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HAPPY FATHER'S DAY!

Summer's here and the time is right for listening to rock and roll with your best gal by your side, the top down (on your car, not your gal) and the wind whipping through your hair (for those not folically challenged). Here're some suggestions for what to toss into the CD player.

Vervein – Vast Low Cities (Angry Moose)

From the time they open their lips on the one-minute opener to their self-released debut, “One Whole Year,” it’s apparent that this San Francisco quartet is intent on treating us to gorgeously layered, hushed vocals a la This Mortal Coil’s Rutkowski sisters or His Name is Alive’s Livonia, bouncy melodies as unforgettable as The Go-Go’s, and a mesmerizing pop sensibility we haven’t heard since femme Brit Poppers like Lush, The Primitives and The Heart Throbs. The aural syrup of “Ace” features a sparkling, Red House Painters-styled solo from co-founder, Esther Reyes, and while the entire album is best appreciated loud and under the influence of headphones, I’d like to call particular attention to the off-the-wall harmonics of “Mush.” Not since the glorious days of the Millington sisters and their archetypal female rock band, Fanny, have we been as impressed with the vocal interplay as we are here with the duo of the other co-founding guitarist, Jess Congdon and bassist Rachel Fuller.

Of course, having said that, the rough-edged “Mockingbird” immediately recalls 90’s faves, The Heart Throbs, an impression reinforced on the swirling, psychedelically tinged “Station,” (listen to Cleopatra Grip’s “Calavera” as a reference point), which again features some stellar strumming from Reyes. She also pulls double duty on cello, adding a warm glow to “Cautious,” and an air of heartbreaking mystery to the slower-than-molasses “Three.” Kudos, also to that neat introductory solo on the latter, a daring move on what is otherwise an upbeat collection of pure pop bliss.

If Jess and Rachel aren’t singer to each other on “Fields of Green,” I’d like to wrap my arms around both of them and go for a long stroll in the park, listening to this incredibly romantic cuddlefest, perfectly suited for some high-spirited makeup sex. The best “vocal” album of the year, Vast Low Cities is also stacked to the rafters with lushly romantic pop songs that’ll have this listener’s ears glued to the speakers, hotly anticipating their follow-up.

The Finishing School – Destination Girl (The Telegraph Company)

This is the debut solo album from the prolific keyboardist Sasha Bell, moonlighting from her day jobs in Essex Green and Ladybug Transistor (she’s also a member of The Sixth Great Lake and recorded in the pre-Essex Green outfit Guppyboy). The twangy organ (!) and guitar-driven opener, “Reno” immediately grabs your attention with its bouncy melody, reminiscent of the similar “Reno, Nevada” from Mimi and Richard Farina, although Sasha’s tune may be even catchier. And while Bell’s voice is not her greatest asset (“Day Is Over” is a groaningly painful example), I wish she hadn’t distorted it so much on “Hair,” an otherwise pretty slice of pop pie with her memorable little flute break in the middle. That said, I did like her faux British accent on the string-driven title track, which, forty years ago, could have been a number one hit for the likes of a Jackie De Shannon or Petula Clark.

However, if she expects to get anywhere lyrically in this world, she’s gotta come up with a better couplet than “In the bathroom of your mind/People linger uninvited” from “New Sensation.” I do love that xylophone coda though. It’s something that Lawrence might’ve added to any number of his Denim or Go-Kart Mozart concoctions. Other winners include “Silent Space,” with it’s ominous harpsichord, castanets, strings, cheesy cha-cha keys and calliope pump organ combining to deliver the album’s quirkiest pop ditty (too bad it sort of fizzles out at the end), and her giddy organ intro to “Morning Light,” which in another life could’ve been one of those perky, uplifting Davy Jones-sung Monkees’ hits a la “Daydream Believer” or “ I Can’t Get Her Out of My Mind.” And while I don’t know who “Rowan” is, I love his dancehall piano-driven “Theme,” complete with its far out phased drums (from Ladybug’s San Fadyl) and “Sgt. Pepper”-ish string arrangements (kudos again to longtime collaborators Claudia Chopek on violin and cellist Michelle Schifferele-Marzulli) that I wouldn’t mind revisiting to help cheer me up on a gloomy, rainy day.

Finally, the criminally short (half hour) album ends with “Page 16,” boasting a twangy big beat, a swaying, hum-along melody and a sweet sing-along chorus that’s guaranteed to put the biggest smile on your face that you’ll have all year. A lightweight romp through a box of confectioner’s sugar, Destination Girl is the year’s most fun listen. Just make sure your dentist’s number is on speed dial!

Mary Lou Lord – Baby Blue (Rubric)

The finest collaborative team since Judy Collins and Jennifer Warnes discovered the Leonard Cohen songbook, “Lord Saloman” returns for Mary Lou’s 8th release (her fourth full length, and the second to be helmed by Ptolemaic Terrascope publisher, Nick (The Bevis Frond) Saloman, who contributes guitars, bass, production and songwriting). Lord’s gift for picking cover tunes is unparalleled in pop music and she opens with The Frond’s “The Wind Blew All Around Me,” adding a soft edge to the already beautiful pop song, one of Nick’s finest in recent years and originally appearing on North Circular, which Lord previously mined for Cast No Shadow’s “He Had You.” The lone Lord-penned original, “Long Way from Tupelo” demonstrates the world of good she can do when she adds country rock to her repertoire, featuring a sedate (for him!) Saloman solo. And if her breathy vocals were any sexier on the co-written “43,” I’d jump right through my speakers and make out with her right on top of the CD! Only the intriguing, but unnecessary title track seems forced and disposable, and whether she had a sore throat or hard rock is just not her forte, I could also have done without the forgettable, throwaway cover of “Inhibition Twist.” I didn’t like the original on The Frond’s What Did for the Dinosaurs, and this does nothing to change my mind. Maybe Mary Lou is trying to stretch into new musical territories, which is laudable, but, honey, this is not the direction for you.

Saloman’s wall of sound-effects production on the 82-second “Farming It Out” give full reign to Mary Lou’s gorgeous voice (you’ll want to put the headphones on for this one), which elsewhere wavers curiously between sexy, coo-coo-ca-choos and raspy laryngitis. And girls, if you’ve ever been left high and dry by some loser boyfriend, you’ll appreciate the heartbreaking sentiment of the tearful ballad, “Because He’s Leaving,” although the snappy, upbeat “Someone Always Talks” will shake you out of your momentary doldrums. The swaying, Cohenesque “Turn Me Around” (the other “Lord/Saloman” collaboration) gives Mary Lou a chance to wrap her pipes around this poignant, alt.country tale, although the health of her crackling voice is again suspect.

Saving the best for last, “Stars Burn Out” (perhaps the best pop song on The Frond’s magnum 2xCD/3xLP opus, North Circular) rekindles the magic of ‘Cast No Shadow’’s “Lights Are Changing,” and Lord breathes new life into this chestnut, making it a surefire favorite at her live shows and underground, indie radio stations around the world. Finally, beaucoups bonus points for having the courage to tackle Pink Floyd’s “Fearless.” I can practically see Saloman cringe in his boots as Lord suggests a run at this one. But it is a cool song, and Lord actually turns in a gallant effort at what one might have thought was an indie-cred-killing choice of acts to interpret. In any event, it’s a surefire candidate for the next Pink Floyd tribute album, which I’m sure is due any day now from Cleopatra or Imaginary.

And while nobody could make sense of the incredibly difficult lyrics to closer “Old Tin Tray,” Lord and Saloman wrestle it into a rather memorable singalong. So, despite a breathy, at times too raspy voice, “Lord Saloman” have once again teamed up for a great collaboration of pop songs, worthy of both artists considerable individual talents and sure to please fans of both.

Plants and Animals – Plants and Animals (Self-released)

This Montreal trio’s debut album was funded by the Canada Council for the Arts, and began life as “an uncommercial, acousto-electric album” by guitarist Warren Spicer. With the addition of second guitarist Nicolas Basque, drummer Matthew Woodly and a wonderful string section, the project took on a life of its own and the result is among the finest releases I’ve heard all year. The lengthy opener, “Boyfriends and Girlfriends” runs the gamut from the outré avant picking of John Fahey to the laid-back, jazzy stylings of Tortoise, to the lush, romantic orchestrations (props to violinist Monica Gunter and cellist Norsola Johnson) of a Rachel’s or Threnody Ensemble. After thirteen minutes—just when you think they can’t go any further—sexy saxist Dani Oore strolls into the room, blowing some icing onto this perfectly concocted souflee of sounds. That’s a quarter of an hour well spent. But wait! There’s more!

