which, much like Harold and Maude, the bonus of youth is squandered until a mature presence at the very opposite end of the aging equation – with death not far away and looking to grasp every opportunity of youthful risk and carefree adventure – closes the circle with a life lived without regret. That cult movie said much about the Boomers age of high anxiety, caught in the headlamps fretting away their youth; stuck between suicide and depression, hard drugs (proscribed and otherwise) in the face of a society moving past the hopes of the last decade into the violence and despondency of the 70s: Take your pick, from Nixon to Vietnam, the crushing resistance in the Soviet Bloc and so on…

Roles are reversed, with Maude more childlike (yet wise) and the morbidly curious Harold, fearing for experiences yet to materialize, on a death trip. The most obvious reference to this movie’s odd romance can be found in the video for the band’s toy box like, almost twee but charmingly evocative ‘Broomhorse’, which features one such dark comedic episode, with Chronis playing the part of a bathtub, wrists slashed suicidal Harold in a magical world of 70s furnishings and wallpaper. Maude is from a pre-war generation, with the all too real traumatic experiences of her youth literally tattooed on her arm, and yet attempts to bring her partner round to the possibilities of perseverance and making do with one’s lot in life – Harold is a typical lost child of the wealthy Socialite classes; in material and nepotistic terms rich, yet devoid of connection and mentally adrift.  

Before I start running away with myself, and this becomes some sort of screen review, the purpose of all this analysis is that Poet’s Tooth is suffused with those same themes; borrowing heavily from the Hal Ashby playbook of tragic-comedy and the screwball to make some sense of the world now. And yet this is only one aspect of the album.   

Ribbons and Chronis – joined it must be mentioned by Danny Reisch, who handles the drums, samples, loops and field recordings but is also involved with the production too – hail from an increasingly creatively changing Austin, Texas. And so this is also a 21st century take on that State’s cowpoke, steers and rodeo signature of yodeled hangdog country music; only the heartbreak is coming from a female protagonist’s point. Not a new concept but any stretch, but still undervalued. But this is a whole other version of that; the Country & Western scores of Morricone and music of Sacri Cuori, Bonnie Dobson, K.d. Lang, Chris Isaak merged with an air of Lynch’s go to composer Angelo Baldametti, Kathy Smith, Gene Clark, Elyse Weinberg, the Laurel Canyon, Georgia Greene and Rosemary Clooney. 

This music is both knowing and naïve, charming and disturbing. For there’s an esoteric alchemy of pitched-perfect fluid poetry on the surreal pillow, Lewis Carroll and Sandy Denny reading the Tarot, ‘The Unicorn’ song. Part renaissance, part death pact, part Percy Sledge’s reverent church organ, and part Temperance Society, Ribbon’s captivating voice charms us into a magical kingdom that at first seems to hide a much creepier menace; the language fantastical but progressively alluding to “poison”, “zombies” and what can only be described as some cultish gathering, waiting on “angels” to arrive. Meanwhile, the titular song – utterly compelling and beautiful – alludes to “incantation”, a “goblin”, a “cloak” and a “cauldron” on a song that sounds more fairytale than dark bewitching arts. Although of the metaphorical kind – A mosey June Carter and Lee Hazelwood type of down-on-the-ranch country tune, with a rhythmic horse canter -, there’s a ‘Vampire Cowgirl’ to add to that sense of the “other”. There is the mention of war too; or a war: The Vietnam War? The Iraq War? The American Civil War perhaps?

But just when you get some sort of measure, songs like ‘Eggs In one Basket’ takes an arty Baroque turn (courtesy of the autoharp I’m sure), via Gainsbourg and 60s cult French/Italian cinema: I say Baroque, it could easily by Tudor. Imagine the Thomas Crown Affair scored by Michel Legrand as Fellini directs and you’ll half way there.     

Adolescence escapism wrapped in a softened, but no less stirring, epiphany, Tele Novella has a surreal, dreamy quality about them. From the Tex-Mex border of yore to the contemporary Austin scene of City Limits, they weave a really impressive songbook that’s as Hal Ashby and Sidney Lumet as it is pining Country and Western. Poet’s Tooth is both lyrically and musically perfect; one of my favourite albums of 2023 – no idle boast. Prepare to be equally charmed and moved with a counterculture resurgence of quality, subtle comedy and tragedy, eccentric disillusion.

Raf And O ‘We Are Stars’
(Telephone Records) 27th October 2023

Few artists have purposely entwined themselves so deeply with their idols than the Raf And O duo of Raf Mantelli and Richard Smith (the “O” in that creative sparked partnership). David Bowie and Kate Bush loom large, permeating near every note and vocal infliction of their idiosyncratic, theatrical, cinematic and up-close-and-personal intimate style of avant-garde pop and art school rock experimentation. Raf even has a Kate Bush tribute side project; coming the nearest I’ve yet heard of anyone to that maverick progenitor’s range-fluctuating, coquettish and empowered delivery, and her musicianship and erudite playful and adventurous songwriting.

The death of Bowie however, must have had a crushing effect on the duo, who, perhaps, covered his music better than anyone else: at least in spirit. They got close to their hero through the supportive words of Bowie’s key pianist foil of the 70s, Mike Garson. But an audience with the thin white duke eluded them. It’s a pity, as I think he would have certainly connected with the duo’s fifth album, We Are Stars. He certainly would have recognized the signatures and the references, both the in your face eulogies, homages to his most dedicated of alien roles in The Man Who Fell To Earth, and the less obvious but musically inspired ones too.

Omnipresent throughout, there’s the angular, shredded and bended guitar of Scary Monsters era Robert Fripp and Carlos Alomar, and the strangely interesting progressions of the arty-pop and dress-up of that album, but also some pre-Ziggy albums too. ‘Tommy Newton’ stands out of course; the Icarus alien fallen to Earth in the hope of returning with water to save his family on an arid distant star, is woven into a fatalistic existential love eulogy, as told in the third person by Mary-Lou, his estranged human love interest: if you can call her that. Recognizable plots and scenes from Walter Tevis’ novel and Nicolas Roeg’s film versions – later given a second wind in the form of the Lazarus ‘off-Broadway’ musical, based on Enda Walsh’s book vision, and with lyrics provided by Bowie -, appear in a non-linear, otherworldly mournful tragedy. Loving the alien, Mary-Lou’s character introduced the distracted, disconcerted Newton to some of Earth’s vices, little knowing his true identify until the dramatic reveal: unknowingly waylaying his task, plied with alcohol and the foibles, deceit and nature of humankind. Raf embodies this dislocated figure, lost and cast adrift in a thematic void; pining for what was and what could have been.

But it’s not all about Bowie and his famous film role. That last track also reminds me of Deux Filles, and so much of this soundtrack to the current restless age of high anxiety, disconnection and our reliance on technology, swims around in a most curious new wave suffusion of 70s and 80s sounds. The opener, ‘Still Sitting In Our Time Machines’, actually seems to recall the duo’s decade-old Time Machine EP, but has a more cosmic, canoodled, neo-romantic soul funk sound and feel. With a message for retro nostalgia, with nothing moving on since the last time machine voyage, the early 80s portal is reopened.

Raf comes close to Lene Lovich on the Radiohead crosses paths with a Latin-flavoured Banshees ‘Andy Warhol’. Warhol is the theme here on this yearned, wooed and urgent changeable curio; or rather the pop art icon’s obsession by a homeless character.

The titular song itself once more enters a starry void; those common celestial objects and all their various metaphors, analogies form the substance to an alternative, stressful The Man Who Fell To Earth soundtrack, yet recalls the influence of Tricky and Portishead.

It’s all change by the time we reach the avant-garde electronic pop ‘Every Time It’s Bleak We Dance’, with Raf now channeling a merger of Alison Goldfrapp and Liela Moss, but with a meandrous European allurement. Stranger too, the makeup in ‘Eyeliner’ is blusher coquettish Bush languidly draping an arm around Jane Birkin at her most untethered, whilst Joe Meek’s reverb pings and ‘Telstar’ whizzes by. Ah yes, as if to reinforce a thematic thread of retro-futurism there’s a lot of 1950s space sounds and effects: part of the sci-fi tapestry. But it’s the 1960s, albeit a fantastical version, I’ve dreamt up as a critic to describe the beguiling oddity ‘Waterloo’; a beautiful sentiment to an inspiring, supportive partner, and not a cover of The Kink’s standard paean to London. In my mind this sounds like Lou Reed penning a Berlin period balled, time travelling back to the early 60s and handing it over to beat group era Rolling Stones, who in turn, pass it on to Marianne Faithful.

If you’ve never had the pleasure of experiencing Raf And O in a live setting before, then drink in the intimacy of the club lounge-esque ‘The Guardian Of Your Mind’. During or in between Covid lockdowns, the duo performed a series of incredibly striking, fragile and artful concerts online; and this stripped, but no less powerful, untethered, vibrato echoed and Raül Refree-esque performance shows you what you missed.

An alternative time travelling theatre of interwoven fantasy, dream realism and the reimagined, We Are Stars is as playful with its unique style as it is only too aware of the deep held stresses, strains, pain and detachment that plagues society in the aftermath of a global pandemic, economic meltdown and war. Looking to the stars, but knowing that even escapist dreams of the cosmos have failed us, Raf And O (who I haven’t mentioned in name at all, but is an adroit craftsman of his form, accentuating, punctuating or loosely weaving a meandered musicality around Raf) take their concerns, observations and curiosities into ever more arty and intriguing directions. They remain one of the most individual acts in the UK; true inheritors of Bowie and Bush’s legacy and spirit.   

Yara Asmar ‘Synth Waltzes And Accordion Laments’
(Hive Mind Records)

In a diaphanous gauze of dream-realism, the Beirut multi-instrumentalist, composer, video artist and puppeteer Yara Asmar conveys a sense of dislocation, loss and remembrance on her second album for one of the Monolith Cocktail’s favourite labels, Hive Mind.

Last year’s Home Recordings palette of serialism, atonal atmospheres, ambience and minimal semi-classical melodies has been expanded upon, with an emphasis on the synth and accordion of the title. Surrounded by a sound source of electronics, toy xylophones, a metallophone, music box, percussive mobiles and wind chimes, and of course her grandmother’s handed-down green-coated accordion, Asmar seems to float once more above a city in turmoil and distress; a place in which psychogeography and family history haunt present Beirut. For as beautiful, immersive and dreamy as it all is, these ‘waltzes’ and ‘laments’ seem to have an almost supernatural, even spooky feel: The veiled wisps, high sounded whistles and bubbled ‘Everything Is Wrapped In Cling Film’ reminded me of both Jodie Lowther and Lucrecia Dalt in that regard; bewitching but not so much scary. The fate prompting ‘It Is 5PM And Nothing Bad Has Happened To Us (Yet)’ actually reminded me of that knowing supernatural and library music group, Belbury Poly. I guess what I mean is that this sound, mood is more like the suffused enveloping veils of the ether, a translucent resonance, reverberation of Asmar’s family tree and the lives they lived then esoteric.

This is the sonic memory of that family’s toil, trauma, but also the small observations of daily life, For example, ‘three clementine’s on the counter of a blue-titled sun-soaked kitchen’; scenes that hold more than just a descriptive title for a good painting. Like that kitchen scene, those meanings soak through to emote a magical garden in a bustling city.

A bellow or concertinaed accordion movement can say so much. That same accordion was originally made in a workshop in the German town of Trossingen; a stones throw from Asmar’s residency in the Black Forest, last March. Locally famous it would turn out; people recognized its maker’s mark and directed Asmar to visit the source. Although the town was a farming community, during the winter they’d turn their hands towards building clocks and accordions. Asmar’s workable heirloom, keepsake, was recorded in an old ledger at the back of the workshop that made it; sent to the Lebanon on the 21st October 1955 with seven other models. That date, or near enough, marks the release of this album, and that providence is inspiring enough to inform some of the direction of wafted travel and emotions contained within.

Better times perhaps, less upheaval; maybe with hope for something, whatever happened or was dreamed for in the past, the present is full of uncertainty. Clinging to those memories, there are abstract sonic feelings of limbo and loneliness; a call to those that left the city, but also a reference to those that returned or stayed throughout. ‘Are These Your Hands? Would You Like Them Back?’ the only peregrination to feature a clear voice, features the poetic questioned turmoil of Majd Chidiac, who poses a consciousness of lament, unfairness and grief to a Carlos Niño-like spell of xylophone-esque bulb notation, atmospheric wisps and dreamy uncertainty. Elsewhere there are the faint, obscured or just ether-emitted signs of either a siren spiritual voice, or those that are more sorrowful and harrowing: Not so much haunted as the apparitional calls for remembrance and recognition of that which was lost or taken away.

And yet, there is a real alluring, magical pull to those strange warm ambient reverberations and removed ideals of waltzes. It’s much in part down to the accordion (French sounding on some tracks, and like a church organ on others) that these visions sound so unique; taking ambient music in a different direction and to a different environment that few have attempted before. Saying that, although performed in Beirut it remains universal, with themes and feelings we can all recognise, or at least sympathise with. But Asmar stays true to her home; bringing us adroit but empirical examples of quality ambient and explorative music that hopes to convey stories from the family photo album; the observed scenes from childhood made real in a sonic, immersive experience.       

 

Bex Burch ‘There Is Only Love And Fear’
(International Anthem) 20th October 2023

In the moment extemporized expressions in multiple locations, both in Europe and North America, the feels on Bex Burch’s new album are led or prompted by a hand made xylophone. Any yet, there’s no particular pattern nor pathway to these captured performances; Burch joined as she is by a myriad of notable artists/musicians, all of whom only met for the first time before each improvised performance. That collaborative roll call was picked by International Anthem’s Scottie McNiece and Dave Vettrainoi, the same label responsible for invitng the percussionist, producer and instrument maker over to the US to make this album.

Proving fruitful foils, the eclectic polymaths Ben LaMar Gay and Macie Stewart, the in-demand bassist and composer Anna Butterss, drummer Mikel Patrick Avery and Tortoise member and multi-instrumentalist Dan Bitney pop up alongside Rob Frye (on clarinet and flutes), Diego Gaeta (piano), Ben Lumsdaine (the second drummer to join this cast), Oren Marshall (tuba) and Anton Hatwich (another bassist is seems) across various location stimulated pieces of music. Yorkshire, The Baltic Sea, Berlin, SüdTirol, Wyoming, L.A. and a storefront in Bridgeport, Chicago stand in as the stages for descriptive sound work and grooves that traverse between freeform/cosmic/spiritual/Afro-jazz and the arty and avant-garde. But even within that scope there’s elements of Appalachian country, Hassell’s fourth world possible musics series, the 80s no wave melting pot of Ramuntcho Matta and The Lounge Lizards, and the more contemporary partnership of Matthew Herd, Will Glaser and Liam Noble. And it all begins with nature’s spell on the cuckoo-proclaimed rhythmic trudge through the woods, ‘Dawn Blessings’. Burch lightly introduces us to the glassy bulb bobble of her beatific xylophone on a slowly awakening intimate landscape.

The great outdoors is suffused across much of Burch’s ‘love’ and ‘fear’ emotive passages; a chorus of birdcalls, chirps and warbles, the sound of the sea crashing against the beach, the breeze itself mixed with human interactions such as the bustle and greetings on the street, an appreciative audience in the garden and the feint recordings of conversations. Intimate and up close, even on the more avant-garde needs to draw breath, you can hear all the squeezed and winded blows, the strained exhales of the brass and woodwind on the Anthony Braxton-like ‘If I Was You I’d Be Doing Exactly The Same’. Well, the first part anyway, as this same sucked and almost inaudible reedy rasped piece goes on to feature more recognizable instruments, an increase in volume, and hits a Marshall Allen and Yusef Lateef burst of jazz energy.

The rhythm, groove is changed again on ‘You Thought You Were Free’; a kind of amalgamation of the Art Ensemble Of Chicago, Sun Ra, New Orleans Nightcrawlers and Hugh Masekela herding percussive cattle across a police siren urban street corner.

‘This Is The Sound Of One Voice’ is a pretty clear title description, featuring as it does a soothed faint female “doo-doo” woo over, what sounds like, tine plucks and scrappy, scuffled and shaken percussion (Širom meets Alice Coltrane’s healing balm).

‘On Falling’, which I take it is in the more anxious fear category, sounds like watery plops and the quiet slow turn of a winding down music box.

Burch’s instrument of choice, a bought handmade xylophone, often sounds like a vibraphone or Gamalan mettlaphone. On the Laraaji-esque ‘Don’t Go Back To Sleep’ you can hear a polyrhythm trickled variation of that xylophone: Two of them in fact, crossing over into separate timing signatures.

Each day is a different sound and a new canvas for Burch, who transcends her bearings and musical boundaries. There’s rhythm to these improvisations, a real groove that at times counterbalances the passages of avant-garde expression to create a non-linear journey of emotions, thoughtfulness and sense of yearned fears.    

Mike Reed ‘The Separatist Party’
(We Jazz/Astral Spirits) 27th October 2023

It wasn’t planned this way, and both releases are from entirely different labels, but the drummer, composer and band leader Mike Reed’s new album shares collaborators with the previous album (see above) by Bex Burch. It’s also entrenched in the same Chicago hothouse. For also appearing on Burch’s There Is Only Love And Fear is the multi-instrumentalist, singer, poet Ben LaMer Gay and flute clarinet maestro Rob Frye. Both join Reed’s oft-used live performance appellation, The Separatist Party; now used as a album title for his latest album project.

And added to that Constellation in-situ hive of creativity (the C being the multi arts venue in Reed’s hometown that he’s successfully owned and operated since 2013) is Cooper Crain on guitar, synth and engineer duties; Dan Quinlivan on synth; and Marvin Tate on vocals.

Drawn together under less celebratory circumstances, the Chicago AACM hot-housed Reed and his talented troupe explore the societal, political and monetary crisis of ‘forced seclusion’; inspired, influenced by both the renowned New York Times reporter and non fiction author N.R. Kleinfield’s 2016 Pulitzer Prize nominated essay on the death of George Bell, and the restricted rules of Covid lockdowns. The former, a sad indictment on isolation, the lack of human contact and neighborly care, the latter, a self enforced curtailment of freedoms that led to a tsunami of mental problems, and again, isolation. Bell’s fate is said to have haunted readers, including Reed: We all unfortunately know or have heard of such scenarios; the hoarder neighbor with no family, the neighbor that no one looks in on; dying without anyone even noticing for a week. In the case of this Jackson Heights (79th Street to be exact) resident, the authorities, of which there were many, struggled to piece his life together. The Pulitzer Prize site described Kleinfield’s expose as a ‘part detective, part eulogy, and part exploration of a city’s bureaucracy of death’

Although not named specifically, the first chapter in what will be a three-album cycle, finds a vocalized and musical language that demonstrates this growing epidemic and its causes. This can sometimes be delivered with clear urgency, and at other times with a more abstract but emotive expressive performance, from a band totally in synch, yet still able to crisscross, counter and push at the direction of travel. What I mean by that is, in spite of the tumult, untethered freedoms, there’s never a chance this music will come unstuck, nor descend into chaos.

