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August |
III |
Salamander
- Birds of Appetite (Camera Obscura)
www.cameraobscura.com.au
Minneapolis’ finest psychedelic export have once again delivered the goods on this, their third full-length (all on CamOb.) Guitarists Erik Wivinus (also of local legends Skye Klad and Gentle Tasaday – whose debuts are also available from Cam Ob) and Sean Connaughty (also of The Vortex Navigations – debut on Cam Ob as well) team up with bassist Doug Morman and skinpounder Matt Zaun (another Skye Klad member) for a collection of ethnic wyrdfolk which is lighter than their previous “Red” outings (“Mantra” and “Ampersand”) and heavier on the Floydisms, ca. “Set the Controls....” In fact, leadoff track “Vessel Is Vacant” cops the riff right out from under Water’s nose and eases its way into our cranium like a hot knife through butter. It ends so abruptly, however, I thought they left the coda on the cutting room floor.
“Ithsmus” is easier to absorb than pronounce, circling around the room like a spider ensnaring her prey in a web of guitar duals, Connaughty and Wivinus challenging each other in a series of “can you top this?” guitar runs. “Minutia Divine” has a hint of Spanish air about it, with Connaughty’s flamenco-styled guitar hovering over the proceedings as samples, loops, acoustic guitars and Zaun’s special fx rumble along like tribal warriors readying for the “sweat tent.”
Leonard Nimoy introduces the 11-minute jam, “Sadhu” (in the preamble, “Yeoman, Pt. 1”), which springboards from its early “Set The Controls…” atmospherics into referential nods to Grimble Grumble’s “Future” The Only Point of Entry” and the band’s earlier workouts like “Old Mr. Jones” along the way. It features more spacey “swooshes” over Connaughty’s crystalline electric guitar runs as Wivinus serpentines his way over, under, sideways, down and back again in the finest tradition of twin guitar gods Deebank & Lawrence (Felt) and Lever and Smithies (Chameleons.) Snippets of Disintegration-era Robert (Cure) Smith also sneak in for a few guest riffs. This is a guitar head’s fantasy come true and these two masters have adjourned as the new “heads” of the class of ’01!
Those who remember the 3xLP/2xCD compilation, Harmony of the Spheres from a few years back will appreciate the awe and mystery of the ominous “Trench of Fire” (originally a sidelong, 20-minute extrava-ganja), with its familiar opening strains of Siouxsie’s “Premature Burial” eventually yielding to Connaughty’s echoey dive-bombing kamikaze assaults on the psyche while Wivinus swabs the deck with thundering Sabbath tonnage and the rhythm section announces the arrival of the Walkyrie. The tightly focused piece takes a few minutes to find its footing (common with lengthy, improvised jams of this sort), but soon combines elements of krautrock (Can and Amon Duul II come to mind) with industrial-strength, screeching guitars (perhaps inspired by the gothic influences of Wivinus’ side project, Skye Klad) that will surely have the Cleopatra death metal kids creaming in their jeans. The sensual overload pinned me to my chair, leaving permanent imprints on my cerebellum.
The jam continues on “Mumpsimus’ Lament.” Unfortunately, the slight pause between tracks fails to take advantage of the CD technology, leaving us once again with a break in the vibe, and the appearance that we are joining our heroes mid-jam, similar to the outtakes on Abunai!’s Round Wound. Just as listeners were previously forced to turn the record over, the pause is unsettling and awkward. I would have preferred if the two tracks ran together, creating a seamless continuity so obvious in the music itself. The trade-off with this missed opportunity is a vastly superior sound, particularly over my copy of the original double-vinyl release, which had annoying, bowel-evacuating, scratch-the-stylus-across-the-record scratches at the end of each side.
The clanging bells at the onset of “The Wreck of Old 99” may be some sunken liner at the bottom of one of Minnesota’s 10,000 lakes, but I’m going out on a limb and offering an alternate reading: the (often indistinguishable) TV samples and funereal organ flourishes, to my ear, signal the end of the 20th century.
Ending this album with this particular track, in light of what’s proceeded, indicates not only the end of the century, but the end of Salamander’s “phase 1” and the start of a gentler, kinder direction. Goodbye “Old Mr. Jones.” He’s dead and buried and Salamander have embarked on a new journey to the stars. The “birds of appetite” (a pseudonym for vultures?) are circling overhead observing the carnage of our past, their tears of remorse dousing the fires of the apocalypse below.