While “Jacques: The New St. Henri High-Step” may be the year’s worst song title, there’s no denying the splendor of the cascading guitar dual between Spicer and Basque that’ll have you flashbacking to those Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young guitar jams of yore. Woodly smacks some things around to awaken you from your stupor and Oore throws a few well-timed sax licks into the mix, allowing Spicer to hop over to his pedal steel and turn the whole hullabaloo into one of those chugga-chugga train songs, complete with everything but a room-clearing engine whistle!

The lads don’t take themselves too seriously, either, as evidenced by “Thundergongs,” which is, naturally, the most acoustic track on the album, a delicate whisper of fresh air which will please everyone from the New Age aficionados of William Ackerman and his Windham Hill ilk to new kids on the block like Keith Christmas, Steffen Basho-Junghans and fellow Montreal stringpicker, Harris Newman (whose Acoustica, Rivers and Bridges and Non-Sequiturs, respectively were some of last year’s finest acoustic instrumental albums.) You wyrdfolkers out there, particularly if your collection includes In Gowan Ring, Stone Breath and Tower Recordings and their various side-projects (particularly P.G. Six and Pothole Skinny) should also prick up your ears and pay attention to these meandering ruminations which form the perfect soundtrack to removing seeds and stems from your goodie bag.

It sounds like Spicer’s making up the subtle, hunt-and-peck improv, “I Am Working Man” as he goes along, hence the song proper doesn’t “start” until the eight-minute mark(!) when the string brigade wrestles the rudimentary melody out of its doldrums and runs with it. Believe me, fellow Montreal rockers Godspeed You Black Emperor can learn a thing or three from Plants and Animals’ dynamic tension and emotional pacing as the song builds to its elegant catharsis twelve minutes later.

And speaking of Godspeed, even they’ve progressed beyond the stage where they feel the need to saddle their compositions with an unwieldingly silly title such as “What Doesn’t Kill Us Can Only Make Us Stronger…That Is Of Course If It’s Not Making Us Weaker.” Of course, by the time you repeat that with a straight face the track is half over, but that only illustrates how beautifully nondescript, yet evocatively romantic and relaxing it actually is. Acoustically-based, yet softly propelled by a repetitive, gentle cymbal clash, it’s perfect for a stroll in the park in a warm, summer rain or lying on your back in a tall field of wet grass, watching huge, grey, cumulous clouds carry your thoughts over the horizon.

The Residents – The King & Eye: RMX (Euro Ralph)
The Residents – WB:RMX

The always impenetrable critical darlings have been slowly reissuing their back catalog and return with these two remixes, courtesy the German arm of their original label. A near-genius pun on the twin iconographic images of Elvis and their own “eyeball” trademark, The King & Eye confused even their most ardent fans on its original release 15 years ago. Ostensibly an Elvis tribute album, the band deconstructed some of his biggest hits in an effort to get to the heart of America’s, indeed the world’s idolization of Presley by effectively RE-constructing those hits into a concept album (sung by an aging Elvis impersonator) about lost expectations and the obsessive fascination with Elvis the myth at the expense of understanding Elvis, the man. Hearing these standards in a manner in which no one in their right mind ever intended (although this IS The Residents, so “right minds” followed Elvis out of the building years ago) enables one to examine the hurt and pain in the lyrics that were completely lost on screaming, adoring, fawning fans who couldn’t have cared less if Elvis recited the phonebook, as long as he wiggled that pelvis while doing it.

“The Devil In Disguise” becomes a heavy metal anthem akin to Trent Reznor fronting Metallica, complete with Satanic voices. The Residents gave full reign to German artist, Paralyzer to remix the album, and the synthy drum-machine backing retains the sheen of the original 80s atmosphere under which the album was originally recorded and then couches it in a 21^st century veneer, giving it a more industrial techno sound as evidenced on the metallic bite of “Big Hunk ‘o Love.” The album is perhaps even more relevant today in this age of America’s continued obsession with “American idols,” which is perhaps the ultimate irony of Andy Warhol’s oft-quoted omen about everyone being famous for fifteen minutes. Thanks, Andy! I think we have you to thank for all this reality TV bullshit.

The album ultimately vilifies recent warnings about the dumbing of America. In the Fifties we worshiped Elvis; now, fifty hears later, we worship bad karaoke singers and turn them into “America’s Pop Idols.” By cracking through the veneer of Elvis worship, The Residents are attempting to warn us that we haven’t really learned anything in the last half century, and perhaps Americans need a hero at any cost. So while the album itself is little more than techno versions of some of the king’s biggest hits (“All Shook Up,” “Viva Las Vegas,” “Heartbreak Hotel) and we do little more than await what weird reinterpretation the boys will come up with next, it’s the idea behind the concept of this cautionary album that is most important. (Although I will admit that the disco-vocoder arrangement of “Don’t Be Cruel” is rather hilarious and has to be heard to be believed.) The saddest part of all, of course, is that the people who most need to hear what’s happening here are the last ones that’ll ever come within a country mile of this recording. Perhaps that is the ultimate disappointment.

The band have also decided to sneak out a remixed version of their first-ever recording, the demo tape that was rejected by Harve Halverstadt at Warner Brothers (hence the album title) and returned to the band c/o: Resident (hence the band name). The band claim that Halverstadt made the right decision and you will too unless you are a serious collector of avant garde weirdness. It’s, therefore, difficult to judge this as anything other than a cheap cash-in directed at completists and the “music” (noise, sound effects, drop-ins, nonsense/non-sequitor lyrics) offers little to contradict that assertion.

The surreal cut-up techniques that would become a Residents trademark are all here, as well as “songs” with vocals that range from operatic arias to basso profundo growls (often in the same song), industrial, metallic electronics, and a general desire to piss off the complacent record-buying public who scratch their heads and run screaming from the room at the mere mention of Capt. Beefheart and Frank Zappa’s names. You’ll also find key reference points to the work of such later “difficult listening” artists as Caroliner, Negativland, Cerberus Shoal, Sun City Girls, Finland’s Kamielliset Ystevet, and the two-dozen or so members of the Norwegian-based, Scandinavian collective known as the Origami Republika, purveyors of some of the world’s most unusual sounds. And let’s not overlook titles that would make Zappa blush, like “A Merican Fag,” “Ohm Is Where The Art Is,” and the ever-popular, “Snot and Feces Live At The Grunt Festival.”

Ultimately, the release serves its purpose. Fans of everything the band has ever recorded will finally have a chance to own a piece of history, while the rest of us basically scratch our heads and run screaming from the room in agony.

Lisboa – “Either Origami” EP (Acutest) 

Tight, sharp barband rock from Detroit (a la Philadelphia’s Hooters, particularly on “Clumsy Codes” and “Take It From Me”), led by singer/songwriter Joe Kirkland (aka Lisboa), whose clipped, strained vocal style occasionally ventures into an early Robert (The Cure) Smith-ish whine. “The King of Slow Dissolve” has some heavy power riffing with a familiar bassline nicked, I believe, from Lou Reed’s “Sweet Jane.” “Hangup” is another riff heavy corker with a shout-along chorus that should appeal to fans of teeny-boppin’ punkers like Good Charlotte, New Found Glory and Green Day.

I also liked the power ballad, “(The One About) The One That Got Away,” which, despite its blatant Friends-inspired title, is a tearjerking tale of love and loss in the style of Something Corporate’s great epic, “Konstantine.” Overall, a nice introduction to a band who has a live album scheduled for later this summer that should be worth looking out for.

Dead Letters Spell Out Dead Words – 11 Instances of Dead Letters + Words (Ideal) 

Like Graham Parker’s 12 Haunted Episodes, the title of the second album from this apocaliptic ambient project from Göteborg, Sweden that is the brainchild of a very disturbed individual by the name of Thomas Ekelund is both descriptive and functional. There are, indeed, 11 tracks (“instances”) of Ekelund’s “dead letters + words.” His background in various punk, noise and shoegazing projects serves him well on this collection of sonic explorations of the world collapsing under the weight of its own chaos and decay. Ekelund paints bleak images of barren landscapes, collapsing buildings (new and otherwise), and empty streets with sounds that are as harsh and brutal as a shard of glass to the jugular.

The distorted drone of “Tell Laura I Love Her” (definitely NOT the old Ray Peterson hit) melds into “Realign, Then Fall,” a looping found sound that closely approximates Ekelund shuffling, signing and stamping a collection of papers (that may or not include a suicide note). “A List of Things” may be the sound of Ekelund swinging by his neck from a creaking branch and “The Hills Are Alive” is a heavily treated guitar drone and a  metalic, throbbing, creeping mass of pain akin to The Cure’s Carnage Visors or a Joy Division funeral dirge from side two of Closer slowed down to the wrong speed.

To lighten the proceedings a bit, I challenge anyone to identify the found sounds and field recordings that make up “Settling Dust.” A piano ruminates in an empty room, again similar to Joy Division’s “Decades” under Ekelund’s shuffling, sniffling, gasping suvivor of a nuclear holocaust. A sad, pessimistic, experimental recording offering little hope to a futile world hellbent on destroying itself.