With a voice pitched somewhere between blues-rock performer, Malcolm Mooney and Amiri Baraka, spoken and word artist poet Marvin Tate adds a very loose narration. On the opening synth undulated and drum shuffled ‘Your Soul’, Tate’s intensity strengthens as he sorts through a “mosh pit” of a life lived, laid bare with cryptic descriptions: “I reached the wooden floor/Decades of old shit.” A hoarder’s accumulation piled high; nonsocial and maddening to those who don’t get it, or understand. The musical style is partially Idris Ackamoor, partially Kahil El’ Zabar and a little Don Cherry’s Organic Society. It’s followed up by the Werner ‘Zappi’ Diermaier drum motioned, and Hugh Masekela conducted Mardi-Gras ‘A Low Frequency Nightmare’, which now moves on over into a semi-Krautrock-jazz lane. That same track features some great trumpet action (hence the Masekela reference), and a Donny McCaslin cosmic synth signature that envelops his saxophone peregrinations. ‘We Just Came To Dance’ has Tate repeating the titular statement over a backing or primal Chicago House music, as played by El’ Zabar, and laid out in Embryo’s African percussion explorations. It pops and clops along like Basquiat’s figure limbering and breaking down a 80s NYC no wave boardwalk.

A musical partner to Reed over recent years, the incredible visionary Nicole Mitchell springs to mind on the fluted and diaphanous constellation yin of ‘Floating With An Intimate Stranger’. Almost in the spiritual waterfall vein, this feels like a tranquil spot to gather one’s thoughts; take a pause and then float on up into the astral.

Rolling in on a Sam Rivers’ vibe and tumble of drums, ‘Hold Me, Hold Me’ is more a case of spurned pleas of unrequited love declaration. And yet it’s followed by the cupped trumpet serenade of ‘Our Own Love Language’, which features dappled electric piano and Bobbi Humphrey style flute; taking romance into the spheres of Knoel Scott and early Miles Davis.

Tate is back to walk through a neighborhood photo album of foibles, connections, anecdotes and fate, on the centerpiece track, ‘One Of Us’. Amongst the characters (the guy too fucked-up on booze to make anything of an invitation to join The Temptations, to some guy who could punch like “Tyson”) and location spots on this bluesy saunter, Tate regales the story of someone he grew up with (attending the same “fucked-up schools” and church): “one of us”. And despite being on the receiving end of the “N” word from Mary Wells (I’m not sure if this is “the” Mary Wells, Motown songstress, fucked over by that label and many others during a career of false starts and travails), her idiosyncrasies and failures, is someone whose loss is to be marked and mourned: a missed part of the community. That final vocal statement of the album proves one of its most insightful and visceral.  

Reed and his troupe pull off a real feat in drawing the listener into a rich Chicago imbued and eclectic soundtrack: that’s Chicago Jazz, Godspell, Blues and House merging with New Orleans, Afro, the spiritual, and consciousness styles of jazz. A deep emotive statement about societal ills and seclusion is made by a seriously class act. I look forward to the next cycle in this conceptualised body of work.  

Raül Refree & Pedro Vian ‘Font De La Vera Pau’
(Modern Obscure Music) 20th October 2023

A most auspicious occasion, the Iberian pairing of avant-garde polymaths Raül Refree and Pedro Vian marks a rightly welcoming proposition for those of us in the experimental scene.

A familiar name to Monolith Cocktail readers over the years, Refree has gained plaudits for his transformation of the Flamenco tradition, with such doyens of the form as Rosalía and Rocío Márquez, and for his Fado reinvention partnership with the extraordinary and captivating Lina. In between those projects he’s also produced a number of albums for other artists, including Sonic Youth’s Lee Ranoldo. That relationship in particular has led to Refree’s wider role in the contemporary New York scene. As a composer he’s scored music for various films, some of this material released in the form of his Spanish sketchbook, La Otra Mited, followed up by the El Espacio Entre album, released at the beginning of the year: an album I rated highly at the time, describing it as a ‘Spanish Neel Murgai Ensemble and Hackedepiccotto trapped with Nacjo Mendez in an undefined, veiled timeline and atmosphere…’ It’s no surprise, considering the ambiguous blurring of boundaries between disciplines and styles that Refree is set to make his theatre director’s debut next year.      

Finding it hard to believe, but Vian is a stranger to this site. Making his debut appearance in the MC, the Catalan producer, musician, composer and DJ also runs the deep thinkers’ experimental label that is facilitating this album of nine explorative suites. Vian has previously released a trio of solo albums and a collection of singles for his imprint, and last year, after instigating an ‘immersive’ live set at the Sonar Festival, released the Cascades collaboration with the Piedmont-born composer and producer Mana; setting him up nicely for this tactile, sometimes physical, stretch of piano, synth and organ – those being the main trio of instruments used on Font De La Vera Pau; the replenishing, fluctuating fountain waters of serialism, the atonal and the more melodic.

Simply labeled with no prompts or points of reference, each improvised sounding piece is a passage in itself and yet part of a whole performance, with both partners taking the familiar into curious, mysterious and often alien settings. And yet, when the droplets of piano notes, and moist resonance evoke the subterranean (a pool of water in the cavern), the sound of chirping birds and the sunlit woods opens up a window into the fresh air.

The low but soft rumbles of bass piano and metallophone like playing of that instrument’s inner workings conjures up hints of Alice Coltrane’s Turiya Sings, Terry Riley and Fluxus. Even the piano’s lid and frame is used in the process, tapped to create a rhythm of a kind. And at other times, it all sounds like a glass-strung vision of Chinese music, or something from South Korea: dal:um spring to mind. But then there’s obscured valves, whistles of a strange pitch, the hovering presence of spacecraft and evocations of slow ships moving through a vapour.

Surface noises; the sound of a running film projector, there’s more to decipher from what appears to be minimalistic, marginal changes and hidden instrumentation.

The fluctuating undercurrents, patterns, trickles of melodious notes float between echoes of Harold Budd, John Lane, Sylvain & Sakamoto, The Corrupting Sea, Vangelis, Roedelius and Susma Yokota on a hard to define collaboration. Not so much out of either foil’s comfort zone, this partnership does offer something challenging; a link back to their respective catalogues, and yet intuitively, texturally and tonally something a little different. It is another immersive experience in avant-garde, in the moment exploration.         

Fantastic Twins ‘Two Is Not A Number’
(House Of Slessor) 13th October 2023

Competitive from the outset, birthed from a primordial cosmic womb, the Fantastic Twins in Julienne Dessagne’s otherworldly sci-fi fantasy go through hellish travails and separation before finding a final resolution. From the bawled birth of ‘I Was First’, the Berlin-based French producer, musician and vocalist explores the magic, duality and multiplicity of twins over an album of metallic, chrome and liquefied material sci-fi and otherworldliness: even the haunted and supernatural.

This is the dry-ice coldness of futurism merged with the Lynchian, strung out and drifting in a cerebral void. The title of this album, Two Is Not A Number, paraphrases a quote from the schizophrenic monkey in Lynch’s What Did Jack Do?, but is also suffused by the atmospheric esoteric wisps and vapours of that cult auteur’s go-to composer, Angelo Baldametti.

With a sizable apparatus of the electronic, synthesized and sequenced, Dessagne creates a refined concept, imbued with influences and a multimedia stimulus of ideas and sparks. In the PR spill, which more or less writes the review for itself, Sun Ra’s New Horizons is mentioned as resonating with Dessagne’s approach to music: “The sight of boundless space reaching ever outward as if in search of itself.” Another reference point is the Blight Of The Twin documentary, filmed in Vodun practicing Benin. As an added layer it forms another piece in the collage, taking in, as it does, the cultural mythology of this atavistic African religion and its ritual celebration of twins.

On the number counting, cyborg techno building ‘Land Of Pleasure Hi Fi’, one or both of the twins is cast adrift in that infinite space; repeating the ached “Feel alone in space” line as Basic Channel, The Pyrolator and Cabaret Voltaire coolly and intelligently pulse and reverberate away.

Albums from Carl Craig, Man Parrish, Fever Ray, Andy Stott and others, alongside the influence of Cosey Fanny Tutti, Chris Carter, Coil, Nina Simone and Pan Sonic can be added to the depth and range of this accumulative mood board and framework. And you can indeed pick up all of it, especially in the second data count of ‘Silver Moon Dial’, which is very Germanic, but a little Cosey too. Yet is also the most club-like of techno tracks too; a sort of Boiler Room session remix of Dessagne’s music in real time.

The vocals are wafted and manipulated in vapours, but sound at their most agitated and conniption-like a smoother Diamanda Galás apparition, and at other times when more icy, cleaned by the frosted synth waves, like Fever Ray, Ladytron and Zola Jesus.

The Fantastic Twins at the heart of this album are brought into a gauzy tubular paddled and padded melodic dream hallucination of a technological world; reconciled at last in the final Sylvain and Sakamoto-esque ‘All Of This Is Resolved’: the lasting statement of reassurance, connection and family unity being “I’ve come to take you home with me”.

It proves a fertile concept and doorway to the investigations of the “psyche” and its relationship to all manner of inquisitive explorations. A most striking sophisticated debut from an artist with depth and curiosity.  

Lukid ‘Tilt’
(Glum)

It might well be a sizable break between Luke Blair’s last solo Lukid alias expanded work and this newest album (eleven years in all!), yet the North London artist has still been busy and prolific: as his CV will testify. In that period of time Luke has worked with Jackson Bailey under the Rezzett duo title; formed his own label, Glum; created another pseudonym, Refreshers, for his more dance focused productions; and of course notched up credits as a composer for projects with the BBC, ESPN, Palace Skateboards, the American Ballet Theatre and Arsenal Football club. And in between that there’s also been a smattering of releases on a number of other notable labels. I think we can all agree it’s a very full schedule.

Those of you waiting on a new Lukid album will not be disappointed. If more ‘refined’, composed and ‘simplistic’ than before, there’s still a real rhythm to Luke’s form of subtle but effective electronica. A ‘tilt’ perhaps of process, method and outcomes, this is a minimalistic iteration styled vision of dance music, submerged in lo fi veils, fuzz and gauze.

At the most purposely-produced low quality filtered end, ‘Confessions Of A Wimpy Kid’ sounds like an old cassette recording from an early 90s rave; compressed and under a sizzle of static, the tape so poor as to wind in and out of becoming inaudible, as if disappearing into water: More the memoary, mirage of a Techno track, played in the open air. 

Despite the lo finess and more stripped-down approach, this is a danceable album: of a sort. There’s a bounce, spring to the rhythms that easily flow between deep House and Techno. But the percolated muffled beat and percussion of the opening track, ‘End Melody’, evokes a vague suggestion of Finis Africae and Jon Hassell (albeit it without Jon’s purred trumpeted wisps).

The subtle old school Techno tempered ‘Harringey Leisure’ has the air of a bobbed fourth world marimba or bamboo instrument; part African, part South American perhaps, but nestled in North London.

The environment seems to bleed into some tracks; distant, obscured chatter, utensils in a kitchen perhaps, extending out into the ‘Daisy Cutter’ rotor arppegiator, playful and Roedelius-like soundtrack garden lawn.

The almost foggy, gauzy ‘The Great Schlep’ has a more classical sound: more in the style of Reich or Glass, albeit with a Techno undulation. And the final ‘End Loop’ seems to hazily ebb in the clouds on a Boards Of Canada vibe. But for the majority of the time there’s a real subtle network of sophisticated generated beats that recall everyone from Richard H. Kirk to Tim Hecker, Black Dog and Autechre gently powering along trance-y and attenuated square waves. Tilt is an album of real quality; a cerebral distillation of Ambience, Techno, House and Electronic forms into some reification of time and moments caught before they disappear in smoke. This is a great returning album from the Lukid alias, one of the best in its field in 2023. 

boycalledcrow ‘//MELODY_MAN’
(Waxing Crescent Records) 27th October 2023

The face behind the most recent incarnation of the Chester-based sound artist, Carl M Knott, earlier this year revealed a very unique vision of folk music with the Nightmare Folk album. Mysterious, near supernatural and alien in a manner, but hardly nightmarish: just different. Filtered, rotor-bladed, flipped and fluttered through various effects, and seen through many angles, the familiar sounds of a nylon-stringed guitar were transmogrified beyond recognition.

That previous album was in part, inspired by William Gibson’s dystopian sci-fi novel Virtual Light. And although there’s no direct mention of that alt-futuristic San Francisco plotted work here, the second boycalledcrow album of the year is musically, sonically and atmospherically similar. And that translates as both melodically spindled and tabbing guitar being concertinaed and chopped up through various effects across passages or score that are alien, esoteric and hallucinatory. This is a kind of pastoralism and primitivism folk music, channeled through a Fortean radio set, the obscured machinery of alien spacecraft, and the stray heavens.

Between darker passing phases of heavier set metallics (‘8lob’), a Lucrecia Dalt and Emptyset invocation (‘1414[]’), and ambient solar pleasantries (the eventual Boards Of Canada and Ariel Kalma softly radiant ‘SUNSun+’, and the changing course of the elephant machine noisy, turn crystalized Peter Schickele fluted, ‘FOREST/…\MOON’), there’s vague speed-shifted hints of dulcimer and zither; paddled, tub-hand thwacked rhythms; removed versions of techno electronics; shadowy forces; and strange folkloric dances from another dimension. 

I’m picking up Laraaji, Xqui, Black Dog, Eno & Fripp and Panda Bear’s Portuguese-imbued Tomboy vibes. And yet, //MELODY_MAN, with its coded, distinct titles, is a quite idiosyncratic and unique vision: folk music from off-worlds and alternate histories…some not yet written.  

     

Andrew Heath ‘Scapa Flow’
(Disco Gecko)

Always developing and exploring his self-coined ‘lowercase minimalism’ craft, the adroit Andrew Heath has produced a number of sublime and empirical albums for the Disco Gecko label over the years. His latest carries on the good work with a deep ambient reading of the Scapa Flow body of water that lies surrounded by the Orkney Islands of the Mainland, Graemsay, Burray, South Ronaldsay and Hoy. 

A geopoetry; a psychogeography of that famous body of shallow waters, Heath’s gauzy drifts, serene washes, glassy piano notes, Myles Cochran and Joe Woodham-like post-rock refracted guitar bends and harpic zither spindles coalesce to score an effective mysterious soundtrack to the former naval base and battleship graveyard.

Closer to Norway than the capital of Scotland, it’s unsurprising that the Orkney Islands have a shared history with the Vikings; both on land and with Viking kings mooring their longboat fleets in the waters – as recorded in the famous sagas. The Vikings called it ‘Skalpaflós’ (‘bay of the long isthmus’); a name that through dialectal changes stuck. Fast-forward to the War Of The Three Kingdoms during Charles I’s ill-fated reign, and Scapa Flow (as it was now known) was the anchorage point of operations for the 1st Marques of Montrose’s preparations to raise a rebellion in Scotland, from his Herderinnan ship.

By the turn of the 1900s, in the face of German expansionism and a build up of their naval forces, the British looked towards protecting their North Sea borders. Although a number of harbours were considered, Scapa Flow would eventually be chosen for mooring the northern wing of British sea power. When the cataclysm of war finally did come, in 1914, German U-boats attacked it: unsuccessfully I might add. Although the Vanguard was a non-combatant casualty of that period, exploding and sinking beneath the waves; one of the harbor’s noted war graves. The Germans would be forced to surrender their fleet just four years later; through subterfuge they would famously scupper their ships rather than hand them over. Joining those shipwrecks, twenty odd years later, German submarines managed to penetrate Scape Flow and sink the anchored HMS Royal Oak (a WWI era battleship). Days later, the Luftwaffe would go on to damage HMS Iron Duke.

The Royal Navy pulled out of the site during the 1950s, whilst the petroleum industry moved in. Scapa Flow became the main hub for oil and gas operations in he Orkneys after that, hosting the Flotta Oil Terminal. Amongst the near haunted calls and apparitions from under the shallow waters, there’s traces or an essence of hidden industrial machinery, the pulling of chains and swept brushes of work.

Some titles helpfully set the scene, mood, and subject matter sparks of inspiration. They also point to Heath’s expansion of the main theme, outbound from the Orkney Islands to the autonomous (but considered part of the Kingdom Of Denmark) archipelago of the Faeroes, and generally out into the North Seas and beyond. For example, the opener is a reference to the powerful warm Western boundary current of the ‘North Atlantic Drift’.

Mostly capturing a shrouded, blanketed feel of the environment, its past livelihoods, distress and natural powers, this album mines the impressions left behind; from the murky depths where the light barely touches, to the prowling silent creep of submersibles.

Andrew plays a combination of instruments, merged with ambient and real sounds that falls somewhere between such notable artists as his old foil Roedelius, Eno, John Lane (i.e. A Journey Of Giraffes), Jon Tye, Ulrich Schnauss and Flexagon. Stirrings from beneath are conveyed with a subtle drama and sonic history on yet another exemplary album of minimalist music.       

Hi, my name is Dominic Valvona and I’m the Founder of the music/culture blog monolithcocktail.com For the last ten years I’ve featured and supported music, musicians and labels we love across genres from around the world that we think you’ll want to know about. No content on the site is paid for or sponsored and we only feature artists we have genuine respect for /love. If you enjoy our reviews (and we often write long, thoughtful ones), found a new artist you admire or if we have featured you or artists you represent and would like to buy us a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/monolithcocktail to say cheers for spreading the word, then that would be much appreciated.

THE JUNE SELECTION: 50 plus tracks from the artists/bands we championed, rated and loved during the last thirty days. This is the eclectic, global and influential Monolith Cocktail Monthly Playlist, with music chosen from all the releases we covered in June plus those we didn’t have room for at that time. Selectors include Dominic Valvona (who curated this expansive playlist), Matt Oliver, Brian ‘Bordello’ Shea, Andrew C. Kidd and Graham Domain.

___TRACKLIST___

Valia Calda ‘Stalker’
La Jungle ‘La Compagnie de la Chanson’
Ramuntcho Matta ‘Hukai’
Pan Afrikan Peoples Arkestra ‘Nation Rising’
Killer Mike Ft. Jagged Edge ‘SUMMER’
Royalz Ft. THE HIDDEN CHARACTER ‘God In Da Ghetto’
Professor Elemental ‘Ready Or Not’
DJ Mk & Sonnyjim ‘WORTH THE RISK’
Revival Season ‘Chop’
Vieira and The Silvers ‘The Judge’
Trees Speak ‘Radiation’
Cat Box Room Bois ‘California Stars’
ANGHARAD ‘Postpartum’
Outer Limit Lotus ‘Let The Night Ride You’
The Kingfishers ‘Lapwings’
Sedona ‘Domino’
Katie Von Schleicher Ft. Lady Lamb ‘Elixir’
Mari Kalkun ‘Munamae Loomine (The Creation Of Munamagi|)’
Sparks ‘Not That Well Defined’
Bob Dylan ‘Queen Jane Approximately’
Maija Sofia ‘Four Winters’
Mike Cooper Ft. Viv Corringham ‘A Lemon Fell’
Dirty Dike Ft. Jam Baxter ‘The Places We’ve Been In’
The Chives ‘Your Mom’s A Bitch’
Lunch Money Life ‘The God Phone II’
Martha Skye Murphy ‘Dogs’
Sacrobosco ‘Pearl’
CODED ‘Binary Beautiful (Sunshine Variation)’
Baldruin ‘Zuruckgelassen’
Lauren Bousfield Ft. Ada Rock ‘Hazer’
Ital Tek ‘The Mirror’
Joe Woodham ‘Spring Tides’
WITCH ‘Streets Of Lusaka’
Celestial North ‘Otherworld’
Psyche ‘Kuma’
Omar Ahmad ‘Cygnet Song’
Luzmila Carpio ‘Inti Watana – El Retorno del Sol’
Ricardo Dias Gomes ‘Invernao Astral’
Andrew Heath ‘Fold’
Granny Smith ‘Egypt’
Spindle Ensemble & Evergreen Club Contemporary Gamelan ‘Lucid Living – Live’
Pawz One & Preed One ‘Revenge Of Silky Johnson’
ILL BILL, Non Phixion, La Coka Nostra, Kool G. Rap, Vinnie Paz ‘Root For The Villain’
Syrup Ft. Twit One, C. Tappin & Turt ‘Timing Perfect’
John Coltrane Ft. Eric Dolphy ‘Impressions – Live’
Vermin the Villain & ELAM ZULA ‘POWER OF TWO’
King Kashmere & Alecs Delarge Ft. HPBLK, Ash The Author & Booda French ‘Astro Children’
Lukah ‘First Copy’
Kool Keith ‘First Copy’
Stik Figa & The Expert ‘Slo Pokes’
S. Kalibre Ft. Scoob Rock, Slap Up Mill, Jabba The Kut ‘Murda Sound Bwoy’
Verbz, Nelson Dialect & Mr. Slipz ‘Beside Me’
Dillion & Diamond D ‘Uncut Gems’



ALBUM REVIEWS ROUNDUP/Dominic Valvona

Dr. Joy  ‘Dr. Joy’
(Idée Fixe) 17th September 2021

As with most polygenesis imbued projects attributed to the highly prolific Matthew ‘Doc’ Dunn you’re in for an amorphous, unburdened trip of the cosmic and often exotic. Appearing under numerous guises, in various forms, Dunn has instigated the Cosmic Range Canadian super group and collaborated with everyone on that country’s ultra hip underground scene (from Slim Twig and Meg Remy to Andy Haas and Carl Didur). He’s become a catalyst for so much of the great music making its way out of Toronto in the last decade. For this communal smorgasbord of musical ideas he’s joined up with that city’s psychedelic troupe Dr. Joy.