Tsurubami
- Gekkyukekkaichi
Rebel Powers - Not
One Star Will Stand The Night
(Strange
Attractors Audio House)
www.strange-attractors.com
The former band's name roughly translates as the vibrating sound of a bowstring, but I'm not gonna begin to tackle the album title (several attempts at translation via the Internet proved fruitless). I raise the point, because this is one of the year's finer releases and it'd be a shame if it squandered in Strange Attractors' warehouse because no one could pronounce it to ask for or order a copy. Of course, the buzz that may have it leaping off the shelves no matter how you pronounce it is that it's another in the seemingly endless stream of side-projects and one-offs that are centered around Kawabata Makoto and his Acid Mothers Temple collective, a very "hip" project these days with a catalogue of related releases that could probably stretch all the way to Japan. And that's just in the past five years or so!
The art of the sidelong album track has been lost over the years as CD technology practically rendered the concept moot. Gone are the heady days when we would sit cross-legged on the floor, staring at the elaborate artwork and immersing ourselves completely inside 15-, 20-, and 25-minute suites without having to raise our sorry asses out of our stoned reveries to skip over some lame track in the middle of side two. Well, this trio of Kawabata, Emi Nobuku (drums) and fellow AMTer Higashi Hiroshi (bass) have rekindled our love affair with the CD equivalent: two tracks adding up to nearly an hour of music and what album sides they would have been back in the day!
The opening, title track (side A if you will) takes a few moments to arrive (as mentioned on the Salamander sidelonger above, this is common with improvised jams and the literature accompanying this release goes to great pains to remind us that this was completely improvised with absolutely no overdubs. Just turn on the tape recording and wail away!), but then it begins to slowly sink into our consciousness, as if we were entering a park and listening to the far-off sound of a band playing several hundred yards away at the concert band shell. This is certainly not "in your face" music, but a wafting breeze through the room, sweetly enveloping the listener like a faintly blowing warm breath trickling down the spine.
At the 7-minute mark, the tide begins to turn, like a giant awakening from its slumber. The swirling effects of Kawabata's barely recognizable guitar (more like a synthesizer than a six string) drift away, leaving Hiroshi and Nobuku to briefly solo off each other as Kawabata slowly returns to an ever-increasing maelstrom of electronic sounds and effects. By the 15-minute mark, we've entered a house of horrors straight out of a Hammer film tribute to Edgar Allen Poe, until at 16 minutes, the bottom drops out and Kawabata is left stranded, gently plucking his guitar while drifting alone on a still-as-glass lake. The mood eventually shifts once again, returning to the earlier "strum und drang" (sic) as the entire piece disappears in an industrial cloud of metallic mayhem. Frankly, I thought the last five minutes or so were a bit anti-climactic and would have preferred to slowly, silently fade into the sunset.
The second track (or side B) is an epic, 37-minute floater, encapsulating all that was great about Robin Guthrie and his Cocteau Twins, ca. Victorialand and their Moon and the Melodies collaboration with Harold Budd. Meandering along like a lonely stroll through a densely populated forest, or floating along the back of a majestic whale as it roams the massive Pacific, "Seiitenrinengi" is as beautiful and contemplative as the entries in Darla's "Bliss Out" series, or the nebulous haze surrounding a Windy & Carl, Landing, Aarktica or Azusa Plane offering.
Throughout the lengthy opening segment, Nobuko's hyperkinetic drum fills turn cartwheels around Kawabata's electronics (again, all guitar-no overdubs) until about 10 minutes in when the trio toss caution and restraint to the wind and proceed to get lost inside the biggest whirlwind this side of Dorothy's Kansas twister.
The sustain from Kawabata's guitar sounds like he was recording in a wind tunnel, but before long (about the 16 minute mark), he treats us to a few exercises in Frippertronics before once again bringing our magic carpet ride to a steady glide through hyperspace. Hiroshi's bass runs threaten to fly right off the disk and Nobuko is beside herself frantically flailing akimbo like a woman possessed.