DNA – DNA on DNA (No More Records) 

Arto Lindsay can’t sing, play guitar or write music. So, naturally, in the DIY spirit of the day (that day coming 25 years ago), he formed a band. He invited Japanese non-drummer Ikue Mori to bang on things in some semblance of a rhythm and asked Robin Crutchfield, a local artist, if he knew how to play keyboards. Robin said no, which was the right answer, so he was in. The trio called themselves DNA, played their first gig a few weeks later and then released “You & You” b/w “Little Ants.” Produced by erstwhile NY scenester and future Voidoid and Lou Reed/Lloyd Cole/Matthew Sweet guitarist, Robert Quine (who would also later play on Mori’s 1997 solo album, Painted Desert), it was one of the seminal singles in the short-lived history of what we today refer to as “noise rock,” but what was back then called, simply, “No-wave,” after No New York, an album of like-minded, but essentially talentless artists who thought that the local punk scene was selling out to big corporations for big bucks, thus turning their backs on their own DIY aesthetics. They were right, of course: Blondie, The Ramones, Talking Heads, Television, Patti Smith – they all “sold out” to major labels and started releasing watered-down versions of their furious live shows. The “no wavers” would have none of that. Along with Mars, Teenage Jesus and the Jerks (featuring Lydia Lunch – New York’s answer to L.A.’s Exene Cervenka), former Jerk, James Chance and his Contortions, and a handfull of others, DNA led the charge to wrestle music away from the corporations and give it back to the people. (Byron Coley’s introductory essay in the attractive, informative 16-page booklet places the whole genre into perspective. Along with liner notes from Jason Gross (editor of the online ‘zine, Perfect Sound Forever) and Glenn O’Brien, the glossy booklet also includes lyrics, exclusive photos and historical handbills and gig announcements.) DNA on DNA gathers the dozen recordings they released during their lifetime (the aforementioned single, their four tracks from the No New York comp, and their mini-LP, “A Taste of DNA”), and apends five selections from the award-winning, off-Broadway play, “Mr. Dead & Ms. Free,” plus a baker’s dozen live recordings of varying, but predominently better-than-bootleg quality, most from two CBGB’s (including their final performance in June, 1982) and a Columbia University gig (March 5, 1980). 

If by definition, punk was the ultimate DIY aesthetic where desire outweighed skill, DNA may be the ultimate punk band. Dissonant, angular, psychotic yelping is the order of the day throughout these brutal recordings. If punk was a reaction against the pomp and circumstance of the proggers and long-haired hippie freaks playing half-hour guitar solos, be they The Grateful Dead or Pink Floyd, DNA was at the forefront of a movement which believed that punk music was too melodious, structured and organized. As such, “no(ise)-wave” was one of the most disorganized, anarchic forms of music ever unleashed on an unsuspecting public.

Barely recognizable in all the muck are future inspirations for The Cure’s “Carnage Visors” (“Delivering The Good”), the hyperkinetic, electronic motorik beat of The NORML’s “Warm Leatherette” (an abbreviated live version of “Surrender”), and much of PIL’s and all of The Plasmatics’ careers. You also won’t want to miss the closest approximation to a singer in the midst of death throes ever recorded (“Brand New”) and the antagonistic audience baiting of “Horse,” that would do even the late, lamented G.G. Allin proud. Obviously, an extremely difficult, yet historically important release, fans will leap at the chance to have these long out-of-print collector’s items, remastered from the original source tapes, and punkers who prefer PIL over the Sex Pistols and Crass over Clash should also appreciate this fine collection. But be forewarned, this is not for the feint of heart.

Brian Ritchie – Shakahachi Club NYC (Weed) 

Violent Femmes’ bassist Ritchie gathered some of his musician friends (Television drummer Billy Ficca, banjo player extraordinaire, Tony Trischka, tubist Dan Nosheny and mandolinist John Kruth) for an evening of “collective improvisations,” recorded live in NYC. Early in the set,  Ritchie & Co give the rock audience a familiar melody (the traditional “Motherless Children”) to let the unusual instrumentation settle into their psyche, thus allowing them to hear the rest of the concert in its proper musical context. Once the sounds are no longer foreign to your ear, you can settle back, relax and enjoy the calming effect of this traditional Japanese wooden flute. Fans of multi-instrumental wyrdfolk artists such as Atman (and its Magic Carpathians offshoot), Stone Breath, In Gowan Ring, as well as the westernized traditional Oriental sounds of New Age maestro, Kitaro, will be familiar with the folky context in which we’re used to hearing the instrument. Ritchie brings it into a new light, incorporating it into the jazz/rock idiom through this set of seven original compositions and inspired interpretations of two traditional tunes along with John Coltrane’s “Living Space” and Albert Ayler’s “Change Has Come.”

Occasionally, as with Ficca’s violently overactive drumming on “Have No Idea,” the scales of this East-meets-West cross-genre pollination are tipped heavily in rock’s favor, but such detours are few and far between. “Lament,” for example, features Ritchie and Kruth dueting on a calm, yet tentatively anxious piece that feels curiously abbreviated, as if the tape was turned off prior to the song’s end. The bossa nova cha-cha-cha arrangement of “Waltz of The Minotaur” is the most melodious piece in the set, where Ritchie again, perhaps to rein in his audience’s wandering attention, returns to a more familiar Western sound. Fans of David Byrne’s recent excursions into Brazilian lounge music and Bert Kaempfert’s easy listening foxtrots will best appreciate this, although it will also appeal to fans of  the soundtrack work of Mikis Theodorakis, particularly his score for State of Seige. In fact, I’d like to introduce Ritchie to that film’s main theme, which would be an exciting addition to his setlist.

The remaining tracks, particularly “Lace Dress” are more nebulous and improvisational, as Ritchie serpentines his shakuhachi around his combo’s accompanying mandolin, tuba and Ficca’s earthen percussives (“wood, skin, metal, stone,” according to the credits) in a jazzy, non-linear direction. While his unexpected pants-shitting outburst on “Have No Idea” may result in more than a few skipped heartbeats, he quickly returns the listener to a Zen-like state of equilibrium with his calming, meditative interpretation of Ayler’s “Change Has Come.” So whether you’re a fan of Oriental mystic music, improvisational jazz or simply an adventurous rocker, curious about the possiblities of integrating this uniquely eastern voice into the rock idiom, Shakuhachi Club NYC is a richly rewarding experience.

Sun Kil Moon – Ghosts of the Great Highway (Jetset)

From the strolling country-minstrel Neil Young impersonation on the opening tribute to Judas Priest guitarist “Glenn Tipton,” it appears Mark Kozelek is ready to put his Red House Painter persona out of its misery once and for all. This should come as no surprise to fans of this brilliant singer/songwriter’s recent career moves, most of which have bordered on insanity with tributes to John Denver, AC/DC and a dead Korean boxer. The sloppy, distorted guitars and strained, cracking vocals on “Salvador Sanchez” (another tribute to a dead boxer) recall Young during his Arc-period grungefests, and hint that this may be Mark’s long-threatened Neil Young tribute after all. Like Young, here he finds a catchy riff and runs it into the ground and, again like ol’ Neil, 6½ minutes later he’s still running with it, long after the audience has lost interest.

“Last Tide” and “Floating” (two of only three tracks without historical or geographical titular references) meld so perfectly, perhaps you, too, will be fooled into thinking they’re the same song. There’s no missing “Floating”’s sloppy ending, however, as Kozelek merely stops playing. He doesn’t do anything unintentionally, so perhaps this is his way of contributing to the loose, improvisational feel of the album, but I would have preferred a tighter resolution to the medley.

If you close your eyes and the wind hits you just right, you’d swear Neil himself was handling the vocal chores on “Gentle Moon,” but there’s no mistaking that swaying Red House Painters’ vibe. And I swear I heard a bead of sweat actually break out on Kozelek’s forehead during the rocking “Lily and Parrots,” no doubt his answer to the record company’s request to write a hit single.

Fans will also be pleased with the third version of “Duk Koo Kim” (the aforementioned Korean boxer), which originally appeared as the debut release (in two 10-minute versions on a 10” single) on filmmaker Cameron Crowe’s vanity imprint, Vinyl Records. (Readers may recall that Crowe cast Kozelek as the sexually ambivalent bassist in Almost Famous.) Stretched here to an almost unbearably gorgeous fourteens minutes, it’s a dreamy, sprawling story song in the great tradition of “Medicine Bottle,” “Down Colorful Hill,” “New Jersey,” or “Mistress,” and wouldn’t have been out of place on either of the 1993 eponymous RHP albums. Highlighted once again by Kozelek’s sleepy Midwetern drawl, I particularly liked the cascading, arpeggiated Spanish guitar sequence during the extended instrumental coda. There’s not a stray note or superfluous sound in sight. Even the unintelligible choir/wordless vocals at the end feel just right. I could easily have closed my eyes, sat back and drifted off for another 13 minutes. Arguably, his best song since the above referenced “Bridge” and “Roller Coaster” albums. It’ll convince those who abandoned ship around the time of his John Denver tribute, that there’s life in this old painter yet. It surely washes away the stale, disappointing taste of Old Ramon, the final Red House Painters album.