Bonding over a shared love of art, philosophy, film and, of course, music, the mutually agreeable partners have produced an assemblage of tripping psych, prog, krautrock and cult soundtracks for their debut collaborative album. Though the emphasis, as indeed the attribution of the album, leans towards the Joy part of that partnership.

Just like the artwork, a collage of acid smiley badge headed comic book action heroes, an exploding planet, galactic skull and the grill of some olds mobile, the sounds are just as much a luminous scrapbook of congruous influences. The album opens with the prog-rock (with shades of Ariel Kalma and Mythos) melodica wafting prism of pastel colours, ‘Weeping Façade’, and is immediately followed by the languorous sung, dreamy song merger of The Bees, Mercury Rev and a psychedelic Pretty Things ‘No Deal’

Vague echoes of global tuning, scales and ceremony can be heard throughout: spindled and tine thumbed touches of West Africa and the Orient.

Despite its trippy gauze and often-spiritual astral plane illusions, the partnership is often on the move musically. ‘Pale Satin’ for instance features a wept mirage of cosmic cowboy country, cult library music and Santana’s electric guitar – which sometimes sounds like a rearing horse! You could be in obscure psychedelic South America, or on a hallucinogenic Tex-Mex border. ‘Signed, The Body Electric’ rattles and shakes with mushroom ritual grooves that don’t sound a million miles away from The Stone Roses (via Can), and the mellotron-like trip ‘Midtown’ brought to mind Sakamoto & Robin Scott’s The Arrangement: if not a far more strung-out version. Curtain call, ‘River Story’, could be a magical union of Alice Coltrane, Laraaji and The Holydrug Couple.

Once more Dunn gets to let the sonic mind wander as Dr. Joy weave a rich tapestry of the spiritual and far out. It feels like an untethered pilgrimage in kool-aid drunken psychedelia; well produced assemblage of ideas and the imagination. And above all, seldom dull.

 

You may also like this:

The Cosmic Range  ‘New Latitudes’ (2016)

The Mining Co. ‘Phenomenology’
(PinDrop Records) 1st October 2021

Floating his usual brand of country-laced cathartic heartache towards deep space, storyteller, singer-songwriter Michael Gallagher goes in search of a new musical direction on his new songbook, Phenomenology. That country ached burr persists but the Americana is now of an entirely different stripe: more cosmic cowboy then prairie troubadour abroad in County Donegal.

Sprinkling space dust over the pains and sufferings of the human condition, Gallagher leaves terra firma for a tender, drifting cinematic drama in the universal: What better way to escape the pandemic and ills of a hostile world then to leave it behind for the unknown in space. Well, to a point anyway. A loosely based concept album, Phenomenology is in part a lyrical narration, but also the alternative soundtrack to John Carpenter’s 1974 cult sci-fi movie Dark Star.  That iconic film tells the story of a beleaguered crew looking to escape the tedium of their mission destroying unstable planets that could threaten the future colonisation of other stable, life-bringing ones. Now in its twentieth year, with weary crew of misfortunates, the mission is becoming increasing dangerous as the spaceship around them rapidly malfunctions.

During a period of such message-driven eco and philosophical quandary (see Douglas Trumbull’s 1972 debut, Silent Running), Dark Star featured a sort of return-to-the-stars-merged plot in which two of the characters, the Californian surfer buddy Doolittle and accidently jettisoned Talby, find their inevitable final resting places amongst the starry fabric when one of the planet-exploding detonators they use blows up the ship: Doolittle in silver surfer mode clings to a surfboard shaped piece of debris as he falls fatefully towards his maker, whilst Talby floats off towards the Phoenix Asteroids that he’s grown fond of from afar. That affinity and poetic death proves rich with metaphors; and so you have ‘Talby Drift’ (drifting proves to be just one of the leitmotifs on this album) and Talby at one with the cosmos, on both ‘Beatify’ and the ‘Universal Son’

Yet amongst all the infinite space, Gallagher looks back occasionally at Earth’s lamentable cast of heartbroken and struggling characters. I believe there’s a second loose story that runs in tandem on songs like the opening car-crash meeting ‘Unexpected’.

To soundtrack this cosmic and earthly plaint, Gallagher experiments with a transfer to the electronic. Beautifully, occasionally ominous, the usual American is edged towards chillwave, new wave and yacht rock. Now usually played in a minimal and highly atmospheric manner, with accentuate and vaporous synths and only a little acoustic and electric guitar, this new direction proves very fruitful. Chromatics, Moroder, Marvel83 and The Cars converge with the Eels, Mike Gale, early to mid 70s Beach Boys (honestly, listen carefully), the Magnetic Fields and Lukas Creswell-Rost.

There’s drama, a certain languid inevitability of fate, chimed and twinkled rays and the odd bit of distortion (the album’s most heavy dark arts scowled ‘IWBHM’; the theme of which is about a child who dreams of being a heavy metal star that worships the ‘devil’) on a mostly free-floating songbook of brilliantly crafted songwriting. Gallagher, at least detached a little, remote a touch behind the Mining Co. guise, surprises with the electronic move; creating a whole new strata to showcase his craft. Phenomenology could yet be the storyteller’s best, most creative move and album yet.           

Further Reading:

PREM: The Mining Co. ‘Long Way To Christmas’ (2019)

The Mining Co. ‘Frontier’ (2019)

Catherine Graindorge ‘Eldorado’
(tak:til/Glitterbeat Records) 1st October 2021

Photo Credit: Elie Rabinovitch

Travelling across both the harrowing and more aching ebb and flows of a European landscape in crisis, the violinist, violist and composer Catherine Graindorge measures the emotional tides of the pandemic epoch with depth and sophisticated articulation.

Creatively delayed by the death of her father in 2015, but also by numerous scores for films and theatre, collaborations with Nick Cave and Mark Lanegan, and various albums with her trio, and one with Hugo Race, the adroit Belgian artist is only just now, almost a decade later, releasing a follow up to the solo debut album The Secret Of Us All. A lot has happened in that time of emotional anxiety and stress. Channeling that well swell of emotions, touching upon her own experiences in regard to welcoming and helping to re-home those escaping both poverty and genocide, Graindorge’s effective new soundtrack features an exceptional atmospheric, sonorous, disturbing and plaintive cooed tribute to the survivors of the Rwanda genocide; ached expressive longings for “Eldorado”; and sorrowful haunted memories.

‘Rosalie’, the first of those evocative pulls, opens the new album of brooding chamber music and experimental suites with diaphanous apparition like voices and breathing, rippled buzzing harmonium and pained yearning. The title’s subject escaped the horror of Rwanda’s darkest hour with her husband in the mid 90s to find refuge in northern Europe. A connection was made however when she came into contact with Graindorge’s late lawyer father. The remains of her family killed in the raging bloodbath were lost until 2019, when Rosalie returned to her homeland to bury them. Three days after returning to her new home Rosalie’s “heart stopped”. This then is both a saddened form of remembrance, a process of marking that existence and trauma, but also meant as a celebration of a life: now immortalized in music. It’s a deeply moving testament to grief.

The album’s title conjures up all sorts of historical, fabled images of lost cities of gold; metaphorical, allegorical utopias and dreams, but also the foibles of chasing something that doesn’t exist. Drawn further and further on a fool’s errand into the South American interior, the magical, paved with riches city had eluded the Conquistadors, and continues to elude everyone since. Graindorge alludes to a more personal vision, which could be read as a far simpler analogy for escapism and a safe refuge in tumultuous times. Most ambitiously, this search is nothing less than the quest for a better world. 

Graindorge and her producer John Parish, who also offers up a mix of stressed, wrangled and contoured guitar, scores a distraught wailed vision of that mythical goal, which at times – especially with the off-kilter ad hoc, feeling about jazzy and avant-garde drum kit of splashes, serial hits – reminded me of Tony Conrad & Faust’s Outside The Dream Factory union.

The only obvious reference, title-wise, to these unprecedented times and its effects is made on the harmonium droned and deep, bass-y foreboding ‘Lockdown’. Graindorge stuck in Belgium as the first lockdown took hold was unable to make it to Parish’s studio in London for the mixes. To “relieve confinement” Graindorge and her daughter would visit and play (social distancing and adhering to the rules of course) to an audience in various nursing homes. On this reification of that altruistic time there’s hints of Jed Kurzel, Anne Müller and John Cale to mull over.

Each instrumental (apart from ghostly woos and a French narration) will evoke personal imagery and scenes; the resonated traces of what was; and the reverberations of past dramas. Graindorge used slides from 1959 that she’d collected form her grandmother after she died as visual prompts for the album, so its no wonder. This is all achieved with much élan and with the desire to express the travails and darkness as well as the light through transportive moods and ghostly visitations.

As a nod to one influence in particular, the album closes with a dreamy Another Green World like tribute to Brian Eno. On a sea of ambient and ether drifts this curtain call is the album’s most serene piece of solace, contemplation on a work of harrowing and mysterious (bordering on the esoteric) stirrings.

Eldorado reimagines the scope, perimeters of the viola and violin on a troubled but also personal slow release of richly brooding and heart yearned memories. It’s nothing less than a completely immersive, intense soundtrack, and for that matter one of the year’s highlights: A real work of quality that leaves a lasting emotional effect.

Andrew Heath  ‘New Eden’
(Disco Gecko)  17th September 2021

Across a venerable landscape of light emitting environments, the ambient and contemporary classical composer Andrew Heath reacts to unprecedented times with the most languid of soundtracks. Indeed, wherever light falls, whether that’s upon the pews in an empty church or in the derelict ruins of some glade, Heath captures it on his latest collection of suites for the Disco Gecko label.

Very much the experienced artist in the ambient arena, collaborating no less with Roedelius, the adroit composer takes his time in revealing peaceful states of mind on a journey of escapism. The destination is ‘eden’: or as near as sonically possible. Getting very close to that entitled destination, the opening suite grows in volume across ten-minutes of heavenly-spindled chimes and diaphanous warm fronts. Stained-glass light softly and slowly touches upon every part of a low humming church organ on ‘Faith’ – which we now need in droves if we’re ever to survive this current nightmare.

Though I may have made it sound as if these places are all devoid of company, ambiguous touches of laughter, movement and preparation together with nature’s chorus are absorbed into the subtle fabric of Heath’s incipient compositions.

Heath’s signature singular and serial style of light, minimalistic playing is all present and correct, but there’s some nicely alongside abstract guitar gestures, rings and drifts too. Just throwing it out there, but the guitar on ‘You’ reminds me a little of Myles Cochran.

Sometimes you get a vague sonic narrative, with tracks obscuring interactions and scenes. It sometimes sounds like Heath is playing the piano in the shower, or thumbing through yellowed parchments. There’s also a lot of walking about, mostly in tight leather stretched, creaking shoes, and across gauzy-laced fields. And so it does feel like a sort of gentle trek/journey away from the grey and towards a soft light. Once again the master of “small-case minimalism” quietly conjures up escapism and mystery, signposting the way to a “new Eden” of a sort.

Further Reading:

Andrew Heath ‘The Alchemist’s Muse’ (2020)

Toby Marks & Andrew Heath ‘Motion’ (2019)

Andrew Heath ‘Evenfall’ (2018)

Andrew Heath  ‘Soundings’ (2017)

Roedelius, Chaplin & Heath  ‘Triptych In Blue’ (2017)

Headboggle  ‘Digital Digital Analog’
(Ratskin Records)  24th September 2021

Quite happy it seems transmitting the optimistic explorations of a retro-futuristic synthesized world into a contemporary age, Derek Gedalecia (the maverick human behind the Headboggle moniker) has immense fun exploring the possibilities of the iconic Prophet polyphonic synthesizer. Channeling two decades worth of mischief and invention, Gedalecia releases a most ambitious sprawling album of quirky and cosmic cathedral library music, kosmische and transmogrified electronic soundtracks for the Oakland based Ratskin Records imprint.

Making good and expanding upon the one-minute suites and vignettes of the previous Polyphonic Demo set, the Digital Digital Analog album (a reversed play on the conventional ‘shorthand’ method of originally producing and recording music for the CD format) stretches the perimeters further.

Whilst previously favouring a improvised method or arrangement, the outer limit oddities on this 24 track album are more refined. In practice that means being transported to a plastic popping acid squelched symphonic dream world in which Raymond Scott joined The Yellow Magic Orchestra; Bruno Spoerii was reborn as the Aphex Twin; and a GX1 era Rick Van Der Linden played classical piano for the Galactic Supermarket. This is a both mysterious and cheeky album of synthesised heavenly music, strange burbled soups, Atari ST and Amiga computer game music, preset libraries, Vangelis fanfares, reimagined Kraftwerkian melodies and weird warped stirrings of Sky Records peregrinations.

Cleaner lines and crystal, almost pure, sound waves sparkle amongst fuzzier, fizzled effects and sharper, sometimes piercing, angular rays. Sci-fi phantasm sits alongside visions of Fluxus avant-garde pianist’s programming a robot, off-world thrillers and psychedelic synth pinball machine music on an idiosyncratic collage of filed influences: Believe it or not the album was, in part, inspired by Gedalecia’s studies of ragtime and, the more believable, classical.

The Prophet synth has its work cut out as it’s sent into outer space, to more foreboding realms, and to trippy planes of kooky chimed warbled magic.  A masterful sophisticated setting loose of expectations, Gedalecia’s screened Headboggle project playfully expands horizons and goes for broke in the synthesizer maverick stakes.

Niklas Wandt  ‘Solar Müsil’
(Bureau B)  17th September 2021

Like most of us either forced or choosing to use the lockdowns as an opportunity to rediscover our immediate environments, to take a pause and appreciate the simpler joys in a restricted climate, drummer-percussionist, producer, radio journo and DJ Niklas Wandt suddenly found his hectic live schedule cut suddenly short.

With no choice but to take this break away from his preferred method of live improvisation, the musical polymath hankered down to accept this as a period of contemplation. However, though the idea of fixing any specific performance, series of compositions on a recording didn’t feel right at first. Despite this Wandt found a semi-improvised method, and way of working, for this new solo (though various friends on the scene help out) album. It feels anyway like a musical journey that could go anywhere: even travelling in directions that prove surprising for its creator.

Schooled in jazz, psychedelia and, later on, electronica, the host of the WDR3 Jazz & World music programme Wandt’s tastes could be considered eclectic. His CV includes live performances with Oracles and Stabil Elite, collaborations with Wolf Müller, and the Neuzeitliche Bodenbeläge duo with Joshua Gottmanns. With that all in mind you can expect the musical range to be wide.

A display of untethered, incipient and rhythmic breakouts on various drum and percussive apparatus travels through leftfield electronica pop, jazz-fusion, prog and the kooky; all through a sort of kosmische/krautrock lens on an album that seems to be constantly on the move. Even with a free-roaming mind and myriad of influences, this half-narrated journey is an enigma, a puzzle that takes on so many surprising turns. It’s a conceptual futuristic jazz album on one hand, Neue Deutsche Welle on the other. This is a world of the organic and synthesized; machine and dreamy cosmic traverses; starry visions and tubular moonbeams; percussive experiments and chamber string augmentation. The languages used change from German to English to Spanish and back again: the only voice I could understand was the sleepless wistful female English poetry on the hallucinogenic Cosmic Range funking-jazz turn mirror pop ‘Durch den Spalt’ (“through the gap”). 

Satellites and refractive rays bounce around in a Faust and Gurumaniax cosmology on the album’s solar-flared ‘Der Gläaerne Tag’ (“the glass day”), whilst Wandt magic’s up a weird exotic quirk of the YMO and mid 80s Sakamoto on the progressive-lilt apparition ‘Lo Spettro’ (“the ghost”). In between both worlds and the sense, Wandt ‘drums up’ a most unexpected journey that defies categorisation on his Solar Müsil album; a sonic nomad just travelling where the spark of creativity, mood and improvisational ingenuity happens to take him.

Ulrich Schnauss & Mark Peters ‘Destiny Waiving’
(Bureau B)  24th September 2021

Completing an expletory trilogy that began a decade ago, the congruous sonic musical project that first brought the renowned electronic artist Ulrich Schnauss and the Engineers guitarist Mark Peters together on the Underrated Silence album in 2011, continues with a third installment: Destiny Waiving. Although it must be pointed out that the majority of the material, in part made up by improvisational sets played across London, Dublin and Birmingham (at the city’s St. James’ Church as part of the Seventh Wave electronica festival), was pretty much laid down and formalized back in 2017: the same year Peter’s debut acclaimed solo album, Innerland, was released. The final mixes weren’t however picked up and finished until last year, and though there’s nothing to suggest it the restrictions of the pandemic couldn’t have helped to get this album out into the world at large.

Those familiar with both musicians will know that their pathways have crisscrossed on various occasions, with Schnauss, a solo artist of great repute and a member of a rejuvenated Tangerine Dream since 2014, even going as far as to join Peter’s shoegaze indie band the Engineers. A voiceless, wordless extension in some ways of that band’s slow burning brilliance (I bloody love the group’s 2005 single ‘Forgiveness’), but totally unburdened by it, the music is expansive, dreamy and often beautifully starry. 

Said to be the partnerships most focused and concise album yet, concentrated on some suites by the societal commentary referenced titles, Destiny Waiving still feels very much free to roam tonal and uncoupled evocative possibilities. Almost weightless in fact, despite some deeper guitar iterations and repeated synthesised waves.

Hints of Schnauss’ iconic German comrades in kosmische and soundtrack innovation, hints of Tangerine Dream can be heard in the cosmic sentiments of his melodic and arpeggiator palette alongside touches of Vangelis enormity, various polygons and quirks, and occasional kinetic beats. Peters on his part offers a subtle but effective array of trundled and spun electric guitar lines, and concentric resonated vibrations. I’m not sure what’s going on with the cosmological ‘Speak In Capitals’, but Peters seems to have borrowed some Talk Talk guitar melody: and why not?! They both create a rich mood board together that gently builds towards post-rock, neo-classical and dreamy kosmische type dramas and bliss. Searching for answers, expressing disillusion, this partnership escape by contouring open panoramas and the enormity of it all. It’s a real special album that captures both artist’s craft and sagacious low-burning deliverance.  