About 24 minutes in, the peaceful sounds of the Cocteaus are restored and the piece slows down to the silent tinklings that featured in the middle of those old King Crimson and Genesis tracks like "Moonchild" and "Dancing With The Moonlit Knight" respectively. The ensuing ten-minute coda almost sounds like a hidden track, but is the perfect calming agent for the preceding histrionics and guitar scraping carnage. Both an exorcism of monstrous demons and a welcoming of angelic choirs has passed before your very ears in an experience you won't soon forget.
Kawabata's other project dragged AMT cohorts Cotton Casino and Koizumi Hajime over to South London five years ago to meet up with Telstar Ponies guitarist David Keenan for another couple of side long improvisations that fail to stimulate the senses the way Tsurubami does. With two guitarists, the sound is surprisingly sparser than Tsurubami (and the bassless lineup ensures the tracks will be top heavy), but no less haunting and, ultimately, overpowering. Unfortunately, the epic, 25-minute (A side) "We Are For The Dark" never really rises above its humble beginnings: the guitar interplay is reminiscent of the chimes of a city clock in the town square - in fact, I can almost picture Charles Laughton swinging back and forth on the clapper in the Notre Dame bell tower - but the track fails to emerge from this one-note groove.
Keenan's metronomic "bonging" and "Waiting for Godot"-like tension continues unabated throughout the track, with only the occasional anarchic, sinewy guitar runs encircling it. Kawabata's histrionics are lost in the mix and never congeal into a distinct form, melody or direction. Rather, they wander aimlessly in the air. I must confess I failed the endurance test and bailed after about 20 minutes of listening to Keenan replicate the sound of Big Ben's bong. For fans of cacophonous, nebulous noise.
The 24-minute (B side) "Our God Is A Mighty Fortress" continues in the same vein, seemingly looping Keenan's bonging, one-note guitar stroking as a bed for Kawabata's amoebic meanderings. Yet there is a magisterial pomp and circumstance about the underlying atmospherics that somehow draws the listener into its musical web of intrigue. At times, terribly haunting and ominously horrific, but just as often repetitious and dull, even AMT completists (which is probably an oxymoron considering their seemingly hundreds of releases over the past few years) may have a hard time sticking it out to the end. [Also note that Casino's participation is minimal at best - limited to the occasional operatic shriek that sounds like a cross between Diamanda Galas, Nina Hagen and a theremin.]
On the other hand, if you are a fan of freeform, ambient background "white noise" and omni-directional speaker hum (Kawabata's sonic palette actually replicates the sound of my refrigerator motor humming in the kitchen), and find linear, structured pieces tedious and boring, this might be worth investigating. I must admit I was briefly enticed by its hypnotic, "white noise" calming effect, but lost the plot somewhere mid-song. Perhaps best appreciated if you toss it on before tackling some of those housecleaning chores.
Project Grimm - Huge
Beings (Camera Lucida)
www.cameraobscura.com.au
Posthumous, archival releases are a curious lot, seeing as how they document a project that has ceased to exist. Newcomers will be frustrated to fall in love with a band that will not release any more material; yet completists and fans will rejoice at one last grasp for glory from a favorite band. Huge Beings, the second release from Houston's Project Grimm satisfies both sides of this dilemma: fans will enjoy the return of John Cramer and friends, while newbies may be prompted to seek out their Lying Down debut (1996, Worship Guitars). In either case, this release from the Australian label Camera Obscura's side-imprint is a welcome document of the direction the Grimms were headed when they imploded over Cramer's "complete disdain over the idiocy of rock/club culture."
Recorded over an 18-month period between 1997 and 2000, the set (originally intended as their official sophomore release) is surprisingly cohesive and successfully avoids the pitfalls of a hastily assembled collection of outtakes, alternate takes and embryonic rehearsals - the usual culprits of a project recorded over such a lengthy period. Highlights include the melodic, big beat of the catchy "No Touch To Lose," the gritty, hard-driving snarl of "Melville" and the aching yearning of the slow, bluesy dirge, "Seven Long Years." At times there's a hint of Nirvana in the air ("Fish King"), and I was reminded favorably of Crazy Horse on more than one occasion, although Cramer's strained attempts to reach beyond his limited vocal range are a bit unsettling on the angst-riddled "Frankly Dan" (which otherwise compares quite favorably with labelmates The Green Pajamas), "When Systems Break Down," wherein the band takes its name to heart, and the aforementioned "Seven Long Years."