The pretty instrumental, “Si, Paloma” is as refreshing as a cold lemonade on a sweltering August afternoon, and doesn’t the mandolin riff in the middle of closer “Pancho Villa” remind you of Tobin Sprout’s soaring “rah-tah-tah-tahs” on Moonflower Plastic’s “Exit Planes.” With minor personnel changes―RHP drummer Anthony Koutsos returns (and bassist Jerry Vessel assists), accompanied by American Music Club’s drummer Tim Mooney (Kozelek is good friends with AMC leader, Mark Eitzel, who introduced his demo tape to 4AD’s Ivo Watts-Russell, who released it as the band’s Down Colorful Hill debut in 1992) and ex-Black Lab bassist Geoff Stanfield―it remains to be seen whether Sun Kil Moon is really Red House Painters, Mk. III (Phil Carney replaced guitarist Gordon Mack on Old Ramon). As long as he’s got those silly solo albums out of his system, all is right with the world. Welcome back, Mark.

Ozric Tentacles – Spirals In Hyperspace (Magna Carta)

Ed Wynne has been extending his tentacles across the lands for over 20 years now, and while each of this ultimate festival/jam band’s more than two dozen releases may reek of a “been there, done that” sameness, imagine how difficult it is to reinvent yourself everytime out, while continuing to make each of those releases sound so natural and effortless. Sure there’s the Nintendo electronic sound effects liberally sprinkled around Wynne’s fluid fretwork, but the loose arrangements of the title track will appeal to both rock and jazz afficianados, even as it does infringe on New Age histrionics a la Mannheim Steamroller. But there’s still enough quirky attributes to fall onto the pseudo-psychedelic side of the fence.

As such, comparisons to Steve Wilson and his Porcupine Tree are not that off the mark. Wynne’s solos throughout prove he can still bend a string with the best of them, and his Crimsonesque, Frippertronic runs will still drop a jaw or three, thus earning him a place in my pantheon of “Greatest Guitarists No One Ever Heard Of,” whose members also include The Bevis Frond’s Nick Saloman and Sun Dial’s Gary Ramon. 

Overall, it is less Eastern-flavored than recent releases like Waterfall Cities (despite some nice Spanish guitar and North African flourishes on “Psychic Chasm”) with more funky, Kraftwerkian electronic beats running throughout. You’ll definitely want to put on your dancing shoes for this one. There’s a nice progy Supertramp-meets-Styx-at-a–Rush-concert riff and mammoth, wall-rattling basslines (presumably from longtime bassist, Zia Geelani) at the heart of “Toka Tola,” and the snappy “Plasmoid” beckons in the general direction of Herbie Hancock’s “Rockit” period and may mark the first appearance of vocals (albeit through a vocoder) on an Ozrics album (although there’s also some ecstatic yelping on “Oakum). There’s plenty of spacey noodling, stereophonic phasing, windchimes and bells to keep the scruffy incense burners happy. And speaking of pleasant aromas, there’s the sweeter-than-patchouli fragrance of Pink Floyd’s “Run Run Run” (from The Wall) wafting through “Akasha,” which features the classic guitar stylings of Steve Hillage.

So whether your tastes run towards jazz, prog, kraut or electronic psych, there’s something to please everyone on the band’s best release in years and another fine addition to an already impressive (and large) discography.

James Chance & The Contortions – Buy (All on ZE)
James White & The Blacks – Off White
James Chance & The Contortions – Live Aux Bains Douches
James White – Flaming Demonics

Fresh off their appearance on No New York, Brain Eno’s controversial compilation of atonal New York miscreants, Chance and his Contortionists signed to the ZE imprint and released two albums in 1979. In honor of the 25^th anniversary, ZE are reissuing their back catalogue. On Buy, Chance and company contort their way through nine funky jazz/punk tunes which come across like a mad marriage between Captain Beefheart and Richard Hell & The Voidoids, whose Robert Quine appears on the second of Chance’s ’79 releases, Off White. Guitarists Pat Place and Jody Harris trade Quine-like angular riffs which would influence future guitar heroes from Leeds (Gang of Four’s Andy Gill and Delta 5’s Alan Briggs) to Athens (Pylon’s Randy Bewley and The B-52’s late Ricky Wilson). “Don’t Want To Be Happy” features a smooth backbeat that’ll have your pointed shoes shuffling across the dancefloor, while German-born organist, Adele Bertei adds just the right amount of cheese to bring us to the edge of kitsch without falling into the abyss. 

While The B-52’s took these rhythms, smoothed off the edges and built an entire career around them, Chance never truly received his just rewards, so perhaps these reissues will rekindle an examination of his far-reaching influence, particularly on the New Wave dance scene and artists such as the Bush Tetras (formed by Place), Liquid Liquid, Medium Medium and Killing Joke, to name but a few. Of course, it’s easy to hear why these albums didn’t find much of an audience beyond the No Wave cultists upon their initial release. I can’t imagine anyone outside a Ritalin junkie being able to match the manic moves of “Contort Yourself” (different versions of which appear on most of these reissues) or keep time to the seriously deranged jam of “Roving Eye.” Like Buster Poindexter fronting The Flames or James Brown teaching The Voidoids how to dance, this nasty funkfest is your ticket into the Elaine Benes School of Dance as seen in that classic Seinfeld episode. “Sweet fancy Moses!” [Note: This reissue appends three contemporary live tracks.]

Later that year, Chance (whose surname is Siegfried) rechristened himself White and delivered his disco album, which reinforced the obvious James Brown influences careening throughout Off White.  Reining in some of the angular rhythms of the debut, the renamed Contortions deliver a more dance-oriented set, beginning with the discofied “Contort Yourself” (the reissue adds a nonsensical, hootin’-and-hollerin’ “August Darnell Remix).” You can skip the embarrassingly dated phone sex of “Stained Sheets” (courtesy Lydia Lunch, then also of Teenage Jesus & The Jerks – I believe Chance was a former Jerk), as it’ll annoy anyone with an IQ higher than Beavis & Butthead’s, and head straight to the arrangement of Irving Berlin’s “Tropical Heat Wave,” which illustrates the major role Chance played in David JoHansen’s creation of his Buster Poindexter persona.

I also found my booty boogying to the manic panic attack and headache-inducing sax skronk of the jammin’ “White Savages.” The anti-title track “Off Black” illustrates the dynamic in effect here, as White and Co. succeed in making, perhaps, the first disco album that no one can dance to. If possible, it’s even more unsettling than the debut and is ultimately an interesting but failed experiment in creating a noisy dance album. {Note: Three bonus live tracks, including Brown’s “Exercise The Funk,” Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough”(!) and the lump-of-coal medley, “Christmas With Satan” that’ll do The Residents proud (and includes everything from “Havah Negilah” to “White Christmas”) round out the package.

The live album was recorded before an enthusiastic Parisian audience on May 13, 1980 and illustrates that James may have been even more unbridled in front of an audience. The covers-heavy show features contorted versions of the Jackson tune, Brown’s “I Got You” and “King Heroin.” Suitably unrecognizable versions of Buy’s “My Infatuation” and “Contort Yourself” and Off White’s “Almost Black” rub shoulders with interminable renditions of “I Danced With A Zombie” and “King Heroin” that’ll have you twisting the night away. Fans of everyone from V. Majestic to Spaceheads (whose drummer Richard Harrison mans the kit here as well as on most of Chance/White’s live recordings from the period and who, along with his trumpet-playing partner, Andy Diagram formed the contemporary, similar sounding Dislocation Dance) will love tracing their heroes’ historic roots as they boogaloo down the Champs Elysees. Just don’t invite any of your Chicago and Blood, Sweat & Tears fans over to the party.

On the last of our four reissues, 1983’s Flaming Demonics, White assembled a completely new band of co-conspirators, including guitarists Jerry Antonius and Chris Cunningham and a “saxy” horn section of Robert Aaron (tenor), Luther Thomas (baritone) and Bruse Purse (trumpet) to create his most dissonant (some might claim unlistenable) collection yet. These half-dozen epic skronkfests (the shortest track, a flat, uninspired recitation of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” is still over 7 minutes long), find White treading the same noisy ground. The No Wave movement he helped found had by this time essentially disintegrated around him and there was really nothing left to prove, so White set about proving it. His piano playing was more prominent, adding to a ragtimey vibe epitomized by his cacophonous solo on opener, “The Devil Made Me Do It.” And if “Rantin’ And Ravin’“ doesn’t have you doing the same halfway through its unsettling 9 minutes, then your noise threshold may see you through to the end long after even the most patient listener has abandoned ship.