Psycho & Plastic ‘Soundtrack 2: Pappel’
(GiveUsYourGOLD) Out Now

A welcome coalesce of past techno pop and kosmische investigations and grooves – from the International Pony dances with Der Plan aboard a space station Kosmopop album to the ambience of Placid House –, the second purpose-made soundtrack from the Berlin duo is their most remarkable progression and transition yet.

Commissioned by the award-winning author Dalibos Marković to create an original soundtrack for his debut novel Pappel, the electronic partnership and label co-founders Alexandre Decoupigny and Thomas Tichai rose to the challenge with a sophisticated, evocative and lower-case cinematic beauty.

Nothing less than a 150-year spanning journey’s worth of German history and a Kafka-esque tree-turn-human protagonist to use as inspiration, the possibilities could have been endless. Amon Düül II of course tried it, making a Krautrock opera out of a similar epoch – from the eventual founding of a united empire dominated by a victorious Prussia after the success of their war with France in the 1870s, to the hundred year long exodus of the German speaking population to the Americas, looking for a new Eden or escaping religious persecution, and the harrowing specter of the two World Wars. Soundtrack 2 couldn’t be more different. I’ve not had the chance to read the source literature, but its central character’s birth, life experiences seem to act as some sort of metaphor for that cannon of history.

‘Die Bäume’ (or “The Tree”) is the opener, the birth if you will of the story. Accented and attuned with a suite of field recordings and a progressive-kosmische score, we’re taken from under the forest canopy in which Pappel is born to realization. The very fibers and growth of the woodland is accompanied with an immersion of nature’s soundtrack and crisp fizzled cells; superseded later on by an almost supernatural vision of Sven Vath and Klaus Schulze – there’s even an elegant, nice dapple of Roedelius style serial piano at the end.

This moves into a half jazzy version of Nils Frahm joining forces with Manuel Göttsching on the dreamy ‘Wunsch Indianer zu Werder’ (“Desire to become a Indian”): a really lovely mysterious soundtrack into the heart of darkness. Passenger liner bound for ‘Amerika’ traverses an out-of-time plaintive and foreboding sea, whilst the pace, sound steps up into a semi-modern German version of Kavinsky’s Drive score and Moroder on the Euro-neon pulsed ‘Auf der Galeris’ (“On the gallery”).

Each track equating directly to a chapter in the book, sonically and musically tells a story, matching the scenes and atmospheres. A both intimate and outwardly searching soundtrack of intelligently placed techno, Cluster style ambience and beautifully descriptive melodies, this is, as I’ve already said, the duo’s most progressive if not best work yet. They build upon past excursions, experiments with a richer than ever palette, and prove that the soundtrack genre is very much where they should be.

Album Reviews Roundup/Dominic Valvona






In-between lockdowns the only good news is that at least this month and next is shaping up to be the busiest months in 2020 so far, with a significant rise in the number of releases. And so, just scratching the surface, I’ve picked out just a smattering of interesting and brilliant albums from the thousands that the Monolith Cocktail receives each month.

German contemporary electronic music pioneer Stefan Schwander under the Harmonious Thelonious title, creates a new sophisticated polygenesis dance album of itchy scratching no wave, the tribal and industrial for the Hamburg label Bureau B; a survey of various contemporary experimental artists come together for charity to interpret the amorphous Plague Score graphic score of Nick Gill; Japanese underground luminary Phew releases a sort of mixed compilation of new material and unreleased sessions from her 2017 album’s Light Sleep and Voice Hardcore for the Disciples imprint. Lurking in the jazz-fusion subterranean, a new project from classically leaning producer and guitarist Leo Abraham and jazz drummer Martin France and their ensemble of collaborators, is the latest release on Glitterbeat’s experimental instrumental imprint tak:til. Krononaut converges the avant-garde with post-rock, post-punk and krautrock. Sometime Roedelius foil Andrew Heath releases yet another understated ambient sound collage of the real and imaginary for the Disco Gecko label; the patient escapist ‘The Alchemist’s Muse’. The Israeli-Russian collective Staraya Derevnya release a treble album haul, though I’m concentrating on the marvellous culmination of improvised performances pieces and additional material avant-garde krautrock folk Inwards Opened The Floor.

Handling the pandemic and escalating divisive free fall with spite, energy and violence, there’s the new Map 71 album, Turn Back Metropolis, and a barricade breaching, loud and primal return for the Young Knives with their first full-on album in nearly seven years, Barbarians.


Young Knives ‘Barbarians’
(Gadzook) Album/4th September 2020


Hurtling back from a four-year hiatus with a barrage, the brothers Dartnall unleash an angry firestorm of a dystopian album; the first fully realised collision since 2013’s Sick Octave.

The now not so Young Knives have been busy sharpening their sonic disconsolations in all that time, ready to pounce with an attack on the senses; reappearing at a most depressingly divisive time. Not that there hasn’t been more than enough material to keep the Knives awake at night, but they’ve been inspired to light the fuse by reading up on the apocalyptic philosopher/writer John Gray’s resigned tract on the illusions (as he sees it) of self-determination, Straw Dogs, and the controversial professional man-hater Valerie Solanas and her patriarchal death-knell, the S.C.U.M. Manifesto (an abbreviation of the Society For Cutting Up Men). In what’s said to be their most “cathartic” and “noisy” release yet, the self-confessed nihilists and miserablists have channeled the Clockwork Orange borstal of primal savage human nature, as explored in Gray’s polarizing theorem, and Solanas’ (what some critics and commentators consider a clever parody, even satire of “the performance of patriarchal social order it refuses”; though attempting to murder Andy Warhol, and by association the American critic Maria Amaya, puts a damper on that suggestion) utopian pipe-dream to knock seven bells out of the indie-dance and post-post-punk blueprints.

Essentially, as the title makes clear, despite all our graces, technologic advances and awareness, humans have never lost their barbaric cruelty. Is this just part of our nature and makeup? And if so, how do we live with it? It’s a quandary that hasn’t diminished over time, and a fate amplified in the pressing destructive times of 2020; a cold war of ideals, divisive politics kindled by a raging pandemic. And so, you can expect an explosive despondency from the Knives as they tear up and skulk through the debris.





It starts by plowing into a sustained menacing buzzy and harassed krautrock like grooving thrust merger of Techno, Siouxsie’s Banshees and PiL (Henry Dartnall will use will Lydon’s signature cocky sneer and haranguing rage throughout this Molotov hurling album), and continues to caustically cut-up a barreling and marching rant of These New Puritans, Scary Monsters and Outside era Bowie, NIN, the Chemical Brothers, Death From Above 1979 and The Slits. There’s even, I might suggest, a hint of supernatural Alex Harvey, albeit jazzed-up with rollicking Bloc Party drums, on the creeping witchery ‘Jenny Haniver’. I’m not surprised it has a daemonic esoteric feel, as the title refers to the ghastly unnatural looking mummified carcasses of rays and skates that have been dried-out and modified to resemble fanciful creatures like dragons and demons.

Brutality is everywhere, with samples of audio from a bare-knuckle brawl on the tortuous fist-clenched whirlwind title-track, and a squall of harsh and heavy breakbeats and alarms constantly rattle the cerebral. Yet breaking the barbarous grind and bounce are moments of brief relief: the venerable and prayerful female chorus on the ‘Holy Name 68’’ vignette (a distorted calm from the past), and the milder relief of a vague brass band finale serenade on the previously Blurt honking post-punk ‘Slashed What I Saw’ curtain call.

Henry shouts that the “scum will inherit the earth” and other such sloganism, knowing full well his rage will inevitably dissipate as the barricades come tumbling down once more. A future hell on repeat, the Knives at least have a good go at firing up the audience; it’s a noise and row that has been largely missing in the music world, and proves the perfect poisoned tonic for these end times. It’s good to have them back.






Phew ‘Vertigo KO’
(Disciples) Album/4th September 2020





In case you haven’t been introduced to the avant-garde voice iterations and various drone landscaping experiments of the Japanese artist known as Phew, then this new and unique compilation of her personal sonic statements and moods is both an eye-opener and a good place to start.

Phew’s entry into this field started with the instigation of the Osaka psychedelic-punk group Aunt Sally in 1978, which she fronted until their brief but influential burnout just a couple of years later. During the next decade Phew would work with an enviable cast of experimental doyens including Ryuchi Sakamoto, Alex Hacke of Einstürzende Neubauten fame and DAF’s Christo Haar, and also making an album with the illustrious Can pairing of Holgar Czukay and Jaki Leibzeit and legendary producer Conny Plank. Fast-forwarding to the noughties and the underground pioneer has performed live and recorded with The Raincoats’ Ana Da Silva, Jim O’Rourke and Ikue Mori and Yoshimi of the OOIOO/Boredoms/Saicobab arc of ensembles. Quite the providence, it’s a back catalogue that can be heard suffused throughout the latest collection of specially recorded new material, unreleased works from Phew’s two most recent solo album sessions (2017’s Light Sleep and Voice Hardcore) and a, removed from its original disjointed source, cover version.

Framed by the artist herself as “An unconscious sound sketch…” and as “personal documentary music”, Vertigo KO is a special kind of compilation. Forward thinking, progressive rather than looking back, the tracks on this album can’t be dated or easily linked back to those previous works. It sounds in fact like a new work entirely, made in the moment, all at the same conjuncture of creativity and thought. The label Disciples has already put out a limited edition cassette, Vertical Jamming, of Phew’s “long form drone work”, but this collection seems untethered, themeless concept wise and musically. Well that’s not entirely true, Phew states that her last two albums from which some of the martial has been lifted is personal and not an attempt at a “worldview”: the overall undercurrent and hidden message being “what a terrible world we live in, but let’s survive”. Phew seems to convey this survival by counterbalancing ascendant crystal rays of nature and heavenly with mysticism, otherworldliness and ominous Sci-fi: The skying drones and refractions that build towards a cathedral in the clouds on the opening ‘The Very Ears Of Morning’ evoke the beauty and enormity of nature’s first light. Yet by the second track Phew has transmogrified the loose post-punk slumbering Raincoats distress ‘The Void’; transporting the bare bones to a neon-futuristic industrial setting, ala Bladerunner.

Some of the more truly “out there” avant-garde moods involve various vocal repetitions and multi layering. These voices, intonations and peculiar annunciations can be in the form of obscured incantations (as they are on the vaporous hive humming consciousness mystery ‘Let’s Dance, Let’s Go’), vowel stretching (on the dial twisting ‘All That Vertigo’) or monastic (on the mystical Buddhist/Shinto call to prayer vacuum ‘Hearts And Flowers’). Sometimes it’s used as a rhythm, at other times as a lingering trace of yearning from the “void”.

Phew’s amorphous sonic sensibilities exist both in the metallic gauze of space and in more concentrated earthly reverence. A pioneer of the form, the Japanese icon of the underground continues to produce some of her strongest work as a new decade beckons, birthed in a pandemic. The signatures, reference points and mode will be familiar to those already well acquainted with the Phew’s varied catalogue, yet Vertigo KO offers some sublime and inventive surprises to be an essential edition to the collection. Those unfamiliar would do well to experience this set of suites and then work backwards.




Krononaut ‘Krononaut’
(tak:til/Glitterbeat Records) 4th September 2020





Out on the peripherals of identifiable jazz-fusion the newly assembled Krononaut ensemble conjure up a mysterious extemporize performance on their debut vision for Glitterbeat’s highly experimental instrumental imprint tak:til.

Instigated, led by producer and guitarist Leo Abraham (who’s contextual guitar lines can be heard on Eno’s sublime Small Craft On A Milk Sea LP) and drummer Martin France (who’s played with, amongst others, Nils Petter Molvaer and Evan Parker) but methodology wise a democratized unit that embraces the atmospherical leanings and peregrinations of its extended lineup of collaborators, Krononaut was created out of a musical disciplinary challenge: To converge Leo’s classical sensibilities and learning with Martin’s jazz background. The results of which linger, spiral and prowl in an abstract subterranean space of hybrid jazz, Jon Hassell’s possible musics, krautrock, post-punk, post-rock and, at least in part, are informed, inspired by the unique rhythms found in the Madoh Shamanic funeral music of Tajikistan.

Recorded in London last year over two sessions, the inaugural featuring multi-instrumentalist Shahzad Ismaily (from Tom Waits to Laurie Anderson) on bass, the follow-up, the enigmatic saxophonist Matana Roberts, Swedish trumpeter Arve Henriksen and on bass duties too, Tim Harries, the Krononaut album reimagines a musique concrete Miles Davis, Sam Rivers and Grachen Moncur III skulking a masked, mournful to a point, ether that once in a while floats into the ethereal (in evidence on the diaphanous aria veneration ‘Vision Of The Cross’).

Navigating dark recesses in a spidery probing with the bass on the shadowy ‘Location 14’, and evoking their label mates Pulled By Magnets on the semi-industrial, cavernous and falling ‘Power Law’, this ensemble creep into post-punk; sounding like a transmogrified deconstructive PiL. Yet despite this the Krononaut’s are never so disjointed, dark or brash as to raise the volume above the discordant or even delicate; nothing runs away or untethers itself completely from the musicians’ grip.

Vague bursts of Guru Guru, drifting Eastern horns and filmic qualities drift in and out of serialism vaporuos industrial soundscapes and odd primal lagoons. Sporadic fits of propulsive drummed rhythms materialize from these non-liner recordings, but for the most part we’re strung out in the stresses and entanglements of composed, sophisticated avant-garde explorers: jazz and those classical leanings only really play one of many parts to this conjuncture of elements.

Ponderous, stalking, lolloping, spiritual, fluctuating – an exercise in relearning and discovery in fact – the Krononaut album of fourth world like experiments is free of limitations. It’s a project that escapes, even defies, categorization; another congruous fit with the ethos of the tak:til label.






Harmonious Thelonious ‘Plong’
(Bureau B) 28th August 2020





Fitting congruously within the Bureau B label family, Stefan Schwander’s inaugural album of sophisticated minimalist dance music for the Hamburg platform chimes with its roster of German experimental electronic pioneers; from Zuckerzeit candy era Cluster to the deconstructive Populäre Mechanik and the more contemporary Pyrolator.

More or less ten years into his Harmonious Thelonious alter ego, Schwander now offers a more “industrial sound” made from concrete objects vision of his American “minimalism” convergence with African rhythms and European melodies signatures. Inspired in part by the iconic Basle club of Totentanz, where the German electronic artist spent some of his misspent youth catching performances by the no wave dance act Liquid Liquid, the Gun Club, Jonathan Richman and a very young Aztec Camera, the Plong album channels some of the atmosphere and nostalgic vibes of those formative years. The club is immortalized on the final track; a sort of tribal beat with a barely audible hooted dance track that could be described as “intelligent” techno for the soul. In fact, the Liquid Liquid reference, or at least that vibrant post-new wave dance sound that they excelled at, can be heard permeating tracks like ‘Höhlenmenschenmuzik’; a multi-textural bass pronounced no wave dance of Carl Craig and Kriedler, the title of which translates as “caveman music” and evokes atavistic cave daubings leaping off the dank walls and vibrating, dancing like a host of Keith Harring characters bouncing down a NYC boardwalk.

Elsewhere amongst the deep Detroit techno and house music the tubular and knocking mettalics, tight delayed electronic sequencing and cleverly layered kinetics and mirages of a mysterious Arabia can be detected on the opening desert sands ‘Original Member Of A Wedding Band’. An obscured xylophone or marimba somehow captures an air of Africa on the lightly malleted and translucent itching vibrant ‘Geistertrio Booking’, and the staccato clumsy motioned ‘The Roller’ features a quasi-bobbing West African rhythm.

The tribal is subtly transformed into a futuristic suspense; 80s electro and no wave dance is twinned with lurking industrial electronica; bubbling concoctions float across mechanical refractions on a meticulously constructed deep dance soundtrack of multiple interesting rhythms. Plong, which could be a title Harmonia/Cluster may very well have used, fits perfectly with the Bureau B vibe, yet cuts a clean polygenesis electronic dance sound of its own.


https://soundcloud.com/bureau-1/harmonious-thelonious-plong-snippets



Various ‘Plague Song’
(Via Bandcamp) Album/14th August 2020





A plague has descended on all our houses it seems, with no corner of the globe left untouched by Covid-19. Yet not so much a plague in either the Biblical sense or even a 1000th as destructive as the Black Death that left populations decimated Covid-19 predicted effects and the measures being used to contain it and our civil liberties is proving more destructive and stressful. As lockdown lifts for some, only to be reintroduced as clusters break out in localized areas, and thoughts and anxieties can be translated, we’re seeing creatives release their cathartic impressions and traumas.

One such contextualization, instigated by the North Yorkshire based composer, multi-instrumentalist, solo artist and member of Fireworks Night and The Monroe Transfer ensemble, Nick Gill brings together a international cast of experimental artists and composers to interpret the project leader’s pencil-shaded abstract ‘Plague Song’ graphic score. Following in the footsteps of John Cage who first pioneered the concept, Gill sketches a roughly hewn amorphous score that offers a freehand to those invited to respond. With no instructions as to duration, instrumentation or performance style it’s entirely down to the artists to conjure up something evocative; a sonic representation from the elongated funnels and arched lines found beneath sharper cross-hatching scribbled noise. The author of that graphic score does offer his own interpretation however; offering a suitably atmospheric and watery composition of Craig Ward like multi-textural guitar reverberations.

Erring towards the perimeters of ambient, neo-classical and experimental music the guests on this charitable compilation (proceeds going towards Médecins sans Frontières) produce some searching visions of the present mood. Carrying on the imbued literary (Anthony Burgess to Joseph Heller) cross chatter and abstracted resonance of his many sonic adventures in India and Southeast Asia, Oxford polymath Seb Reynolds cuts-up and morphs a recurring “not as fatal” line with the sound of veiled Orient and tram clatter on his take of the score. Others, such as the renowned NYC stage, film and even opera composer Nico Muhly, produce something more sublime and trembling; the composer behind soundtracks for The Reader and Marnie glides towards a skying ascendance of rippling ambient beauty.

In the quasi Sci-fi mood, electronic composer and performer Hainbach generates some strange off-world atmospheres and primal lunar threats with his interpretation: evoking, I think, Bernard Szajner’s Dune imagings. The spherical Canadian team-up of musician, activist and producer Rebecca Foon and Polaris Prize winning singer-songwriter, producer Patrick Watson prove a congruous pairing, offering up an almost cosmically heavenly searing soundtrack of voices obscured in the vapour.

The track list is numerous; too numerous to mention everyone, so I’ll just mention a few more highlights and standouts. Tiece beckon with a signature “witchery” and “smoky” trip-hop soulful jazzy vision that evokes a warped Four Tet, whilst vocalist, sound artist David Michael Curry goes for something more supernatural, strung-out, with his added locational cryptic post-rock bluesy “scene report from Somerville Masc.” And perhaps one of the oddest interpretations, double-bassist and organist composer, arranger Ben Summers takes the listener through shades of South America, jazzy cocktail hour club soiree and 60s Italian soundtracks: a million miles removed from the compilations leitmotif of shared mysterious ominous drones and recondite ambient carpeting.

Gill’s original graphics are lent a swathe of interpretations, some less somber than others, from a cosmology of contemporary composers. A survey of mood pieces, from science fiction augurs to introspective concentrations. Yet seldom does the soundtrack wallow in the darkness, or creep into nightmares, which considering the title seems both optimistic and a relief. Plague Song is a worthy embrace of the uncertain; a translation of abstract stress and danger given an expansive treatment.