Elsewhere, Cramer's low-key solo and Rick Costello's rolling drumline open the wistful "Don't Really Mind," the track that will probably appeal to most listeners, while the melancholic closer, "Durian" is again bolstered by a subdued solo and forcefully propelled drumming. In sum, a fitting end to a much-loved and sorely missed band. So act fast before this limited edition of 500, like the band itself, are long gone.
Lifesmyth - Music
for the Third Ear (Camera Obscura)
www.cameraobscura.com.au
Whether it's an intentional misspelling of his surname or a very clever pun (i.e., Life's Myth), this one-man band project from New York native Scott Smith benefits from his command of the essential guitar-bass-drums triumvirate necessary for the amazingly full and rich sound emanating from your speakers. That Smith is also adept at filling in the spaces with keyboards, sitar, and mandolin embellishments is a testament to his ingenuity in delivering a record that one could easily attribute to a four- or five-piece combo. As such, comparisons to his legion of precursors, from Nick (Bevis Frond) Saloman and Karl (World Party) Wallinger to Ian (Lightning Seeds) Broudie, Kurt (Ultra Vivid Scene) Ralske, and Trent (Nine Inch Nails) Reznor are natural. But unravelling the mystery behind the pseudonym is a pleasureable treasure hunt when the results are this gratifying.
This reissue of Scott's CD-R from 2000 (the fifth of his six cassette/CD-R releases to date) demonstrates his somewhat unique compositional style of crafting multi-part suites in the finest prog rock tradition of King Crimson, Soft Machine, Yes, ELP, et. al. "Being Alive," for example, features about three pronounced chord changes that leave the track heading in several distinct directions before reaching its coda. "The Ride" repeats this pattern when the bottom falls out about halfway through and the song segues into a quasi-religious experience, somewhat akin to those popular chanting monks from a few years back.
The sleepy, stoney vocals and syncopated backbeat of "We Have Come From The Earth" nestle it comfortably numb alongside Pink Floyd's soundtrack work for Barbet Schroeder, particularly "La Valee: Obscured By Clouds." Again, the abrupt musical about-face halfway through illustrate that this is Smith's compositional modus operandi, and more often than not he succeeds in successfully combining his stoner/loner vocals and dirgy melodies with the multi-part sensibilities from the aforementioned '70s proggers. If there's no such thing as "progressive stoner folk," then Smith may just have created it.
The spiritually contemplative, Eastern-flavored "Alone We Go" featuring wonderful sitar (Rashad Arram) and bass and guitar solos (courtesy Smith) puts it in the same mellow, mind-melting league as another one-man project, New Zealander Craig Williamson's marvelous Lamp of The Universe (cf. The Cosmic Union, Cranium, 2001). The musical schizophrenia continues unabated on "It's All The Same Forever You Know," which, lyrically and musically, is presented as a combination of two songs blended into one (i.e., "It's All The Same" and "Forever You Know").
Not to overburden the listener with the Floyd soundtrack comparisons, but if you enjoy that underrated gem as much as I, you will certainly enjoy the pleasures hidden within Music for the Third Ear. "What I Came With" in particular (and the album in general) can best be described as what might result if Floyd ingratiated themselves with Robert Wyatt instead of Roy Harper and invited the ex-Soft Machine drummer/vocalist to sit in on the late-night, stoney vibe offered throughout the "La Valee" sessions.
Being of Polish extraction, I was intrigued by the possibilities inherent in "The Polish Question," and Smith doesn't disappoint with this mandolin-led instrumental, which, particularly thanks to Rebecca Wyatt's (no relation, I'm sure) mournful cello, comes across like the sacred union of yet another one-man project, Vini (Durutti Column) Reilly directing The Penquin Cafe Orchestra (I'm thinking particularly of "The Sound of Someone You Love Who's Going Away and It Doesn't Matter.")
Finally, the hauntingly majesterial splendor of "Beyond A Star" bears more than a passing resemblance to Beck's "Pay No Mind," and the pungently sweet aroma of wyrdfolk hangs motionless in the air throughout "Watcher of the Skies," which will please fans of Stone Breath, In Gowan Ring, P.G. Six, et. al.
In sum, this may be "music for the third ear," but your other two appendages will enjoy it just as much. Perhaps the reissue of the year so far.