At least the syncopated, Morse-code rhythms of White’s organ blasts make the “Caravan”/”It Don’t Mean A Thing”/”Melt Yourself Down” medley a tolerable listening experience. And it’s still shocking that the seemingly racist, misogynistic “Natives Are Restless” hasn’t been banned by the overzealous, self-appointed guardians of moral taste and turpitude. Perhaps they see some “humor” that’s totally missed by me, but this only goes to my point about all these censorious outbursts being little more than marketing ploys. But that’s an argument for another day. For serious(ly deranged) diehard fans only. [Note: Among the three bonus tracks is a cover of “Town Without Pity” which sounds surprisingly like Robert Gordon during his Tuff Darts phase. It’s quite strange, and the best thing on this collection.]

Overall, these reissues reveal a challenging body of work from an artist who attempted to embrace the jazz, funk, disco, New Wave and punk communities, and who in the process managed to create something for everyone while potentially alienating those same audiences.

Die Haut – Burnin’ The Ice (Hit Thing)

A seminal member of the German industrial punk scene of the early ‘80s, which also included the likes of SPK and Einstürzende Neubauten, Berlin’s Die Haut (“the skin”) fashioned a dissonant, abrasive, metallic crunch that carried the torch of earlier German noisemongers like Faust and Can well into the ‘90s. Former Birthday Partier, Nick Cave was on the verge of forming his current backing band, The Bad Seeds, when Die Haut drummer (and future Bad Seed) Thomas Wydler invited him to sing a few tracks on the band’s sophomore effort. The resulting assault on the senses includes everything from a blatant rip-off of Led Zeppelin’s “How Many More Times” for the backing track to “Truck Love” to a barely intelligible Cave squawking his way through four of the album’s mercilessly short seven tracks.

While Cave’s participation has driven the cost of the original album to dizzying heights, that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s any good. For starters, his maniacal rantings and screamings make Johnny Rotten sound like Mel Torme (although the printed lyrics help somewhat) and the insane cacophony behind him will inspire more headaches than awe. All is not completely lost, however; “The Victory”’s militaristic, motorik beat compares favorably with contemporary, angular British acts like Wire, Gang of Four, Joy Division and Killing Joke. But then things deteriorate back into the sewer for nonsense like “Dumb Europe,” a mass of moaning noise with no inherent listening value whatsoever.

Proceed at your own risk, but if you are so inclined to add this to your collection of room-clearing classics, be among the first 5,000(!) to pick up a copy and you’ll also score a bonus DVD of the band performing live in 1982, just in case painful bleeding from the ears is not enough and you want to risk your vision as well. An extremely harsh and difficult listen with limited appeal outside Cave’s hardcore cult of collectors.

8MM – “Opener” EP (Chelsea Girl)

When last heard from, Juliette Beavan was adding her vocals to several tracks on the great Kill Hannah album For Never & Ever, produced by her husband, Sean (who also produced Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, No Doubt, etc.) The response was so overwhelmingly positive, the Beavans decided to give their own project a try, and the result is this 6-song, debut EP, released on their own Chelsea Girl imprint. The title track is a perfect introduction to Juliette’s sultry, little girl vocals and also features some stellar guitar soloing from Sean. “Crawl” is a gothic noir shaggy-dog story recited by Juliette and again featuring Sean’s blistering solo. I was reminded favorably of The Modette’s ‘80’s classic, “Dark Park Creeping” welded to the late night, rainy, smoky, jazzy vibe of Portishead. The EP ends on the high note of “Give It Up,” a swirling, dreamy floater highlighted once again by Juliette’s exquisite serpentining vocal acrobatics.

Combining the snarl of a Shirley Manson (manager Shannon O’Shea also discovered and managed Garbage) with the girl-next-door sweetness of an Olivia Newton-John, Juliette is the aural equivalent of the virgin and the whore… the lady and the tiger… the wife and the mistress… all rolled into one. Her alluring pin-up looks will draw you in and the emotional static electricity generated by her half-dozen twisted tales of romance, regret and neglect will have you cowering at her feet, drooling for more. A mouthwateringly delectable debut.

The Forresters – Skindeep (Tom Thumb) 

Orange Humble Band singer/songwriter Anthony Bautovich assembled The Forresters from the cream of the crop of the Australian indie scene, including drummer Nick Kennedy (Knievel), bassist Steve Balbi (Universe), and guitarists Matt Galvin (Wake Ups) and Charlie Owen (New Christs). The catchy, power-pop opener (and leadoff single) “Are You Ready” is a bit of an anomaly among these predominantly up-tempo country rockers, but it’s so damn infectious I’m not about to complain. Galvin’s lap steel on “Outtamyhead” lends an alt.country air to the proceedings and, in fact, Bautovich’s Orange Humble bandmate Daryl Mather has gone so far as to suggest that Skindeep is “Australia’s first alt country classic,” and, indeed, the tears-in-your-beer ballad “Tremblin” does find Bautovich coming across like a countrified David Gates of Bread fame.

The emotional “Missing You” sounds like Don Henley fronting The Wallflowers, but the album stumbles a bit in the middle with the relatively flat trio of “Wake Up,” the overlong snoozer “Don’t Leave Me Down” and the boring ballad “What You Want.” I also wonder whether the booklet photos of model Jody Foerster too obviously suggest both the source of the band’s name and the object of these impassioned pleas at reconciliation, perhaps rendering the songs a bit too personal for general consumption. Printing the lyrics to the title track alongside a photo of Foerster, bags packed and apparently leaving the relationship adds to the confusion (which, granted, may be just your humble reviewer reading beyond the “skindeep” references. Nevertheless, things are righted quickly with the rockin’ Rockpile-ish “Rescue Me,” and all things considered, we’re ultimately left with a toe-tappin, head-noddin’, uplifting experience from Down Under.

Highspire – Your Everything (Claire/Alison) 

Over four years, 15 members, three labels and two continents after E.J. Hagen and Alex White formed Philadelphia shoegazers, Highspire, it is a pleasure to finally announce the release of their debut full-length, a co-release from California indies Claire and ToneVendor and German shoegaze specialists, Alison. It was well worth the wait, as the symphonic wall-of-sound that the trio (including Ron Snyder) produce is favorably evocative of similar efforts from British cult faves Slowdive, Chapterhouse and Ride, as well as local Psychedelphians like Transient Waves and Asteroid #4. This is in part, no doubt, attributable to the fact that all three contribute guitars, samples, programming and keyboards. Vocalist White’s occasionally effeminate vocals recall, at times, the ethereal whispered utterings of Ride’s Mark Gardner, particularly on “Believe,” a track which originally appeared on the Br-italian shoegaze bible, Losing Today’s Orange Pop comp from back in 2001. [Note to xenophobes: you’ll have to bite the bullet if you missed it the first time around, as it only appears on the German Alison edition of the CD.] 

Most of the tracks are winners, with special attention due to the catchy, swaying chorus of “Fade In A Day” the aggressive “Shattered,” with its surreal imagery of “vomiting true love,” “drinking banana bleach” and “bleeding smoke rings” and the cool, jazzy instrumental interlude, “Sub-Par Life, A Brilliant Death.”  Only the aloof, trip-hoppy electronics of “Portsmouth” and “No Day Like Today“ disappoint. But these are quickly overshadowed by the aggressive, motorik drumming of current member Kevin Fassett on “Vesperbell” and the swirling pop psychedelia of “Glass In My Mouth,” which is vintage Charlatans, ca. Some Friendly (i.e., back when they were great at copying The Stone Roses) and will also appeal to fans of Pacific Northwest psychedeviants, such as Portland’s Dandy Warhols and Seattle’s Voyager One.

Now that they’ve got the all-important debut under their belts, it’ll be interesting to see what they come up with next. Nine different members played on these recordings, and a tenth (Isaac Betesh) is listed in the “current Highspire lineup” in the credits. Having previously recruited members from as far away as Alabama and California and having even briefly relocated to New York to attempt to make a go of it, it remains to be seen and heard what will become of future efforts. Also, the rhythm section on three of the album’s better tracks (“Fade In A Day,” “Shattered” and “Glass In My Mouth”) has moved on, so the next release may have a completely different vibe. But the one at hand is one of this year’s best and will be garnering continued spins around these parts.