Map 71 ‘Turn Back Metropolis’
(Foolproof Projects/Fourth Dimension Records) Album/4th September 2020





Just the sort of J.G Ballard and Anthony Burgess flavoured dystopian claustrophobia we need in these pandemic striven times; the estuary high-rise colliding duo of disillusioned poet and artist Lisa Jayne and pounding sonic foil Andy Pyne deliver a skulking barrage from the edges of the inner city and suburban wastelands. Under the Map 71 cover they release a fifth album sound-clash of post punk electronica, no wave, post Krautrock and tribal industrial music.

Turn Back Metropolis finds the urban-planners of derision and concrete hardened social realism back in the stairwells and landings of a decaying omnipresent city, dreaming of escapism: “The fields are in sight of the city, but there’s a curfew and the city waits for your return.”

Against the stench of this imposed backdrop of societal misdemeanors, the grime of everyday existence is lyrically and starkly drip-fed by Lisa over beating toms, slinking dub, sporadic drumming, alarmed synths, contorted metals and London swagger. Lisa channels a petulant Ari Up and Viv Albertine, whilst Andy, at any onetime, conjures up an accompaniment of Cabaret Voltaire, Fad Gadget, PiL, The Au Pairs, Lonelady, 80s Rick Rubin and The Classical.

Seething yet composed, they stalk their subjects like prey through the entrancing, spiraling and more cutting on a futuristic punk album of malcontent. Tracks such as the squalling, speed-shifting, arcade-fire over-surge ‘Highrise’ can induce vertigo, and the rattling ‘Stitches’ evokes a seedy switch-bladed administered trauma. Descriptively as livid as it is poetically brilliant, with a musically edgy, harrowing but crafted sonic accompaniment to match, Map 71 delivers another sinister violent architectural imposing shockwave.





Related posts from the Archives:

Map 71 ‘Sado-Technical-Exercise’ Review



Andrew Heath ‘The Alchemist’s Muse’
(Disco Gecko) Album/4th September 2020





Carrying the torch for the kind of ambient and neo-classical swathes and calmly evolving ruminations pioneered by such luminaries as Roedelius, Andrew Heath is a maestro of, what he calls, “small-case minimalism”. Lucky enough to work with the self-taught acolyte and co-founder of the electronic music and kosmsiche legends Kluster/Cluster/Qluster arc, Heath has obviously picked up some ideas from the best in the field. The English composer of refined, understated evocations collaborated with Roedelius on both the Meeting The Magus and Triptych In Blue suites.

The “magus” pupil has become the “alchemist” on this latest exploration of minimalism, texture, tone and the “sonic detritus that litters our environment”. Using, as ever, a kind of English pastoral and esoteric poetry to reference moods and locations, as well as the sources of some of his field recordings, Heath counterbalances his naturalistic settings with delicately played (but deeply felt) piano, resonating electric guitar, and on the album’s title track the swan like and sonorous bass-clarinet of guest Bill Howgego, and of course the various apparatus that transmits those soft, veiled ambient tones and gossamer atmospheres. This translates into translucent compositions that merge the intercom chatter of a pilot’s radio with dropped bauble piano notes and stratospheric gliding, on the opening piece ‘Observers And Airmen’, and the squawk of a woodland menagerie and running water with Eno-esque pining scenic mystery and alien wiry quivers, on ‘Of Mill Leats And The Walter Meadows’.

Hints, traces of voice can be found throughout, but its Heath’s second guest, Romanian poet, writer and journalist Maria Stadnika, who offers the most fragile and emotional. Returning, after appearing on heath’s 2018 Evanfall album, Stadnika’s sighed wistful whispery ‘The Garden Reveals Itself’ receives a ‘Night Mix’ re-run. The senses of those waiting on the inevitable cycle of life and other such poignant chimes on the passing of time are soundtracked with an accentuated magical dreamy night garden score.

Recorded at his home in the Cotswolds’ earlier in the year, and framed as an album that provides a certain sense of calm and tranquility, Heath’s idyllic set piece is indeed rich with moments of stillness and contemplation. It all sounds serenely beautiful. From the announcer on the subway vignette ‘A Good Service,’ to the wooing undercurrents of ‘The Muse And Her Dreams’, both echoes of daily life blend with more mysterious surroundings in a superb sound collage. Ambient music it seems is in good hands, Heath’s seventh album for the Disco Gecko label is a sublime patient suite that offers a rest in these most troubling, intense times.





Archives:

Andrew Heath And Toby Marks ‘Motion’ Review

Andrew Heath ‘Soundings’ Review

Andrew Heath ‘Evenfall’ Review tof068



Staraya Derevnya ‘Inwards Opened The Floor’
(Raash Records) Album/4th September 2020





A culmination of Café OTO Project Space recorded performances from 2017 and additional material from that same year to 2019, the latest avant-garde inter-dimensional experiment from the Russian-Israeli straddling Staraya Derevnya is part of treble release schedule. Alongside the featured Inwards Opened The Floor there’s also a duo of improvisations recorded with Hans Grusel’s Kranken Kabinet entitled Still Life With Apples, released on cassette by Steep Gloss, and more live material under the OTO/Tusk title, released as a double CD spread by TQN-aut. A veritable bonanza of imaginative, much improvised albums from the St. Petersburg metro stop adorned group; though I’m going to concentrate on just the hallucinatory doors-of-perception opening opus, an expansive set of traverses, deconstructive marches and post-punk harangues built around lyrics inspired by the poems of Arthur Molev.

Expanding to accommodate up to twelve musicians, and an assemblage of musique concrete apparatus, radio waves, voices and more conventional instruments the Staraya Derevnya inhabit a shrouded soundscape of kosmische, post-punk and what can only be described as a kind of krautrock folk – think a meeting of The Faust Tapes and Can’s Unlimited scrapes and incipient windows in on cut short experiments but extended and more rhythmic.

Developing, magically entitled tracks such as ‘On How The Thorny Orbs Got Here’ drift off almost dreamily to a hushed narration and strung-out jazzy clarinet, brassy sonorous vibrations and short drum rolls, whilst the attic toy box clockwork march of ‘Chirik’ Is Heard From The Treetops’ chugs along at first like a wooden top Ballet Russes but then takes on a more traumatic force of industrial hooting and ripped, revved guitar: Russian folklore goes bananas.

Kazoos, rocking chairs, a not so “silent cello” help create a mysterious aura throughout: one that moves between the strained and distressed, the ambient and biting. For instance garroting wire cello and wooden tubular like percussion tangle with speed-shift space void effects and scrapes on the menacing ‘Hogweed Is Done With Buckwheat’, and on the almost swooning existential romance ‘Burning Bush And Apple Sauces’; soup plops, a radio broadcasted talky duet and a collage of piano and strings echo with hints of late Popul Vuh, OMD and the Pale Fountains.

The poetry is as whispery, haunting as it is erratic and harassed on these most probing clattery, screamed, rasped but equally fantastical tracks. I’m hooked. This is an astonishing set of cross-city amorphous urges, lingers and deconstructions like no other; an avant-garde wandering into the tapestry of Russian folklore and magic dream realism.




Hi, my name is Dominic Valvona and I’m the Founder of the music/culture blog monolithcocktail.com For the last ten years I’ve featured and supported music, musicians and labels we love across genres from around the world that we think you’ll want to know about. No content on the site is paid for or sponsored and we only feature artists we have genuine respect for /love. If you enjoy our reviews (and we often write long, thoughtful ones), found a new artist you admire or if we have featured you or artists you represent and would like to buy us a coffee at https://ko-fi.com/monolithcocktail to say cheers for spreading the word, then that would be much appreciated.


Album review: Andrew C. Kidd



Toby Marks & Andrew Heath ‘Motion’

(Disco Gecko) 10th May 2019


The search for the gesamtkunstwerk led to Toby Marks and Andrew Heath embarking on a tour in the four cardinal directions of England and Wales to record more than one hundred hours of audio. The conjoint and condensed output is Motion.

I am first drawn to Marks and Heath’s metric structure. After the introductory and rather magnificent antiphonal chanting on the opening track For Stone (West) Parts 1-3, the reverberated guitar notes surge and swell like rolling waves. Multiple progressive rhythms surface from this repetitive phrase and others that emerge as the album advances. I am equally impressed by their capabilities as sound engineers. The stereo width is as broad as anything I have heard on Loscil’s Submers (Kranky, 2002) and is best illustrated by the breadth of frequencies played on For Stone (West) Parts 1-3: crisp piano notes immediately contrast the low rumble of background synths, the vibrations of which filter into ears nestled in headphones.

An iron horse slowly gathers pace in the second part of For Stone (West) Parts 1-3; the sound is heavy as it weighs against sleepers and tracks. Trains in ambient music always bring me back to Elvis On The Radio, Steel Guitar In My Soul from The KLF’s Chill Out album (Wax Trax!, 1991). Motion’s finale, By Fire (East) Parts 1-4, commences abruptly with the clamorous din of a whistling steam locomotive. The guitar notes that follow are water droplets falling from the boiler of an engine. The meditative modulations of the deep bass mirror the oscillations of a piston firing back and forth inside a cylinder. The screeches of wheels on the curve of a railroad are the drawn-out distortions of amplified strings.

Marks and Heath’s idea of kinesis is not just confined to the automatic. They also turn to the sounds of nature, or rather, natural phenomena. The merging of natural and man-made sounds is done so seamlessly that I am often left wondering as to which is which. Non-mechanical examples include waves lapping against a sandy shoreline on With Iron (South) Parts 1-3 and the familiar sound of buzzing bees in flight on In Air On Water (North) Parts 1-3, the latter contrasting against the hum and rattle of a single-engine aircraft.

This is a very human album. The distorted train announcer and youthful calls on By Fire (East) Parts 1-4 and the muffled laughs heard through the wall of water on For Stone (West) Parts 1-3 invoke many feelings. Small cracks appear in the field recordings which create a sense of vulnerability. The mostly major keys employed by the duo are uplifting and there are moments of blinding brightness; exempli gratia, the synth sequences and guitar tremolos on By Fire (East) Parts 1-4.

Near-perfect equilibrium is achieved on In Air On Water (North) Parts 1-3. Clear bell chimes ring around birdsong. Human voices chatter beneath the warmth of a bright ‘duet’ of piano and guitar as storm clouds gather. The most memorable moment of the album follows: pulses start to race with the deafening roar of a plane and the claps of thunder that crash around the granular and delayed decay of the background synths; the relief of rain after the storm serves as a calming coda.

It was the Greek philosopher Empedocles who first described the four ‘roots’ of earth, water, air and fire alluded to in Marks and Heath’s track titles. He considered each of the four roots to have their own nature and that diversity could be created by combining them. Science has obviously moved forward some two thousand years and rationalists like Lavoisier have helped place Empedocles’s theories in the basket of archaic curiosities. Nevertheless, Empedocles made an early attempt to explain the inner workings of a world that, at times, simply cannot be explained. Marks and Heath have also sought to explore the same inner workings and every time I listen to Motion new emergent properties arise from its natural, mechanistic and human components. In my opinion, that is their biggest triumph.


Andrew C. Kidd

 

 

Dominic Valvona’s New Music Reviews Roundup





A bumper roundup this month from me of eclectic tastes from across the sphere, including albums, singles, cassettes and EPs from Kammerflimmer Kollektief, Andrew Heath, Picturebox, Bokanté And Metropole Orkest, Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O., Perhaps and Stringmodulator.

In brief, ‘lower-case’ minimalist composer Andrew Heath delivers another almost recondite album of in-situ recordings for the Disco Gecko label, with his fifth album Evenfall. In the same orbit, albeit far more mysterious, haunted and experimental, the Kammerflimmer Kollektief conjure up seven cerebral mood environment themed extemporized performances on, what could be, the longest entitled LP of 2018, There Are Actions Which We Have Neglected And Which Never Cease To Call Us. Crossing over with the titans of proto-Krautrock, the freak-out that is the Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O., Jim Haney’s own Kosmische Afrobeat and jazz explorers Perhaps feature two of its members on their upcoming improvisation Hexagon. Haney also, through the boutique Kamikaze cassette tape platform, re-releases/re-introduces two of the legendary astral-travellers iconic albums to the world, In C and La Novia. Plus we have the latest recruit to join the Submarine Broadcasting Company hub, the German ten-string duo Stringmodulator; delivering their debut manifesto of noise for the label, all sounds emanating through just a bass and electric guitar.

Away from the electronic traverses and peregrinations there’s the new album of maverick Canterbury psych and new wave pop eccentricity from Picturebox; the Gare du Nord label supergroup long for ‘escape’ on their second album. And the cinematic transglobal partnership Bokanté And Metropole Orkest release a dramatic sweeping suite, What Heat.


Bokanté And Metropole Orkest – Conducted By Jules Buckley ‘What Heat’ (Real World Records) 28th September 2018

 

Unsurprisingly, considering the renowned cast of musical talent that has joined forces to create this sweeping cinemascope suite, the supergroup-within-a-supergroup behind this global union of outstanding collectives has risen to the challenge of producing a polygenesis epic. The providence is as rich as it is long, with the ‘Texan-bred’ New York instrumental jazz hybrid Snarky Puppy founder Michael League the instigator behind the continent-straddling intergenerational Bokanté, and the acclaimed English conductor, composer and musician Jules Buckley leading the multiple Grammy-winning cross-discipline and genre Metropole Orkest ensemble.

Within those two groups number a multitude of talented individuals and guests too numerous to name, though one of the most integral performers, a co-founder of Bokanté, is the Montreal-based Guadeloupean vocalist Malika Tirolien, who’s robust if diaphanous pitch and scale fluctuating coos and song can be found navigating and articulating the themes and distresses on every composition. An awe-inspiring voice of transglobal tones, expressions and dynamism, Tirolien’s meandering vocals are informed and graced by the Creole language – a most flowing of French-based languages that can sound especially percussive and funky, the dialect of her home being quite a specific form of it, though not too dissimilar to the Creole of Martinique and other former colonial French territories. It also lends its etymology to the ensemble that League and Tirolien started; Bokanté translates as ‘exchange’.

Musically transcending borders, the catalyst for this ambitious project – theoretically an acoustic one – is to not only share and celebrate cultures but draw attention to the increasingly hostile political tensions that threaten to cut off communities around the world. A reminder then of the benefits of our multicultural legacy, What Heat returns to the source, combing the Arabian and North African lands for inspiration.

A highly atmospheric and dramatic soundtrack with a stirring, accentuate company of strings adding a certain gravitas this sprawling panorama is cinematic in scope and mood. Broodily romantic, traversing a West African diorama, with guest Weedie Braimah on the djembe, the opening ‘All The Way Home’ fuses the true soul of that continent with flashes of jazz and urban modern R&B, tracing a connection all the way from New York to Ghana and Mali: Rustic sounding banjo and pedal steel guitar giving the impression that the group are merging the desert plains of Africa with American bluegrass and the Morricone imagined Wild West on the tribal soulful ‘Fanm (The Woman)’ and more enigmatic sounding ‘Chambre à Échos (Echo Chamber)’.

Elsewhere the evocation of Hispaniola, Brazil, Tunisia merges and crosses amorphously to an often lush but also tumultuous Buckley conducted Orchestra and quivered springy flute-y and skittering percussion. Plaintive, mournful and equally in anger at topics such as the migrant crisis, the album can’t help but sound like a rousing filmic adventure throughout: a most beautifully performed and sung one at that. Remarkably considering how densely packed the arrangements’ cast is, there is plenty of space to be found, even when a maelstrom turbulence is stirred up.

Swooning over vistas like a contemporary Gershwin who’s been listening to Beck, Trip-Hop, Afro-Futurist jazz, country and Malian blues, this, as it turns out, most congruous partnership successfully conjures up a wondrous hybrid drama that pushes each of the respective ensembles to the limits.






Perhaps ‘Hexagon’ (Riot Season Records) 12th October 2018

Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O. ‘In C’ & ‘La Novia’ (Kamikaze Tapes) Out Now

 

In what is a crossover of mutual appreciation and ‘head music’ hedonism, Jim Haney of the Kamikaze Tapes felicitator and astral-navigator of the Boston, Massachusetts cosmic-jazz-psych-Krautrock band Perhaps has been sucked-in to the acid-cosmology of the legendary Japanese ‘freak-out’, the Acid Mothers Temple & The Melting Paraiso U.F.O.. The Acid Mothers’ only real constant presence, and its founder, Kawabata Makoto, alongside just one of the group’s many band members over the decades, Mitsuru Tabata, both feature on Perhaps’ latest traverse, Hexagon. Meanwhile the Acid Mothers have re-released two of their most fabled albums, In C and La Novia, through Haney’s ‘boutique’ tape platform: I believe for the first time on cassette.

Both sharing similar musical tastes and penchant for experimental improvisation, it seems an obvious choice for Haney to absorb their experience and free-form escapism on Perhaps’ sixth long player; an album that features one long extended flight of woozy fantastical psychedelic-Afrobeat-jazz-Kosmische jamming, cut into a moiety over two sides of vinyl. ‘The Number Of The Priest’, parts one and two, pit Tony Allen’s repetitive Afrobeat drum beat an Idris Ackamoor breaks bread with Xhol Caravan style peregrination against a constant tide and enveloping of zapping, rippling, squelched, high velocity takeoffs and oscillations. All of which threaten to fold or tear the melodic celestial fabric.

On the shore of an Afro-Futurist style Topographic Ocean, journeying across alpha waves and signing squiggles across the Milky Way, part one of this cosmic soundtrack opens with a more earthy rustic country blues harmonization. Members of the extensive guest list ape a despondent Crosby, Stills & Nash or Mike Nesmith style chorus: “Oh the water runs high on the river at midnight/I sit on the shore to grieve and to cry/The woman I love she left me this morning, with no one to kiss me goodnight.” They soon leave these weeping shores, beckoning in the acid Afrobeat and deconstructive forces that try to dismantle it.

The second part continues the same vibe but with more strangled, scratchy and tangled guitar, synth polygons and six-sided mayhem! Despite the stellar meteorite shower of debris and harsher effects that threaten to destroy it, there’s a great Afro-jazz melody and beat at the heart of this trip. A trip that at its most hallucinatory-chaotic and noisiest bears all the hallmarks of the Acid Mothers.







Speaking of which. Two of the loose freak-out ensemble’s prolific back catalogue titles are gathered together on tape, re-released or re-introduced to the universe twenty years on from their original release dates. For those unaware of this Japanese institution that sprouted out of the kool-aid soup in the early 1990s, the Acid Mothers haven’t just taken a liberal sip from the Krautrock chalice but bathed in it as the natural disciples to that epochs cosmic explorers and innovators. They do such a good job of it that you could easily mistake them for golden era Amon Düül I and II, Ash Ra Tempel, Can, Popol Vuh or Birth Control. In the mode of a transient, transcendental Les Rallizes Dénudes they absorb and produce a psychedelic phantasm of both meditative mysticism and freeform thrashing acid rock. Constantly evaluating and evolving, even forming alliances with their influences, just one example being Acid Gurus Temple (later changed to Acid Mothers Guru Guru) with madcap drumming progenitor and bandleader of Guru Guru Mani Neumeier, only the founding arch druid of this enterprise, Kawabata Makoto remains at the helm after twenty-five years of spewing out proto-Krautrock explorations.

Originally released in 1998 as a transmogrification riff on Terry Riley’s masterpiece of minimalism, ‘In C’, the Acid Mothers push the perimeters of that exalted composer’s loose concept towards the dreamy and haunted. Consisting of fragments and modules in C (though even this basic premise isn’t written in stone, with other notes and scales allowed if the situation and environment call for it), the actual rudimental arrangement can be shortened, extended, played within various structures and at a variety of tempos. An open-ended performance the Acid Mothers use a similar chiming, ringing vibraphonic introduction but transformed so it takes on the ascendant visage of an astral spiritual pilgrimage. That is until they throw in the overlapping rotating drum barrage. Sort of split, though thin quieter dissipation passages link each section together, into three parts (the third I think is a separate track entirely), the dizzy Wurlitzer motion calms into a mystical Tibetan meets Afghan occult of ghostly visitations (the ghost train to Lhasa!) section before communing with the reverberating spirits of early Can and Yeti and Wolf City period Amon Düül II.

From the dawn of the new millennium La Novia builds another one of those haunted mystical freak-outs, on this occasion channeling the atavistic folk music of the southern European Occitanian tradition. Historically spanning a third of southern France, parts of Catalonia, Monaco and Italy, this region, once know under the Roman Empire’s yolk as Aquitania, is still imbued with its legacy and cultural connections. Here, the Acid Mothers troupe take one of the Occitanian’s lamentable folk ditties and transform it into mantra like liturgy, half Axlerod, half Tibetan. Monk like hums and strange annunciations overlap with female apparitions to set up a spooky atmosphere. Guitars and drums eventually seep into the tapestry of amplified Popol Vuh, Phallus Dei Amon Düül II and the Ash Ra Tempel, but then fade into a medieval spell. A second track strikes up when the first melts away; this last peregrination drifting in a dreamy state on an Eastern pillow before fleshing out another fuzzy psychedelic, otherworldly jam.

Both albums prove invaluable to the evolution of psych and Krautrock, the Acid Mothers possibly one of the most experimental and best groups to emerge in the aftermath of the original scene. They’ve arguably become one of the most highly influential groups of their own era. Many, if not all, inroads into this freakzone over the last three or more decades lead back to those crazy Japanese. Long may they continue to oscillate towards the stars in their Technicolor U.F.O. If you want to own any of their extensive, haphazard and often impossibly hard to track back catalogue, this double-bill cassette would be a great start.






Kammerflimmer Kollektief  ‘There Are Actions Which We Have Neglected And Which Never Cease To Call Us’ (Bureau B) 23rd September 2018

Fathoming serialism soundtracks from, as the group put it, ‘who the fuck knows’ for over twenty years, across ten albums, the Kammerflimmer Kollektief once more peer into the ether to extract another avant-garde-ambient-industrial-kosmische-jazz vision on what could be the year’s longest entitled album.

Going through a manner of changes during that time, the Kollektief’s constant presence and founder Thomas Webber is bookended on the new album by the deft, probing, double-bass player Johannes Frisch and atmospherically eerie harmonium vessel Heike Aumüller – though Webber, on whining and waning guitar sculpting duties, and his companions use a host of instruments throughout their conceptual-minded performances.

Countering various moods with a number of real locations, each extemporized track is framed as a ‘Action’; each example of which counterbalances the ‘immersive’ with the ‘haunted’, the ‘lucid’ with the ‘impassioned’ and the recondite with the concrete. A reification of ideas and psycho-geography that informs each destination, all seven action titles offer vague clues and prompts to the group’s inspirations; many of which hold a literary reference – the radio signal melee, ‘Action 2: Discharged, Quauhnáhuac’ referencing the double volcanic snuggled small Mexican town made famous by the acclaimed writer Malcolm Lowry in his critically venerated Under The Volcano novel as the diorama for a day (of the dead) in the life of its fateful alcoholic British consul protagonist, Geoffrey Firmin.

Elsewhere in the purview of feelings and environments, the trio articulate a lucid state in the San Diego coastal Imperial Beach; a location of Surf lore that has appeared in a myriad of fictional titles, but equally notable for its strong US Navy presence. Though eventually clicking into a twisted esoteric Western ritual, this opening action is anything but a moody soundtrack to this surfing paradise, travelling as it does through an inverted test tube into a menacing landscape of controlled wailed guitar, harmonium drones and sawing, scraping strings; breaking out into a final jazzy, skipping outro. Keeping Stateside and in the Californian outlier, ‘Action 5’ features the small Marin County town of Bolinas: the mood ‘resplendent’. Though the improvised soundscape drifts between the ominous and weird, the harmonium is the only instrument that is easy to identify amongst the wooden creaks and stretches (a set of oars perhaps?), rotors and hums.

Back on European shores we have invocations of the Jean-Jacques Rousseau inspired French park and commune, Ermenonville (planned in 1752 by Rousseau patron and friend, René Louis de Girardin; the philosopher’s tomb famously sits on an artificial island in the middle of a lake in the gardens); the foot-of-the-Carpathian town of Ivano-Frankivsk, part of Western Ukraine (changing hands between various empires, including the Holy Roman and Soviet, over the ages); and the Saxony-Anhalt town, resting on the east side of the Elbe River, of Jerichow (not incidentally translated etymology style from the Biblical Jericho). Closer still to home, the album’s most serene moment is a Roedelius/Möbius/Eno/Rother Harmonia style drift into the port of Hamburg. ‘Action 3’ is anything but as ‘thoughtless’ as the mood prefix suggests; instead it sounds like a gentle but deep sailing meditation into the veils of some mysterious salvation.

Impossible to escape the German lineage of Krautrock, post-industrial and Kosmische, the Kollektief often evoke the folkloric mysticism atmospheres of Dance Of The Lemmings and older Amon Düül II albums, Faust, Einstürzende Neubauten. But they also stir up the most experimental of European jazz, esoteric Americanna, avant-garde and Godspeed You! Black Emperor influences too. Yet they conjure ghostly apparitional manifestations both imaginatively disturbing and dreamy, and entirely their own. TAAWWHNAWNCTCU is a topography of not only real historical, literary places but also feelings, emotions; a deep suffusion of enigmatic intelligence.


https://soundcloud.com/bureau-1/kammerflimmer-kollektief?in=bureau-1/sets/kammerflimmer-kollektief-there-are-actions-which-we-have-neglected-snippets



Andrew Heath ‘Evenfall’ (Disco Gecko) 21st September 2018

 

Once more resonating with the piano explorations of open-ended collaborative partner on a series of projects over the years, Hans-Joachim Roedelius – most famously on the Meeting The Magus album, and more recently with the live improvised recording Triptych In Blue, which also features fellow avant-garde composer/artist Christopher Chaplin – Andrew Heath’s latest album for Disco Gecko (his fifth) continues to emanate the most deft and ambient of musical articulations from a chosen environment. As with his last album Soundings, the self-styled composer of ‘lower-case’ minimalism evokes enigmatic, mysterious and occasionally mournful passages of evolving, passing time through the use of found and created sound manipulation and in-situ (a concatenate theme that connects to Heath’s site specific video art) field recordings.

The ‘in-situ’ of this soft imbued tribute to the Evenfall hour of light that beckons the start of the evening is a remote woodland glade in the English Cotswolds. It’s a place where nocturnal nature meets the machinations of human activity, the friction buzz and fizzled zap of a manmade electric fence and distant humming drones of an unidentified engine offer a constant synthesized undulation for light rain and stirrings in the undergrowth.

Articulating the seclusion, though never far away from the presence of the outside world, and passing of time in his chosen Avalon, Heath’s signature phrased piano note caresses, couplets and subtly-placed chords are this time accompanied and expanded upon to not only feature his own underwater bendy guitar and Morse-code tapping tape manipulations but also the searing soprano saxophone of the award-winning (Young Musician Of The Year 2018) Lydia Kenny and poignantly stark narrated poetry of the prize-winning Romanian poet, writer and journalist Maria Stadnicka. You could say it was a Gloucestershire effort, if not certainly informed by the county, as all the cast on this recording are based there or have an affinity with it, and of course it is home to the location from which the field recordings are taken from.

Kenny for her part, offers a suffused longing with occasionally piercing notes traverse to Heath’s piano and burnished, rubbing metallic drones on ‘The Still Of Evenfall’, and Stadnicka reads, in an almost automated, somehow not quite human mimicry of A.I. fashion, her intimate elegiac and startling erudite poem Breathing on the floating, misty ambient ‘The Garden Reveals Itself’: A poetic revelation metaphor that chimes with Heath’s unhurried compositions, the final line of Stadnicka’s poem lending itself to the title, describing artfully through the action of ‘breathing’ the memories, sense and sensations that come to those awaiting the inevitable; ruminating on the hours left:

‘He believes in time,

and in mistakes –

the heroic stare of heavy hours,

equally empty for all.’

With what sounds like all the time in the world, unpressured and untethered Heath creates the minimalist musical equivalent of slow food – though every effort is made at a serialism non-musical exploration, rhythms and patterns emerge to put this album in the neo-classical and melodious ambient camps. Adding at a slow pace a number of instruments and techniques Heath expands his nuanced experiments on Evenfall to shift, however minor, the focus and atmosphere on each new album. Heath stakes his claim as a natural scion of the ambient progenitors, especially his sometime foil, Roedelius: A compliment that don’t come any better.






Picturebox ‘Escapes’ (Gare du Nord) 21st September 2018

 

As if the cottage-industry polyglot Ian Button hadn’t led or collaborated enough already, more or less appearing as he does as the omnipresent instigator of the lion’s share of releases on his own diy-fashioned Kent-Paris international connected label Gare du Nord, he’s back once more stoking the fires of another unassuming supergroup: Picturebox. Two years on from the Canterbury soft bulletin psych and curious pop-imbued band’s last album, Button has somehow not only found the time and the patience to recall songwriter Robert Halcrow, Ben Lockwood and Alex Williams but also corralled fellow label stalwart Jack Hayter (a multi-tasker in his own right, he’s let loose on the violin on the Slim Chance-esque rustic canal path ‘The Vicar’s Dog’) and one-man band Matthew Dutra (not letting anyone else get a look in, Dutra not only co-wrote the concertinaed train journey inspired ‘GNER’ but also plays the guitar, piano and harmonica on it). In many ways a crossover project, Picturebox shares members with Buton’s other label love-in, and growing super-supergroup, Papernut Cambridge.

Quintessentially English, channeling many of the Kentish and bordering counties cannon of lo-fi mavericks and psychedelic eccentrics, from Kevin Ayers to Syd Barrett, though equally comfortable evoking new wave, Britpop and indie, the Picturebox set out to produce ‘pop music with an edge.’ And so just when you think the grinding fuzz and warping that introduces the album’s opening track, ‘Stumble’, indicates we might be in for an abrasive psych trudge they break out into a jangly pop mash-up of The Lemonheads, Stiff Fingers and Robyn Hitchcock. Elsewhere they evoke a melancholic Boo Radleys on the wistful daydream ‘Secret Escapes’, Denim on the Casio bossa-shimmer pre-set kooky ‘Nice Boys’ Mobile Disco’ and The Kinks on the downer minor bass chord pinged and submerged ‘Sirens’.

Those familiar to the label and its signature themes will recognize the idiosyncratic whimsy, sometimes surreal resignation, that often disarms or brings a comical veil to the sadder tropes of loneliness, unrequited love, and political climate, or as this album’s title makes apparent, the idea of and need to escape. Frustrations and the feelings of powerlessness, whether it’s in a job or relationship transcribe into quirks and metaphors: For example, the trapped in uninspiring low paid work after leaving school, encapsulated in the conformity of a ‘Uniform’.

Escaping by train, cab and airplane, Picturebox seem to have failed in getting away if the album’s final vignette swansong is anything to go by. That finale, ‘Troyte’, is a fleeting elegiac woozy Church organ service; a pastoral English past encapsulated and recalled in a short venerable passage; a reminder of the past, nostalgia and parochialism, which might be a comment on Brexit. The mood and outcome of which the group really hopes to break free and escape from. Pop music with an edge indeed, Escapes is another brilliant curious songbook of melodic eccentricity from the Gare du Nord stable.






Stringmodulator ‘Manifesto – Noises Made By Guitar And Bass’ (Submarine Broadcasting Company) 10th September 2018

 

Pretty much summing up the methodology of the German duo, the Stringmodulator moniker and title of their latest album is self-explanatory: Basically take your guitar and bass strings and…well, modulate them. Modulate them that is, through an effects-pedal switchboard of phaser, fuzz, reverb, cosmic flange and delay; ten strings looping, overlapping and pulsing to create a sound greater than the sum parts of Jan Quednau’s bass and Fabian Chmielewski’s electric guitar.

Entirely channeling through these two instruments, composed spontaneously and recorded on a two-track device without overdubs, the duo’s manifesto-driven debut for the Submarine Broadcasting Company platform transduces elements of Krautrock, post-rock, electronica and jazz fusion into a warped soundtrack of curious, wild and motoring instrumentals.

After the swirling ambient mists and distant low airplane engine like hums have dissipated on the ‘Prologue’, repetitive notation nodes, loops, patterns and resonance form to produce a Techno rhythm and bounce on the rock music version of ‘Pocket Calculator’ meets Yellow Magic Orchestra ‘Thump & Shriek’. Ruminating over pining, often meditative, landscape, Chmielewski’s guitar phrases arch and arc like the communing astral postures of Manuel Göttsching; especially on the ballad-esque scenic cave with water pool feature curtain call ‘A Quiet Place’.

Providing a varied and echo-y bed for his musical partner, Quednau offers a driving, prowling rhythm with his bass, but can also create a vaporous presence. On the Mike Oldfield lurking in the crypt with John Carpenter spooky suspense ‘Horror Vacui’, that bass guitar lays down an ominous and looming Goblin-esque atmosphere, and manages to turn the Kosmische chugger ‘Growl’ into a twisted Native Indian tribal beat.

Careering between a possessed, strangulated Land Observations on the ghost-in-the-machine ‘Guitar Sabotage’ and a caustic reverberating The Normal on the sharp squiggly sculpted ‘White Noise’ the duo sure know how to fill enough space and make enough noise for just two instruments. Yet they can articulate and describe subtly and skillfully the emotions and themes of their attuned performances, especially on the aching distressed rebounded ‘Echo Chamber’.

Not unique by any stretch Stringmodulator are however quite different in their approach; many of their contemporaries choosing similar two-instrument collaborations, though it’s usually twinned with a drum kit, work in the rock and indie genres. More like an amped-up Eno & Fripp or loopcentric lapping Math Rock version of Ash Ra Temple colliding with Einstürzende Neubauten this ten-string project is influenced by a wide range of conceptual and experimental artists: even soundtrack composers. Arty, technical yet ballsy, they span many moods; energetic being one of their strongest. I’m recommending it though because it is so different and difficult to define. It confounds me to be honest. And I find that interesting.





Words: Dominic Valvona

NEW MUSIC REVIEWS ROUNDUP: WORDS: DOMINIC VALVONA


Photo Credit: Sia Rosenberg

This edition of Tickling Our Fancy includes records by Ammar 808, Alex Stolze, Elefant, Matt Finucane, Pyramid, Lucy Leave, London Plane, Disco Gecko and Waldo Belloso.

Interesting releases from across the world and music spectrums; Tickling Our Fancy is the, Monolith Cocktails founder, Dominic Valvona’s most eclectic of reviews roundups. With no themes, demarcations of any kind, or reasoning other than providing a balanced platform for the intriguing, the great and at times, most odd releases, I bring you this month’s latest selection.

My latest bumper edition of releases from the last couple of months includes the recent fully realized romantically shadowy chamber pop electronic suite, Outermost Edge, from the Berlin composer, violinist and label boss Alex Stolze; the debut album proper from Belgium’s prowling post-punk, sludge metal experimentalists Elefant, Konark Und Bonark; Sofyann Ben Youssef of the Bargou 08 collaboration, under his Ammar 808 moniker, fuses the atavistic sounds and culture of North Africa with futuristic drum machine effects on his new album for Glitterbeat Records, Maghreb United; Toby Marks aka 90s techno trance star Banco de Gaia, celebrates the 20th anniversary of his label Disco Gecko with a collection of reworked tracks from the catalogue; and the maverick Brighton-based artist Matt Finucane returns with one of his best EPs yet of grueling, grinding Bowie and post-punk influences, Ugly Scene.

But that’s not all, I also take a look at new re-releases of both obscure Argentine exotica and Cologne tripping Kosmische from the Spanish Guerssen hub; the first a reissue (for the first time ever) of Waldo Belloso’s visionary and library music kitsch ‘Afro-Progresivo’, the second, another rare album, the titular album in fact, from the infamous and debatable Krautrock era Pyramid label. Oxford trio Lucy Leave limber, thrash and jerk through their debut album of no wave jazz, math rock, punk and jilting alternative rock, Look/Listen. And finally, the debut album from the New York brooding strobe-lit pop and punchy rock partnership, London Plane.


Ammar 808  ‘Maghreb United’   Glitterbeat Records,   15th June 2018

 

Throwing the traditional unwieldy Maghreb, before it was demarcated and split into colonial spheres of influence, back together again in the name of progress and unity, Sofyann Ben Youssef fuses the atavistic and contemporary. With past form as one half of the Bargou 08 partnership that gave a modern electric jolt to the isolated, capitulating Targ dialect ritual of the Bargou Valley on the northwestern Tunisia and Algeria border, Youssef under the moniker of Ammar 808 once again propels the region’s diverse etymology of languages, rhythms and ceremony into the present, or even future: hopefully a more optimistic one.

An area once connected despite ethnical differences, the Maghreb heritage is reinvented as a metaphor for not only setting course for a brighter, possible future, but in taking control of the past: As Youssef says, “The past is a collective heritage.”

Envisaged as a visual as well as a sonic experience live when the Maghreb United goes out on the road, he has brought together a team of “visual researchers, designers and actors” to create a fully immersive, hypnotic concept. An ambitious odyssey, the music, as Youssef’s alter ego time-traveller nomadic moniker suggests, is a hybrid of past and (retro) futurism; the 808 of that name standing in for the iconic 1980s Roland TR-808 drum machine, a device he uses to transform those traditions into something more cosmic and mysterious.

Jon Hassell’s ‘possible musics’ meets Major Lazer, the traversing adaptations from the Gnawa, Targ and Rai traditions and ritual are amorphously swirled or bounced around in a gauze of both identifiable and mystically unidentifiable landscapes. Mixing modern R&B, dub, electro effects with the dusky reedy sound of the evocative gasba and bagpipe like zorka, and a range of earthy venerable and yearning vocals from Morocco, Tunisia and Algeria artists, Youssef distorts, amps up or intensifies a resonating aura of transformative geography and time.

Throbbing, pulsing, entrancing and vaporous, the Ammar 808 effects transport its source material and desert songs towards a new uncertainty.

In a land still rocked and reeling from the impacts of the Arab Spring, with a power vacuum in many cases replacing rotten governments with even less savory administrations at worse, and at best, struggling to cope political parties, the Maghreb has had its fair share of violence and tribulation. Rather than dwell on the negatives, Youssef projects a better future through his science fiction inspired visions of collective ownership.

Not so out there as to be detached from those sources that inform it, the Maghreb United is an interesting sonic experiment which will be enhanced further when experienced live. I don’t know about predicting what will make sense in ten, fifty or a hundred years time, but this fusion makes a lot of sense in the here and now.






Alex Stolze   ‘Outermost Edge’   Nonostar,  23rd March 2018

 

Following up on his previous electronic chamber pop EP, Mankind Animal, the Berlin virtuoso violinist, composer and (in the last year or two) label owner Alex Stolze expands on his signature transformation of the classical and contemporary electronica genres with a fully realized new album suite.