Rollerball – Behind the Barber (Silber)

A romantic, dreamy Bernard Hermann-esque, Taxi Driver-vibe wafts through “Do the Slim Jim,” the opening track on this Portland, Oregon collective’s tenth album and second for this wonderful North Carolina-based indie. There’s also a taste of Bollywood added to the proceedings with some random sitar flourishes (in keeping with the band’s “all-for-one-and-one-for-all” attitude, all instrumentation is uncredited, although there are nearly a dozen collaborators listed alongside the core quintet). The siesta continues on the lengthy “Slits Arandas,” which, after 90 seconds of introductory fodder, transforms into a smooth, sexy, Gato Barbieri-led jazz session with Amanda Mason Wiles’ sax melody lifted straight off his Last Tango In Paris soundtrack. Before long, Gilles (no surnames, thank you) starts hitting things like bongos, shakers, sharp metal objects, saws and the more traditional drumkit, and S DeLeon S (I swear I’m not making these names up, folks!) starts blowing sweet nothings through her (his?) clarinets and trumpets and by the time samplers, keyboards and slide whistles join the party, the resulting bossa nova cha-cha-cha sounds like Olivia Tremor Control (OTC) recording a Santana tribute album.

Unfortunately, the band doesn’t know when they’ve got a good thing going, so they decide NOT to leave well-enough alone, and about half-way through this quarter-hour monstrosity (which is about too long by half), the track is overrun by Wiles’ annoying, skronking sax solos and additional brain damage featuring brass deconstruction by Jef Brown of fellow Portland weirdoes, Jackie O Motherfucker that sounds like a gaggle of geese with the whooping cough. Talk about a buzzkill!

A word of caution before “Autotelic” begins: turn down the volume or Mini Wagonwheel’s harmonic bass will shatter your speakers and turn your woofers into tweeters. Besides, you won’t be missing much, as this sonic horn collage of sax, trumpet and clarinet is more experimental than melodic, as is “Quiela (Ovo Sub),” a collection of electronic noodlings and samplings which could easily be “Volume 2” of OTC’s alter-ego, Black Swan Network’s The Late Music. Mini’s bass is put to good use, however, on the heavy reggae of “Starling,” the “Aleph Dub” remix of a track from last year’s Real Hair (their Silber debut), and I also dug the groovy, loungey cocktail jazz of “Burning Light (Nudge Rub).”

I should mention in passing that I’m generally not a fan of remix albums and that most of this release was assembled by a couple of guys named Surfactant Bleed and Muddmakr. Despite their mostly destructive influences, there are a few tracks worth investigating, including “Chi Town Cub,” another surreal sound collage with Mae Starr’s disembodied vocals hovering over lots of clanging, backwards electronic loops and assorted “what the fuck was that’s.” You’ll also enjoy her scat singing, Wagonwheel’s heavy, driving Lemmyesque bass and Gilles’ hyperactive backbeat as they propel “King Ben D” through your synapses and gosh darnit if I wasn’t “getting’ jiggy widdit” inspite of myself! It’s one of the album’s highlights and too mercilessly short. Finally, the tribal, jungle dub rhythms of “Chicalote” will have you rolling (doobies) in the aisles, although it will no doubt be best appreciated by fans of Lee “Scratch” Perry. Another challenging, multi-genre, homebrew gumbo from one of Portland’s finest avant pranksters.

Herman Düne – Mash Concrete Metal Mushroom (Shrimper)

A brief introduction and table of contents (“Intro T-C”) announces that the fourth full-length (there’s also a split EP with Cerberus Shoal floating around on North East Indie that we reviewed back in November, 2002) from these multinational, avant garde, lo-fi, folkjokeopus wackos is their New York City album. (Swedish/Swiss by nationality, Parisian by residence and New Yawkahs by recording studio, I’m also giving bonus points if you can spot the, admittedly obvious, sci-fi reference in their chosen pseudonym!) This time out, the trio (Swedish guitar-slinging brothers, André and David-Ivar and Swiss drummer, Neman – they’ve all adopted the Herman Düne surname, a la The Ramones) treat us to a quirky, folkadelic tale about “New Jersey Cross Concrete,” the backporch, shitkickin’ Tennessee two-step of “On The Knick” [New York basketball team reference duly noted!] that’ll have fans of label-mates, the Mountain Goats doing backflips across the room, and a strangulated Jonathan Richman impression on the campfire singalong, “Monkey Song,” which probably sounds even more hilarious after a few bonghits on the way to the keg. “Let Me Pry” will shortly rekindle loving memories of the heartbreaking, tears-in-your-beers whining of Souled American, and if you miss vintage Bill (Smog) Callahan, “All About You” is the perfect remedy to those absent-minded releases he’s been foisting on us of late. 

“Not That Big A Story” is exactly that…it’s not that big a song, either. Skip it and fast forward to the “Futon Song,” which can only half-jokingly be described as our beloved Jonathan Richmond tripping on mushrooms through the NYC subway system. Some tasty Garcia-inspired guitar licks and a calypso back-beat also accompany you on your “trip.” So order up a couple of double-‘shroom pies and a case of “tall boys” and invite the neighbors over. It’s Party Time!

Noba – Man With A Briefcase (Self-released)

“Back Door,” the opening track on this NYC (by way of Ann Arbor, Michigan) quartet’s debut album is one of the busiest pop songs I’ve heard in ages, boasting more key changes and musical directions than is necessary. But it’s till a lot of fun. And while “Bye Bye” is only a slight romantic ballad, “Losing What’s Already Lost” throws the orchpop of Brian Wilson, Witch Hazel Sound and High Llamas into the blender with Olivia Tremor Control and Neutral Milk Hotel and comes out sounding like the exciting prospect of the Elephant Six collective recording the long-lost Smile sessions. “The Greatest Days To Sleep” combines guest Bob Hoffnar’s lap steel and a melody that hints of “Long Black Veil” to form the requisite alt.country weeper, and reminds me of one of Canada’s finest new entrants in this relatively annoying genre, In-Flight Safety (previously reviewed here.) But then “D-Descending” takes it’s title too seriously, as the bottom falls out, literally, in the middle of an otherwise decent rocker. “Weathered” starts like some sultry jazz concoction straight out of a John Barry-composed James Bond film, but quickly finds its niche as a finger-snappin, swaying pop song, somewhat reminiscent of a countrified Candyskins, ca. their marvelous Space I’m In debut. The chorus is lifted from For Squirrels’ “Mighty K.C.,” but it’s such a great influence (and, I’m sure, quite unintentional) that we’ll forgive them.

Unfortunately, what can’t be forgiven is the generically banal, by-the-numbers pop over on Side 2, with only “Maggie” and “Too Far To Swim” warranting repeated listens. The former has the potential to be an aggressive, hard-driving rocker, but the band seems to insist on being weird-for-weird’s sake and pulls the rug out midsong, turning it into a silly ballad that fizzles out at the end like stale soda pop. The latter, however, is the best Matt Keating impersonation I’ve ever heard and sounds like an outtake from his wonderful Tell It To Yourself collection. So, as is the case with many debuts, Noba (an Arabic word meaning “moment in time”) is trying to cover too many bases at once, but the standouts here make a sophomore effort worth watching for, particularly if they pick a style and stick with it throughout.

Oscuro – Oscuro (Pascal)
Magic Box - Bliss Of A Madman 

Following a perfunctory “Intro,” “Daigoro” (despite a hyperactive drumkit that diminishes the impact of his David Gilmour-meets-Steve Wilson histrionics) properly introduces us to the proggy, techno, ambient world of film making guitarist, Steve Denny whose solo project means “dark” in Spanish. “Ragafari” isn’t so much composed as it is constructed from Denny’s “sonic landscapes” which include an snippet of appropriately confused dialogue, some electronic soundtrack recordings and what sounds like either crashing waves or an enthusiastic audience’s applause. The brief “Spanish Holiday” (it’s more like a Spanish weekend) has the requisite Spanish guitar, castanets and meandering trumpet that transports the listener smack dab into the middle of a bullring on a hot, summer afternoon in Madrid. It also sets the stage for an armchair traveler’s mini-vacation across Europe (the Euro-flavored “Tyme Travel” even includes some spooky singing like nuns in a convent – the female equivalent of those moaning monks from a few years back) and the dark continent (the air of mystery wafting across “Somewhere Near Morocco” is so pungent you can almost taste the couscous). And what vacation is complete without a visit to the casual, swinging 60’s cocktail lounges of the “Riviera”? If a travel brochure can have a soundtrack, this is it.

“Triana” is another floater with some languid soloing – a perfect respite from that “7 countries in 10 days” jaunt across two continents! “Suspensia” reminds me of a Carl Stalling soundtrack accompanying a conveyor belt run amok in one of those old Warner Brothers cartoons, but “Sparks” is a bit meandering, featuring more disembodied dialogue, but “Axiom” is a pleasant, even pretty exercise in Eno ambience, a la his Music for Airports. So, despite some dodgy missteps and detours down blind alleys, this is the perfect soundtrack for all you armchair travelers out there. Just sit back, put on the headphones and let the music take you on an adventure of a lifetime. 

Magic Box is a less-successful companion project to Oscuro, as Denny teamed up with Blue Hawaiians/Squirrel Nut Zipper multi-instrumentalist Tom Maxwell (who returned the favor and added drums to several of Oscuro’s tracks) for a similar collection of soundscapes, initially designed to accompany live exhibitions of performance artist Norton Wisdom. Like Stars of the Lid’s Per Aspera Ad Astra or Soft Machine’s Spaced, these sounds are best appreciated on headphones wandering through a gallery observing Wisdom’s creations, several of which adorn the CD booklet (oh, for those glory days of vinyl…these pictures are the epitome of “album-cover art”!) In the abstract, however, one can experience the music as one would listen to a soundtrack to a film one hasn’t seen yet.

These pieces are more aloof and detached than Denny’s solo pieces, although Maxwell’s human drumwork does improve on the more antiseptic drum machines Denny employs throughout the Oscuro release, yielding a more post-rockish Tortoise vibe on many of these pieces. Also, his impressive guitarwork stands out on the title track, evocatively capturing the wandering spirit of a random stroll through a gallery of images. Jazz enthusiasts will, no doubt, best appreciate the punny title references in “Trane to Birdland,” which features some of Denny’s snappier guitar licks, as well as a brooding bassline that somehow suggest a new genre called “dark jazz” or “jazz noir.”

And if you haven’t heard “Bolero” on guitar in awhile, check “Bolero Meets Andalucia,” particularly if you’re a budding guitarist and want to impress the babes with something other than “Stairway To Heaven.” Denny’s echoed phasing on “The Oracle of the Sun” adds a nice touch of Tarentel to the jazzy mix. So while both releases are interchangeable if you’re in the mood for soothing, background music, I give a slight nod to the soundscapes of Oscuro over the advantages of Maxwell’s human drum machine on Magic Box.

Subset – Dueling Devotions (Tight Spot) 

This Austin, TX trio’s (Lindsey Simon and Nathan Fish on vocals, guitars, bass and keys and Tom Hudson on drums) sophomore effort begins like the soundtrack to another MTV special devoted to folks whose mantra is “I Love the 80’s.”  Leadoff track, “What a Model Motto” has that tinny, 80’s bite reminiscent of Joe Jackson’s first two albums, while “Bottled Solution” is sloppy pop mess in the tradition of Camper Van Beethoven, and the 80’s power pop sensibilities of a Rubinoos and 20/20 is at work on “Common Denominator.” And for fans of the melodic, straight-ahead pop side of Guided By Voices, the band  rip a few pages out of Bob Pollard’s songbook for “For Every AHole,” “Shore it Up!” and “The 40^th Time.” Of course, it doesn’t hurt that producer John Croslin engineered several GBV releases, including one of their best “pop” albums, Mag Earwhig!

Things grind to a halt midway through the album with the unnoticeable “Bad Luck,” the dull ballad, “Some Swear” and the over-modulated, lo-fi, unintelligible disaster of “Farmacia,” that should be taken out back and put out of its (and our) misery. Things are righted quickly, however, with the tender, alt.country ballad, “Slow Ride,” which comes completely unexpected on the heels of the disastrous preceding trio. It’s one of the album’s highlights and is, perhaps, a style the band should consider investigating further.

The final two tracks, “All The Tea In China” and, particularly the homegrown, home-recorded “Hometown” are pleasant, staring-into-space ruminations, perfect for an end of the week wind-down.

The Ramblin’ Ambassadors – Avanti (Mint)

These Calgary cowpunks were assembled by former Huevos Rancheros guitar slinger, Brent J. Cooper, and this mini-album (9 tracks in under 25 minutes) begins right where the Rancheros’ trio of Vancouver, BC-based Mint-released albums left off: sweaty, anthemic, surf tunes with influences as vast as the Alberta landscape worn proudly on their flannel sleeves, be it old-time traditionalists like Ennio Morricone, Dick Dale, and The Ventures, or the new breed of surf/punks, fellow Canucks, Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet or Los Straitjackets. Opening with a cover of Morricone’s “Sixty Seconds To What” (from his soundtrack to “For A Few Dollars More”) is a stroke of genius that wins boucoups brownie points in my book. It’s full of that classic spaghetti twang that is required of all surf bands, as is the snappy boot tapper, “Hawgtied” and the dusty bootstomp of “Hangin’ Tree.”

Ian Hartley’s trumpet imbues “Dead Man’s Flats” with a Band I Heard in Tijuana groove that’ll have you headed for the nearest bullring to celebrate in style. In addition to Morricone, the Ambassadors pay tribute to their heroes via covers of ex-Shadowy Man, Brian Connelly’s “Twenty Original Fembots,” (unfortunately, one of the albums weak downspots) and “Hup Two Three Four” from The Godfather’s precursors, the Sid Presley Experience. So whatever your taste in sunny surf rock, if you enjoyed last year’s marvelous Sand project from Kim Fowley and Roy Swedeen, you’re sure to enjoy this year’s best surf/instrumental album, Avanti. Can I get a “Wahoo?” Can I get a “Yee Ha?” “Like, “Cowabunga, dude!” Grab your best gal and pull on your lizard-leather boots and get out there on the dance floor.

Kid Icarus – Maps of the Saints (Summersteps)

Fucked-up, lo-fi, loner folk from the backwoods of Moscow…Pennsylvania, that is. Icarus is the pseudonym of one Eric Schlittler (who can blame him for operating under an assumed name!?), who damages guitars, vocals, harmonicas, organs and assorted percussive instruments on these 14 tracks that range from vintage (i.e., sloppy, mondo-distorto) Guided By Voices on “Laughing Skeletons” to the surprisingly sweet tale of the “Firecracker Girls,” including the way-psychedelic tabla pounding of Psychatrone Rhonedakk. The two-chord wonder of “Bicycle Spokes” is so childishly simple even you could hop up on stage and accompany “the Kid.” There’s even a whacked-out, phased, backwards guitar solo at the end to make sure your brain is suitably fried so you won’t be nervous in front of those, oh, five or six people in the audience.

There’s also a degree of the wistful wackiness of an Anton Barbeau (see King of Missouri and Guladong) on tracks like “Matchsticks Dance,” “Women In Films” and “Your Photograph.” Elsewhere, the Kid accompanies himself on organ for the beautifully melodic “Ice Queen,” and, while he mercilessly butchers the Bee Gees “Holiday,” I give him extra credit for understanding what beautiful pop craftsmen they were before they unleashed disco on the world. However, just when you think there’s hope for the old kid after all, he unleashes the unlistenable sonic sludge of “Bells & Whistles,” revealing the true colors of his preference for lo-fi, boombox recordings.

Of course this whole mess will best be appreciated (understood, even) by suitably like-minded deranged individuals whose musical library consists of the collected works of GBV, Jandek (a major influence to the degree that Icarus organized the Jandek tribute album, Naked In The Afternoon, and released it on his Summersteps imprint), fellow Pennsylvanian loony, Brother J.T. and Daniel Johnston. However, that doesn’t rule out frat boys looking for a few laughs or the oddball wise guy looking to spice up the backyard barbecue from tossing this on and joining in on the raucous fun.

David Toop and Max Eastley – Doll Creature (Bip-Hop)

We saved the worst for last. This unlistenable hogwash, as unintelligible as Toop’s liner notes (I think it’s an environmental concept album with a lot of bugs in attendance), is the aural equivalent of listening to R2-D2’s digestive track immediately after he (it?) downed a half-dozen breakfast burritos. With instrumentation ranging from sculptures, abrasives, insectoids, weather and the Purple Ray Vitalator (Eastley) to the more traditional guitar, flute, organic matter, book pages and dog whistles (Toop) and titles like “Mouthful of Silence” [one could only hope!], “Metamorphoses of Tabanus Bovinis” [a misspelling of the genus of a type of horsefly], “Graphite in Prussic” and “Iris, Swimmer, Dreamless,” this is easily one of the most pretentious pieces of dog spittle I’ve ever heard. And if I wanted to listen to insect noises all night, I’d sleep with my windows open.

This is the third album in nearly thirty years from these experimental electronic soundscapists. Let’s hope it’s another thirty before the next one. Why, oh why do they keep paying people to record garbage like this? Is it because people like you are buying it? Well then, Stop It! Right Now!