Moving a while back to the pastoral German/Polish borders, renovating a previously ruinous pile into not only a new home for his family but also the inspirational HQ of Alex and his artist wife Andrea Huyoff’s creative cottage industry –Andrea’s art can be seen adorning Alex’s new album -, this accomplished soloist has found a solace away from hustle and bustle of the city. Far from inspiring gentle, peaceable visions of optimism and rejoice from his retreat, Alex creates yearning and haunted shadowy waltzes.

Highly political, yet preferring to romantically allude to the instability and rise of authoritarianism with poetic sonnets and metaphors to mysterious out-of-reach chanteuses and objects of affection (illusions to the enigmatic woman, or women, in Alex’s life that aren’t just seen as equals but much more), Outermost Edge provides neo-classical pop maladies and aching heart love suites that comment without division and rage.

Weaving his European Jewish heritage musically and etymologically with sophisticated undulations of effects and synthesized waves and amped-up trip hop like live drums, Alex mingles scenes and dioramas with guest vocal songs. Usually appearing together, one harmonically echoing the other, Yehuda Amichai and Ofrin exude an often lulled and ghostly presence on the clandestine meeting in cold war Vienna, traffic light analogy lament Serve All Loss, and He Poos Clouds pinned tango New.

Of course at the centre of all this is Alex’s adroit pricked and accentuated weeping bowed violin performances. Never indulgent, if anything still, withheld with a minimalist sensibility, they are beautifully and stirringly administered; channeling both the avant-garde and classical; running through a full gamut of subtle layered emotions.

Released via Alex’s burgeoning label Nonostar – home to the triumvirate Solo Collective of Alex, Anne Müller and Sebastian Reynold’s astonishing Part One album, which made our choice albums of 2017 features – Outermost Edge is yet another plaintively aching and most beautiful shadowy album of neo-classical electronic pop.






Elefant  ‘Konark Und Bonark’   9000 Records,  11th May 2018

 

Emerging from the Belgium underground scene, with members from a myriad of bands, each one more obscure than the next, the Elefant in this room is a twisted agit-post-punk, boiler come forensic team suited troop of noise peddlers.

Lurking around basement venues for a while now, the sludge metal and gallows Krautrock merchants have released a slurry of EPs but never a fully realized album until now.

For an album that grapples with Marilyn Manson, Swans, Killing Joke, Muse, industrial contortions and Germanic experimentation, Konark Und Bonark is a very considered, purposeful statement. Though things get very heavy, implosive and gloomy and the auger like ghosts in the vocals can sound deranged, there is a semblance of melody, a tune and hint of breaking through the confusing, often pummeling, miasma.

Following a concept of narratives (of a sort), the album opens with a plaintive hybrid of machine and human vocals reading out an almost resigned poetic eulogy – part Bowie Diamond Dogs, part Outside. From then on in, as the eerie machinations of an apocalyptic aftermath dissipate, we are thrown into a controlled chaos of supernatural Kosmische and hypnotic industrial ritual: The group’s defector leader vocalist Wolf Vanwymeersch opting for a becalming message of love overcoming the conspired forces of darkness.

In this vacuum of progressive and hardcore influences, Elefant throw up plenty of surprises, pendulously swaying between a tom tom ritual dreamscape on Schräg, but transmogrifying glam rock and Dinosaur Jnr on the tech meltdown finale ‘Norsun Muisti’, or as on the twisting “with our love we will change the world” sentiment of ‘Credulity’, melding Gary Numan and Gothic New Romanticism.

A seething rage is tightly controlled throughout, the sporadic flits and Math Rock entangled rhythms threatening to engulf but never quite reaching an overload, or for that matter, becoming a mess. Elefant’s prowling and throbbing sound of creeping menace and visions of an artificial intelligent domineering dystopia is an epic one. Arguably the band have produced their most ambitious slog yet and marked themselves out as one of the country’s most important bands of 2018.






Various Artists  ‘In The Blink Of An Eye’  Disco Gecko,  6th June 2018

 

Starting out as a platform for the global trance and techno peregrinations of Toby Marks’ alter ego Banco de Gaia in the late 90s, the Disco Gecko label has gone on to expand its remit in the last few years by adding a number of congruous artists from the dance and electronica genres.

Famous for setting off on the mystical eastern bound ‘Last Train To Lhasa’ in 1995, Marks’ initial success was often frustrated by the labels he worked with. And for that reason it seemed perfectly logical for him to set up his own imprint, which now celebrates its twentieth anniversary. It would however take until 2014 before anyone other than Marks released anything on the label; this accolade going to Andrew Heath with his Silent Cartographer LP. Heath, the ambient pianist of ‘lower-case’ contemplation, appears alongside the label’s full roster on this special anniversary compilation.

Rather than a straight-up ‘best of’ showcase, Marks has asked each of the label’s artists to remix or collaborate with each other to produce alternative transformed versions of original tracks from the back catalogue. Seeing as we have already mentioned him, and he appears quite a lot as an integral part of the Disco Gecko story (including a role in creating the artwork and layout of this collection), Heath’s ‘A Stillness Of Place’, as sublimely guided to ever more radiant heights by the Nottingham duo Radium 88, opens this compilation with a serene ambient diaphanous. Later on, with Heath in the role of remixer himself, he subtly accents and stirs the 100th Monkey’s dreamy plaintive and haunted choral ‘The Last Inuit Snow Song’: literally melting before our ears, the serialism piano composer, imbued by one of his most iconic past collaborators Hans-Joachim Roedelius, adds short trails of sonorous piano and amps up the Eno-esque mood.

Probably one of the label’s most commercial coups, the air-y sophisticated soulful singer/songwriter Sophie Barker, who’s tones have appeared on a catalogue of electronica and dance hits by David Guetta, Groove Armada and Robin Guthrie (of Cocteau Twins fame), is represented with her longing ‘Road 66’ song. From Tampere in Finland, Karl Lounela, aka LO18, transforms the original down tempo trepidation and dub like vapours of the original. Alongside Fastlap, Barker in more a collaborated than remix role, gets to passionately ache and yearn on Marks own traverse ‘Glove Puppet’, whilst LO18’s original vision ‘Huima’ is taken in a Sylvain oriental visage direction by 100th Monkey.

Elsewhere on this compilation, the Indian sub-continent enthused ‘Darjeeling Daydream’ submersion by Dr. Trippy is consumed with even more swampy and lunar effects than before by the intercontinental collective The Dragonfly Trio, and Radium 88’s misty mountain ambient journey ‘Bury Each And Every Prayer’ is becalmed even further with sacred panoramic views and Popol Vuh dissipations by polymath composer Simon Power.

Refreshing a relatively short and recent back catalogue with the aim being to move ever forward, In The Blink Of An Eye is a novel conception in both celebrating the Disco Gecko legacy and in looking ahead to the future of ambient and electronic music.






Matt Finucane   ‘Ugly Scene’   Crude Light,  11th May 2018

 

Sporadic yet prolific, the idiosyncratic Matt Finucane has probably appeared on this blog more times than anyone else over the years. Constantly cathartic, pouring out his surly heart on every record, the Brighton-based maverick channels the anxieties of our times with a certain resigned lament over an ever-changing backing of indie, Krautrock, punk and post-punk influences.

His latest exercise in primal scream therapy (though crooning would be a more apt description) is the quasi-Neu!-meets-Faust-meets-Pixies grinding turmoil Ugly Scene EP. Perhaps among his best releases yet, the epic sinewy grueling opener ‘Not Too Far’ could be Bowie fronting The Buzzcocks Spiral Scratch. A listless Finucane languidly swoons for much of the duration of this monotonous track before eventually mooning and howling the “I’m so sick of it all” refrain in various strung-out and deranged ways.

Changing tact slightly, ‘The Wrong Side’ transmogrifies Johnny Thunders, Bowie (again! But why not?!) and shades of Britpop, whilst the EP’s title track throws The Sonics, Damned, Monks and Beefheart into a spinning chaos as an increasingly sneer-y and disillusioned Finucane unburdens himself. Expanding his tastes still further, the steely acoustic guitars and slight English psychedelic hints of ‘Damn Storyteller’ evoke not only Lou Reed but also Kevin Ayers, and the post-punk dub ‘City Consolation’ sounds not too dissimilar (in my warped mind anyway) to an imaginary Black Francis fronted Compass Point Allstars jamming with Jah Wobble.

Hardly the easiest of listening experiences, Finucane letting each track run its natural course, Ugly Scene is nevertheless filled with soul and melody; an experimental EP of resignation and heartache that finds the artist at his most sagacious and venerable but also constructive. Finucane has seldom sounded better and more imaginative.






Lucy Leave   ‘Look/Listen’   27th April 2018

 

Gangly, strung-out, limbering with moments of intensity and entangled noodling the Oxford trio Lucy Leave expand upon their math rock, no wave and grunge amalgamation with the debut album, Look/Listen. Transducing the conceptual Scandi-Socialist tapestries of weaver Hannah Ryggen with the group’s own sense of isolation whilst making this album (still smarting over Brexit; the theme that fired them up on last year’s The Beauty Of The World EP), coupled with a general dissatisfaction at the political landscape, Lucy Leave don’t so much enrage and shout as jerk sporadically through their agit-post-punk and American college radio influences.

The targets and intellectual concerns of their ire are all there to be deciphered in the, mostly, stop/start dynamism. In what seems a generous offering, the eighteen tracks on this album are all laid out in a purposeful manner; a journey, spread out in the fashion of a double album, with shorter vignettes alongside the spikey and more slow building minor epic thrashes.

Flexing their dual vocals, with both taking turns on lead but often shadowing each other, Mike Smith strays between a better mannered PiL era Lydon and milder D. Boon of The Minutemen (incidentally one of the band’s biggest influences), whilst Jenny Oliver fluctuates between Ariel Up and Vivian Goldmine. They begin however with echoes of an a capella Talking Heads on the vocal chorus introduction ‘Barrier Reef’, before the freefall into a spunk rock twist of The Fall, The Damned and (as I’ve already mentioned) The Minutemen on the following pair of congruous songs, ‘Kintsugi’ and ‘Ammoniaman’.

Slowing down occasionally for gentler posturing, meditations, the later third of the album offers some surprising material; the more controlled psychedelic acoustic ‘Hang Out With Now’ bearing hints of Julian Cope and Ultrasound, and the progressive pastoral weepy ‘Long Sequence’ sounding simultaneously like The Moody Blues, 70s Pretty Things and Bowie.

Thrashing elsewhere through Californian Black Hole punk, Sonic Youth, Archers Of Loaf, Deerhoof, The Raincoats and, especially with the drifting contorted saxophone riffs, no wave jazz, Lucy Leave successfully drag together all their influences to convey the present confusion and madness of the times. Entangled, angulated, crashing but never frustrating, Look/Listen is an ambitious debut from a band still finding its groove: and all the better for it.






Pyramid  ‘Pyramid’  Mental Experience,  May 10th 2018

 

Pulled from the archives of an obscure Kosmische label that head music scholars still refute even existed, the title album from the titular amorphous studio set-up behind the legendary Pyramid label appears in the guise of a lost treasure from the 70s Cologne underground. Reissued for the first ever time by the Guerssen hub imprint Mental Experience, this previously lost experiment from the ‘Mad Twiddler’ studio engineer bod Toby Robinson is poured over in the linear notes by The Crack In The Cosmic Egg almanacs’ Alan Freeman: though providence is debatable and the album’s cast difficult to verify.

What we do know (or so the myth goes) is that Robinson, alongside the avant-garde and conceptual antagonistic Fluxus movement’s Robin Page, set the Pyramid label up originally. Though with only a handful; of recordings to emerge from their time together in the mid 70s, it seems that it was never meant to be a commercial enterprise; more a retreat and outlet for unrushed mind expansions and improvisations. Any releases that did escape the studio were confined to ‘micro’ scale pressings (hence their value and status amongst Krautrock connoisseurs). Many still believe these recordings to be the work of nefarious pranksters, recording them decades later, passing them off as finds from the great Krautrock and Kosmische epoch.

Robinson though, as we’re told, was an assistant at a myriad of Cologne studios during that original era; working most famously at Dieter Dierks’ Kosmische incubator, where some of the dream flights and galactic transcendence music of the Ohr and Pilz labels was produced. In the ‘so-called’ dead hours between recording sessions, Robinson and friends, collaborators, would lay down their own ideas.

Split into two, the ‘Dawn Defender’ expansive free-form experiment that straddles the Pyramid LP alludes artistically to Erich von Däniken and Popol Vuh; the Mayan stone tablet (I might be wrong) insignia and mountains at the start of a cosmic highway and massive glitterball (which seems somewhat incongruous and modern for its time and genre), tuning into transcendent and alien dimensions. Musically we have it all (nearly all), the full Kosmische gamut, as the anonymous band traverse different phases yet maintain a repeating vaporous hazy atmosphere. Shifting from faint echoes of UFO era Guru Guru, Tangerine Dream and Ash Ra Tempe in the first ambient air-y and primordial lunar stages to mellotron oscillating Dance Of The Lemmings Amon Düül II, the Far East Family Band and ghostly visitations, the Pyramid collective sound distinctive enough even amongst the quality of their peers.

Trance-y, hypnotic with distant reverberations of the Orient and Tibet, the group does occasionally break out into sporadic displays of acid rock ala Gila and the Acid Mother Temple, but soon simmer down into The Cosmic Jokers style peregrinations. They finish off this uninterrupted flowing half hour opus with some heavenly strings and beautiful flourishes – even though veiled moody distractions and knocks persist; indicating an unearthly presence.

Whoever did produce this work, in whatever circumstances, the Pyramid album is a brilliantly atmospheric and executed Kosmische experience, ticking off all the genres signatures yet still distinctive enough to reveal some interesting passages and ideas.






Cuasares  ‘Afro-Progresivo’   Pharaway Sounds,  10th May 2018

 

From another Guerssen hub offshoot, Pharaway Sounds dig up yet another forgotten ‘nearly ran’ from the peripherals of exotica and cosmic psychedelic. The obscure distant celestial named Cuasares project (which is Spanish for the star like ‘quasars’ that emit large amounts of energy, billions of light years away) is the work of the ‘enigmatic’ Argentine pianist and composer Waldo Belloso, who (unsurprisingly) released it in 1973 to the smallest of fanfares. Afro-Progresivo now resurfaces as a reissue (the first), complete with plenty of scholarly fanboy notes and information.

The title is slightly misleading as this album leans more towards the Latin: merging mambo and samba with both counterculture soundtrack music from the Italian and French b-movie libraries and Les Baxter-esque tropical South Seas Island rituals.

Gazing at celestial bodies and alluding to ‘evanescent’ fleeting romantic phenomena, Waldo funkily trips through Andean kitsch, languid beachcomber Hawaiian wanderings, kooky space fantasy and Southeast Asian exotic psych. His sauntering, jaunty and often musing suites feature increasingly distorted, jarring organ, radiant vibraphone, echo-y drums, fuzzed-up guitar doodles and surreptitiously trickling piano. All of which articulates a sort of acid-Latin Axlerod soundtrack that straddles the South American and Asian continents with cosmic jazz and exotica.

Though this is all fairly well trodden ground, Afro-Progresivo remains a curious example of South American obscure progressive and kitsch-y weird, but remember also funky, experimentation.






London Plane  ‘New York Howl’   18th May 2018

 

A paean to the city that name checks one of New York’s, now defunct, obscure underground groups and, with a poetic license, reimagines the entries of a mysterious stranger’s abandoned diary – lured to the metropolis from Portland in the 1970s – New York Howl is both a romantic yet strobe-lit gothic brooding fantasy. Fronted by enchantress singer Cici James and lead songwriter David Mosey, London Plane (in honor to the American sycamore crossed Oriental plane tree that you see lining the iconic broad walks of New York) reframe the troubled dairy writer protagonist’s sporadic poems, scenes and “half-recounted dreams” in a loose concept album of timeless emotions.

Found by Mosey on the streets of the city, in a suitcase, the London Plane instigator was intrigued enough to take it home with him; leading to an obsession and the spark of inspiration that brought this project together. Written over an eight-year period between 1975-1982, the final abrupt and enigmatic words, ‘I hope he gets it’, proved a fruitful prompt, the results of which suffuse this ten-track songbook of new wave, collage radio rock, synth pop and proto-punk. Letting the mind wonder with entries in the aftermath of such New York tragedies as the murder of John Lennon, the band interrupt the author Francis’ backstory and movements; running through the full gamut of emotions. They allude to a ‘ghost story’; the presence of their protagonist diarist vanishing before they make a connection; haunting the city like a specter and auger, always out of reach.

Musically channeling New York’s obvious musical legacy, but also a far wider spectrum of influences, the bright and brilliant title track hones the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Blondie and Ronnie Spector, with Cici’s vocals evoking a rich myriad of more controlled Karen O, Debbie Harry, Madonna and weirdly, on the Broadway synth plaint ‘Make It Our Own’, ‘Losing My Mind’ 80s era Liza Minnelli!

Good solid pop songs mingle with more romantically vaporous tracks; the dreamy fantasy of ‘The Farther Down We Go’ and Chromatics style whispery neon synth ‘Roxanne’ sitting well with the Echo And The Bunnymen meets Blondie style ‘If It Got Me You’. A New York house band obviously in love with their city, mining the last four decades of its heritage, New York Howl may offer musings on isolation, regret and the fears, trepidations of a big city, yet the lingering traces and mystery of Francis are sound tracked with both a dreamy veneer and punchy pop quality. The London Plane could be just the start of a beautiful musical partnership.







NEW MUSIC REVIEWS
WORDS: DOMINIC VALVONA





Welcome as always to the latest edition of my reviews roundup. Meeting with my approval this month, there’s the (both literally and musically metaphorical) ‘laissez passer’ wandering TootArd from the Golan Heights making an international debut on Glitterbeat Records; the return, in a manner, of the enigmatic Brighton-based artist Matt Finucane; a stunning theatrical avant-garde meets Chanson and morose romantic pop opus from AUDIAC, waltzing onto the stage after years of inactivity; the pique soundclash of Swiss drum and electric bass combo Ester Poly; and the fourth album of ‘lower-case’ minimalism and ambient music from Andrew Heath.

I also take a look at the fanboy style resurrection of the obscure 80s Pennsylvania garage, punk, post-rock and psych outfit In Time, by thrift store digger Steve Krakow, who celebrates the fleeting and undiscovered group’s only album (found unloved by Krakow on cassette tape) and a number of unreleased attic recordings for the Guerssen label. Last but in no means the least of today’s selections, I take a look at the debut album from the Berlin duo of kooky and fun electronica and techno, Psycho & Plastic, Kosmopop. Championed from the very start on this very blog, it seems to have taken the duo – who to be fair are busy with a multitude of projects including the running of their label GiveUsYourGOLD – an age to finally release it.

Read on…

TootArd  ‘Laissez Passer’
Glitterbeat Records,  10th November 2017

 

Photo credit: Mercedes Ortego González.

Caught in, what might seem to them, a perpetual limbo, devoid of a recognized identity, the collective band members of the omnivorous Levant group TootArd are officially stateless: citizens in effect of nowhere. Growing up in the contested, bloodily fought over, Golan Heights the group’s mouthpiece, guitarist Hasan Nakhleh, articulates the predicament of a population stuck between two, once, warring factions – feeling detached with no legal representation; no sense of belonging – throughout the press notes that accompanied this, their latest album, Laissez Passer.

Carved up in two by the former warring states of Syria and Israel after the divisive Yom Kippur War of 1973 and the eventual ceasefire that followed – with the greater share by some distance given to the latter -, the Golan Heights has been uneasily observed by both parties for decades. Under an accord the following year, an international buffer zone – known as the UNDOF ‘purple line’ – was put in place to help keep a fragile peace. Before the apocalyptic civil – and proxy – war in Syria begun, both nations seemed to be approaching some agreement over the region. Israel however, following a policy of non-intervention, is in no hurry to secede ground to Syria.