Octopus Syng – Beyond the Karmadelic Coldness, There’s the Lovadelic Warmth (Soundhawk)

Octopus Syng is a one-man band born out of the psychedelic haze of hippie-dippie flower child, Jaire Pätäre’s imagination. Three years in the making, the project began in May, 2001 after Jaire “returned from India with a sitar in my hand and my head full of sunny vibes.” Well if that alone doesn’t make you want to rush right out and pick this up, read on, brothers and sisters! From that familiar sitar strum that opens the album with the instrumental “We Could Be Everywhere” to the gentle, acoustic mission statement, “It’s So Nice To Feel High In The Summertime,” “Beyond the Karmadelic Coldness…” combines a suitably mellow yellow Donovan vibe, with whimsical slices of unadulterated Syd Barrett pop (check out “Intuition Waltz” and then phone Robyn Hitchcock and tell him you’ve found his next single!)

“Frail Elehpant” is a rocking pop/psych winner, like any number of long-lost gems you discovered on the Rubbles psychedelic compilations (which may be only fitting, as Soundhawk owner Timo Pääkkö is also the leader of the wonderful psychedelic pop band, Electric Crayon Set, which the astute reader will recognize as the title of Volume 5 in the series!). A tasty little guitar solo is at the center of “Magical Moonlight and Mystic Girl.” One of several songs to explore the oft-cited similarities between the psychedelic and dream states, it’s a wonderfully warm, psychedelic lullabye a la Donovan’s Gift From A Flower To A Garden 2xLP set.

The melody of the piano-based “Spring” reminded me of The Kinks “Celluloid Heroes,” while the upbeat party song “Varanasi Rock and Roll All Night Long” combines The Ramones’ trademark “1-2-3-4” introduction with a sitar-driven whirling dervish dance beat somewhat akin to Ravi Shankar covering The Hollies “Stop Stop Stop.” Another marvelous one-man psych band which will be of obvious interest to fans of Chris (Lamp of the Universe) Williamson, Karl (World Party) Wallinger, Kurt (Ultra Vivd Scene) Ralske, as well as pop psychsters Outrageous Cherry and, closer to home, Norway’s Dipsomaniacs.

Patrik Torsson – Kolvätaserenader (Häpna) 

If you ever wondered what life was like on an oil tanker (and you speak Swedish), this is the album for you. Torsson spent five years alternating every month between the North and Baltic Seas and his home in Sweden. This spoken-word release (roughly translated as “Hydrocarbon Serenades”) recounts his observations on life-at-sea, including recollections of unusual weather patterns, his shipmates, and other minutiae which helped him pass the time between navigating the tanker and handling refined oil products. Unfortunately, the English-speaking listener will have to be content with the lovely, atmospheric, electronic backing tracks, with occasional piano and acoustic and electric guitar embellishments on tracks like “Kommunikationerna” and “Brofjorden-åskan,” the latter making effective use of the “glitch music” format, popularized by Oval, Microstoria and Scandinavian acts like Porte and fellow Häpna recording act, Tape.

Several of the pieces (like “Nattglimmer,” which also sounds like Torsson’s taking a bath with his rubber ducky while recording his story) have a “field recording” air about them and are so roughly recorded (apparently intentionally) that even Swedes may have difficulty understanding what’s going on. The shuffling around, bumping into furniture and dripping water on “Påmönstring” almost gives the feeling that Torsson is making this stuff up as he goes along, and the scatterbrained arcade sounds and electronic bleeps and bloops of “Vindväggen,” coupled with not-so-romantic humming and relatively flat “la-la-las” will also leave the listener aloof and detached. But then there’s the album highlight, “Avmönstring,” which, despite its rather busy and occasionally annoying percussive overload, benefits from a pleasant, Orange Cake Mix groove which will invite repeat listens.

Without a Swedish-English dictionary at hand, you may feel like you’re listening to Radio Sweden on the shortwave radio and while there is, initially, a mysterious attraction to the foreign tongue, this may be as dull as any number of English-language spoken word releases, such as Pip Pyle & Tom Carter’s Catch A Cherub, anything by Utah Phillips or the similar tales of Vancouver logger and raconteur, Pete Trower on his recent Sidewalks & Sidehills release by the Transsiberian Music Company. If you could find a way to segregate the instrumental passages and burn them onto a separate disk, you’ll have a beautiful, laidback recording, perfect for whiling away the summer afternoon in a backyard hammock.

Sagor & Swing – Orgelplaneten (Häpna)

Fans of the cheesy organ-driven ditties of Felt and Denim will jump out of their seats at the charming “Henriks Födelsedagsmelodi,” the leadoff track on the fourth and poppiest album yet from this Swedish duo of Eric (“Sagor”) Malmberg (organ, synths) and Ulf (“Swing”) Möller (drums). It’s as earcatchingly lovely as anything on the Denim’s Novelty Rock compilation, and the only thing missing is the organ grinder’s monkey! You’ll want to pack your liderhosen and cute little elf hat to dance the night away to “Äventyr I Alperna” (Adventure in the Alps”), another lovely organ ditty in the fine tradition of Perez Prado’s “Patricia.” The melody is so deceptively simple and catchy, you’ll be tempted to whip out your Casio and play along.

The hits just keep on coming with “8-Bitarspolskan,” which will be familiar to everyone who remembers that early 70s pop ditty “Popcorn” by Hot Butter. Everything, however, is not lightweight, fluffy pop. “Rymden på 50-talet” has a snazzy, jazzy groove with Swing’s heavy, percussive backbeat and “Distro” sounds like the theme to one of those swinging-on-the-Riviera spy movies. And dig those cool, daddio handclaps on the latter! If refreshing space-age bachelor pad music is your thing, man, you’ll love “Smedjebacken by Night,” and for just plain, jaw-dropping weirdness (and a similar sound to their earlier releases), there’s no beating the backward-masked organgrinding (!) of “Baklängesvisa.”

So whatever instrumental groove you’re into, there’s something to put a smile on the face of everyone with one of the year’s happiest releases. This is one “Organ Planet” I’d like to visit often. [Note: Whether a marketing ploy or an attempt at taking a well-deserved breather, the duo announced that this would be their last record together. Let’s hope not, but I suggest you run out and buy it just in case.]

Turid – I Retur (Silence)

This is the first compilation of the work of Turid Lundqvist, whose voice has been likened to a Swedish Buffy Sainte-Marie. This compilation (roughly, “In Return”) gathers selections from her three Silence albums, the 1971 debut, Vittras Visor (“Vittra’s Songs”), 1973’s Bilder (“Pictures”) and 1975’s Tredje Dagen (“The Third Day”) and adds one track from her later work with Thomas Wiehe, 1982’s, Flow Soma. “Lazy lilting lady” is a perfect description of this Swedish flower child, whose simple folk tunes (mostly self-penned) and angelic utterances (mostly in Swedish) return us to the hazy, heady days of sitting cross-legged on the floor amidst a circle of friends with the sultry sounds of Buffy, Melanie and Joni Mitchell wafting through the room.

This is certainly not far removed from listening to a folky Abba (fans of Agnetha Fältskog’s solo material sung in her native tongue should especially take note), and while you won’t understand a word of what she’s on about, you’ll certainly enjoy listening to her sing about it. With instrumentation as varied as the lilting flute on “Song” and “Bilder,” the wild mandolin strumming on “Tom I Bollen,” the romantic trumpet and Garcia-styled guitar licks of Kenny Håkansson on “Stjärnor och Änglar,“ and the tastefully orchestrated, violin-led “Välkomme-Hus,” this would fit comfortably in the Swedish pop or international wyrdfolk section of your music collection.

Other highlights include the innocent, childlike simplicity of Melanie at her precocious best on “Om Snällhet” and “Vakna, mitt Barn,” the tender “Vargen,” with its melody reminiscent of The Beatles’ “Michelle,” the gorgeous a capella (minus a little bird chirping in the background) traditional tune, “Shri Ram,” the (English) tale of growing old and leaving youthful exuberance behind on ”Sometimes I Think Age Is A Treasure,” and the heavy, fuzz-drenched psychedelia of “Låt Mig Se Dig.” If you close your eyes and open your imagination, you can almost smell the inside of The Avalon Ballroom in full flight, ca. 1968. The lengthy, dreamy “På Tredja Dagen Uppståndna” is a marvel in any language and it didn’t bother me one bit that I couldn’t understand a word she was saying. I almost interpreted it as one of those made-up languages of a Liz (Cocteau Twins) Fraser or Jón þor (Sigur Rós) Birgisson. So if those bands don’t scare you off, don’t let the language barrier prevent you from investigating Turid.

Like the equally enigmatic Linda Perhacs, Shirley Collins and Anne Briggs, Turid more or less retired from the music business (shortly after completing Flow Soma) and her current whereabouts are unknown. [I’m guessing here—unfortunately, all the credits, including commentary from Turid herself, are in Swedish.] Nevertheless, this lovingly assembled retrospective is a welcome introduction to her work and will, hopefully, coax her out of retirment for some new recordings, a la Vashti Bunyan and Magic Carpet’s Alisha Sufit.