Under the authority of Israel but without official citizenship, the native inhabitants of the western Golan Heights region are forced to carry the special situation, ‘laissez passer,’ papers of TootArd’s album title to cross borders and travel. Despite this the group have found a certain musical freedom; amorphously drifting across those imposed demarcation lines to adopt styles from across the entire Levant; from Africa and even Jamaica. Originally covering the Caribbean island’s most famous musical export, the group started out playing reggae covers before relishing a change in direction.

However, before settling on their recent traverse fusion of desert blues – finding a commonality and affinity with the Beaudion and, equally stateless, Tuareg -, Arabic modalities, rock and funk influences, the founding members of the group all left for Europe; all going their separate ways: Hasen Nakhleh moving to Berlin and then Bern, recalls that this sojourn period would split the collective up internationally, yet when visiting home they would all regroup for impromptu performances in their native villages, as if they’d never been apart. After a two-year hiatus Hasen and his brother, multi-instrumentalist Rami Nakhleh – missing their fellow compatriots – organized a reunion of a sort, preparing the way forward for a reincarnation of their band.

 

With a new enthusiasm, new material and new sound, TootArd’s second album – though billed as their ‘international’ debut showcase – Laissez Passer has much to contemplate and pine over; framed as it is in the ‘blues’ tradition. Themes of identity and the chaos that continues to engulf their homeland dominate the album. Yet far from lamentable and sad this latest effort is surprisingly relaxed, with controlled swells of more funky and soulful driven upbeat rhythms throughout, and even the odd saunter of swaying joy. The languid reggae candor, transmogrified into a Levant groove, helps to create a sort of Baba Zula souk gait, whilst hints of Tamikrest and Tinariwen’s camel gangly, handclapping, desert blues funk gives the music a drive on both the title-track and, almost galloping and spinning into Dervish territory, Bayati Blues.

But those bluesy ruminating and gazing ponderously inducing themes do often sound haunting; especially with the addition of Ams Mdah’s snake charming and romantically dusky jazz saxophone evocations, and Hasen’s modified oud sounding electric guitar – extra frets added to ape the synonymous dulcet tones of the short-necked lute-like string instrument.

Bringing people together under darkening skies or gazing out across the Golan Heights prism back towards Syria with a Rast scale composed travailing moody accompaniment, TootArd flow and spiral subtly across the region soaking up ancestral musical customs as they go. Though imposed upon them, the Laissez Passer status hasn’t held the group back creatively: forcing them in fact by circumstance to find a new musical freedom. They are, even if it sounds a tad clichéd, only limited by their own restless imaginations, and this album indeed dreams big.




AUDIAC   ‘So Waltz’
Klangbad Records,  20th October 2017


In the age in which the majority of recording artists and bands are struggling to survive on the mediocre, almost vaporous, earnings from their craft and graft, it could be argued that without a monetary reward (no matter how modest) and without security you may as well take risks; push the boundaries; never compromise, and in the case of the Tübingen and Hamburg straddling duo AUDIAC, concentrate your efforts on producing a ‘work of art’. And make no mistake So Waltz is an ambitious album’ bordering at times on the theatrical, but definitely art-y.

Knowing admittedly nothing about this duo, I can only assume they were lucky enough to have at least the time to pursue these artistic ambitions. Though as the press release is not entirely clear, I assume this latest album is the follow up to Alexander Wiemer von Veen and Niklas David’s 2003 debut, Thank You For Not Discussing The Outside World; marking quite an absence between releases, but nevertheless indicating that they certainly had enough time to create an epic suite. They also had one of the (infamous) original co-founders of Germany’s most uncompromising iconic groups, the mighty Faust, Hans Joachim Irmler on board to produce; his impressive skillset, shaped in a baptism of fire during the Krautrock epoch, and explorations pushing his chagrins further into sonic experimentation.

 

Remaining true to that debut album however, AUDIAC still sound inspired by Chanson, trip-hop, chamber pop, psychedelic music and Kurt Weill. Only they drop some of those more psychedelic pretensions this time in favour of melodrama and spectacle; dancing in malcontent and lament to a semi-classical avant-garde soundtrack, both melodically beautiful and elegiacally forlorn.

With all the limitations and pressures lifted, the duo is able to put forward their grandiose schemes undaunted by commercial success: or so they say. And so moving quasi-classical soul merges with Popol Vuh like divine choral atmospheres, and harsher, stark declarations of pained expression. Not quite in the realms of Scott Walker but sailing pretty close, the vocals and backing fluctuate the malady intensity and constantly restless plunging piano playing and voice combo of Diamanda Galas at its most harrowing – especially on the tumultuous, in a state of despair and rage, Doberman -, and the aching blue-eyed soul of George Michael and cerebral crooning accentuation of David Sylvian at its most romantic. Yet this concatenate pan-European songbook, mostly travailing the moody northern realms of Germany, France and the Lowlands, evokes a penchant for the UK too. Hints of Massive Attack, Thom Yorke, an enervated Underworld, early Queen and the Welsh maverick John Cale appear amongst the waltzing, gushing and graceful allusions of a spurned brooding European protagonist – probably sucking on a Gitanes; carrying all the weight of the world’s problems on his shoulders.

Returning with an impressive minor opus, So Waltz sounds like it took a lot of time and effort to create. Highly dramatic, occasionally indulgent, yet always quite moving they make quite the statement with this bleak but diaphanous and expressive tragedy.






Psycho & Plastic  ‘Kosmopop’
GiveUsYourGOLD,  20th October 2017


 

Guiding lights into the expanses of an imaginary galaxy, the Psycho & Plastic duo of Berlin dance music stalwarts, Thomas Tichai and Alexandre Decoupigny, search both inner and outer space with a suave funky and cosmic techno soundtrack on their new album, Kosmopop.

Previously releasing a string of EPs and videos, with the emphasis on fun and quirky electronic dance music experimentation – bordering at times on the goofy and cartoonish -, the duo have finally found time to produce a more complex, daresay conceptual, album; with aloof wondrous inspirations abound. Self-released through their burgeoning label GiveUsYourGOLD (Armour, AXLOTL, Irk Yste), their debut album proper dials down the more loony, bubbly and tropical kooky influences in favour of smoother, groovier rhythms. This isn’t to suggest they’ve suddenly become serious; the larks and optimism remain, with fond homages to the first and second summers of love, and a particular penchant for the unconscious organic flowering of the 90s rave scene.

 

Alluding to certain science-fiction ascetics in the artwork, the music is itself alien and mysterious at times, erring towards Kosmische influences like Tangerine Dream on the more enigmatic searching voyages – check the brocaded synth fanning, solar winds blowing and whistling satellite signally Superflare and Banco de Gaia does Mayan temple dub Entropy.

For the major part however, the music sounds like a Mir Space Station house band of Der Plan, Niles Rodgers, International Pony and Felix da Housecat beaming down a love-in direct to the berlin dancefloors. Expect to hear astral funk lightly entwining with early echoes of the electro hip hop compilations; echoes and specs of an alien presence reverberating and floating over Chicago House; sitar like brass-y meditations chiming along to pocket calculator algorithms; stoic Germanic tuned narration encouraging philosophical self-discoveries across the universe whilst also urging the listener “to get down” to tribal beats and 808 preset percussion – the four-to-the-floor disco punk Divine Loser even reimagines Depeche mode being born in Düsseldorf rather than Basildon.

Psycho & Plastic’s interstellar travels flow in a cyber boogie motion, gazing as they do into the wonders of a funky techno and as pop disco vision of space. Kosmopop is a cracking debut album and marks a small but significant sophisticated change in the duo’s style; more ambitious, smoother and sleeker.






Andrew Heath  ‘Soundings’
Disco Gecko,  3rd November 2017


 

Praised as a sort of progressive sound and ambient music torchbearer of a genre renowned for such luminaries as Brian Eno and Hans-Joachim Roedelius, Andrew Heath’s own experiments in the field lean towards the reification of the fleeting, disturbed and ephemeral quiet traces of ‘people within spaces’. The self-styled composer of ‘lower-case’ minimalism evokes enigmatic, mysterious and occasionally mournful passages of evolving, passing time through the use of found and created sound manipulation and in-situ (a concatenate theme that connects to Heath’s site specific video art) field recordings.

His fourth solo album for Disco Gecko follows on from previous work, building up both synthetic and natural textural layers, drones, obscured broadcast voices and sonorous piano phrases. However, the main difference with Soundings is the atmosphere it creates; the echoing leitmotif of creaking footsteps pacing up and down a room and the almost heavy methodical concentration of memories pouring from the typewriter notation for me conjure up a writer’s garret: the author’s struggle, turmoil and thoughts represented by Heath’s serialism soundtrack.

Used subtly the neo-classical instrumentation that swirls and floats around the concrete sounds is used to bring melody, intrigue and sometimes, sadness. As well as Heath’s lingering, pondering classical piano notes and scales, there’s a touching twinkling and warmer Fender Rhodes offering lighter jazzy tinged, comfort and balance; a counterpoint interaction between the two instruments that began in the 90s when Heath collaborated with Felix Joy under the experimental Aqueous banner. It also resonates with similar piano explorations by Roedelius, who as it happens has worked with both Heath and Joy previously, most famously on the Meeting The Magus album, and more recently with Heath and fellow avant-garde composer/artist Christopher Chaplin on the live improvised recording Triptych In Blue. Roedelius could be said to have an open-ended collaboration with Heath, who it must be said can’t help but be enthused by the Kluster/Cluster/(and in more recent times) Qluster trinity steward of Kosmische and neo-classical exploration.

Another (on-going) collaboration with the Dutch ambient musician Anne Chris Bakkes continues on both the album’s winter moody traipse through the Dutch province of Noorderhaven, and the serene Happenstance articulation. Bakkes on her part performs a masked and fluttering guitar peregrination and plays with more unusual, mostly unidentifiable background sounds on the two tracks: described in the press release as ‘ephemeral’.

Breaking the veiled, swirling clouds hovering atmospherics, Stéphane Marlet and Bill Howgego are on hand to offer both arching serious, lamentable, and swooned jazz inspiration; the former enriches the cyclonic pondering Days In-Between with saddening cello, the latter tenderly sailing above the Tibetan imaginations of A Break In The Clouds with a striking clarinet flourish.

Pivoting between levitating above the heavens and space and counting the days in a haunted soundscape of captured movements and memories on Earth, Soundings hints at scenes and scenery alike; the traces of which make up this gently unfolding series of ambient descriptive passages in time.






Matt Finucane  ‘Threaten Me With Your Love’
Light Crude,  25th October 2017


 

Returning after what seems an age away from crafting some of the most understated moodily resigned and mentally fatigued indie, Brighton-based all-rounder Matt Finucane is back with an instrumentally pared down, but just as sophisticated, duo of EPs this Autumn.

Not that we wish to pry, and only knowing Finucane from a distance, it seems his travails and dysfunctional personal life has got the better of him recently and in the past: hence the absence; part of which was spent in rehab. Threaten Me With Your Love is the idiosyncratic troubadour’s first proper release since then.

Back doing what he does so well, with eight new songs split between two staggered EPs, Finucane has employed the talents of fellow Brighton musician Mik Hanscomb – one half of the city’s (via Southend) pastoral Laurel Canyon imbued folk siblings Junkboy – to accompany him both live and on this recording.

 

Once again channeling vague notions of Lou Reed, David Slyvian, Ian Hunter, Bowie and Bolan, Finucane’s more relaxed, even languid, acoustic heavy material has an unintentional but accepted ‘druggy malaise’ feel to it. Crooning with a certain drowsy but meandrous confidence, our swooning maverick also often channels the quivering moodiness and slick sneer of a 50s rock’n’roll performer – similar in style to Bradford Cox’s very own donning of the vestiges of a crooning 50s rock’n’roll balladeer on the Atlas Sound LP Parallax. Updated of course with slivers of glam rock and post punk, and with the concerns and sentiments closer in principle to the loss of innocence and the emotional wreckage of ‘dead man’s curve’ than the harmless High School melodramas of the genre.

Experimenting with delivery throughout, the vocals often trail off, swooning into the crevices of Finucane’s darkened room, or loosely hovering between both the high and low registers; tripping along in what sounds like an exercise in catharsis; releasing thoughts in a melodically enriching counsel session. The music echoes that mood, both rallying and accentuating the sentiment and evocations on the acoustic rhythm and electric guitar – Moon Madness for some reason reminded me of Mick Harvey. However, the final song of this four track collection, Self Possession Version Two, moves through a number of musical ideas; reverberating brassy guitar strings jangle through Gothic cowboy boot spurs rattling back beat, new romanticism and the Velvet Underground before pushing into a bent-out-of-shape Sonic Youth and ending on a haunting final waning dissipation.

Still finding his range with one of his most stripped-down recordings yet, Finucane thankfully makes a welcome return to the music scene, and once again defies categorization with a unique, if despondent lovelorn, style of delivery.






In Time  ‘Inside Your Mind’
Mental Experience via Guerssen,  13th October 2017


 

The, what seemed almost limitless at the time, pool of lost and obscure garage band treasures was drained a long time ago. Well, at least the halcyon days of the original primal punk, pop-sike, blue-eyed soul and psychedelic R&B back beat era in the 60s; the architects of the Nuggets-Rubbles-Pebbles-Teenage Shutdown compilations feast truly now exhausted. Drying up the reserves of every band and tenuous collection of misfits that ever recorded a single or had a whiff of a named – no matter how minor and obscure – record label or, managed to wow the locals in the provincial state scene for even the most briefest of moments, many crate-diggers and dewy-eyed salivating acid and garage freaks started dredging up the most amateur of home recordings and wannabe demos.

This process has been repeated for most genres, moving on to different more fertile ground in the following decades, and as with this obscurity from Pennsylvania outfit In Time, honing in on the 80s revival; though equally at the apex of both the raw indie and grunge fusions that were to come.

Skeptical about these finds ever since a musician I used to knock about with in the 90s – Spacemen 3 and Sun Ra enthusiast I recall – told me the story of when he and his band mates used to mischievously pass off mock garage band recordings of themselves as authentic lost ‘nuggets’ from the 60s USA hinterland; leaving these constructed recordings on cassette tapes in secondhand stores, or as the American’s would say “thrift stores”. Whether anyone was ever taken in or not, discovering such curiosities has always made me cautious and nervous. In the photocopied ‘ultra rare’ D.I.Y. mode, what might be a cunning ruse or by luck a damn good find, the only ever release by the In Time quartet, Inside Your Mind, was discovered in such circumstances in a Chicago ‘thrift store’. How it got there is anyone’s guess, but this discovery enthused the guy who found it, the Plastic Crimwave’s Steve Krakow, enough to set in motion a fanboy like zeal to track down the culprits responsible; leading to an official reissue style celebratory vinyl release of the boys only proper showcase: boosted by a number of unreleased raw and experimental detritus from the attic.

Krakow pinned down for long enough one of the original members of the shallow angst and knockabout youth punk-garage-psych for a terse interview; chronicling the little information he did obtain in the Ugly Things/Greg Shaw typewritten fanzine style accompanying liner notes. Surprised that anyone gave a shit, two decades on, Stephen Turk, Stephen Daly, Ed Keer and Anthony (AJ) Fischer nonetheless are now immortalized, in a fashion, by their champion Krakow.

 

‘Homespun’ indeed, In Time sound rough and sloppy, powering through a dizzy carnage of the TV Personalities, Subway Sect, 13th Floor Elevators, Swell Maps, The Dils, a thoroughly unclean version of The Clean, and The Gruesomes for starters. Growling and looning throughout, the often hard-to-fathom vocals change from a surly Yank version of John Lydon to a disheveled Dan Treacy; the music from primal rough’n ready Apache beat garage rock to indulgent shimmery meandering. Theme wise the band takes adolescent swipes at the elderly (Old Ladies) and those who meet the ire, or moon about isolation and detachment from the Outside world whilst reserving a special kind of malcontent and rage at a love spurned.

Whether its aping The Residents strangulating Paint It Black on the astonishing and lolloping Antonetta Perplexes Me, or sinking in the hallucinatory toxins of a vat of Kool Aid on the phaser messy experiment Many Are The Tears, the musical reference points are numerous and thickly applied. Despite sounding erratic, on the edge of distortion – the volume and cacophony constantly threatening to overload the sound – and about to fall apart, In Times spirited recordings and unfinished, rehearsal style ideas betray a melodious sophistication and decent performance dynamic. Too late for the original garage band phenomenon and for punk obviously, the band made sure they’d make, no matter how fleeting, some kind of mark on the 80s revival. And yet they are an augur for what was to follow, with hints of post-rock and grunge, and at times sounding like the forefathers of bands such as The Hunches.

 

Well there time has finally come, or at least a fanboy nod of approval in the right direction, a mark of respect. This collection is every bit as much about the obsession of Krakow as much as it is about the injustice that such a group could fail to catch on, disappearing instead into the ether…well, at least Pennsylvania’s attics and Chicago’s thrift stores.






Ester Poly  ‘Pique Dame’
Ikarus Records,  October 6th 2017


 

Experimentally rocking the cantons of their Swiss home for a while in their respective separate outfits, Béatrice Graf and Martina Bérther unite as an unholy drum and electric bass alliance under the Ester Poly (a scramble of ‘polyester’ of course) banner.

Pitching generation X(er) Bérther with Y(er) Graf, this rambunctious vehicle for the duo’s feminist protestations and irony began as a casual improvised meeting of minds a few years back, before blossoming and gaining traction with more structured, paced material. The spirit of volatility and avant-garde probing experimentation is no less diminished now that they’ve channeled that energy and ennui into nine, more controlled, songs: granted many fall outside the perimeters of the formulaic; amorphously clashing and flaying, dissipating and fading out between the loosest of vocal and instrumental performances and narratives.

 

Framed as a clash of styles and inspirations, with even the record label unsure of how exactly to position the duo’s new album, Pique Dame, Ester Poly perform with great dexterity and articulation as they thrash through brash Stilts bravado (Slutwalk); catch themselves in an overlap, churlishly antagonizing the 72 virgins myth to a Giallo paperback thriller soundtrack (72 Vierges); sultrily but with ominous overtones, apply trebly gangly Pylon throbbing basslines and a Raincoats reggae gait to a sinister Chanson cover (La Vie En Rose); and smash along to a bestial doom soundscapes (The Rise Of The Witches).

Not hampered in anyway by the limitations of their chosen drum and bass instrumentation, and hardly comparable to any of the many such similar combinations plying their trade, Ester Poly use a stack of effects and distortion tools to widen the sound spectrum; evoking hints and obvious homages to post-punk, art school, Jazz, doom rock, heavy metal, no wave and Krautrock in the process. The latter influence of which pops up a lot actually. Whether it’s the transmogrified inaction of a limping Mother Sky by Can on Dienstag, or the redolent constant rolling motion syncopation of the same group’s late rhythm provider, Jaki Liebezeit, or the prowling, growling bended bass playing of Faust’s Jean-Hervé Péron, that Teutonic influence be heard loud and clear: they even sound like a riot grrrl Neu! on the track Big Bang.

 

Recorded in more or less one-takes, both combatants facing off against each other in the studio with no headphones or click track, Pique Dame captures not only the lively, hostile and enraged but also the humour (even if it is dark and resigned) of this energetic union. Despite the raging tumults, dynamism and soundclash of ideas, this album is a steady and even showcase of festering ideas and moods. It’s also quite brilliant and encapsulates the ‘pique’ perfectly; arousing, curious and irritated!