Hey look, a thing!

Yeah, sort of back in the saddle. Expect typical end-of-the-year shenanigans in the coming weeks.

Anyways, I was on my way to school the other day, and being a commuter student from the next town over means I arrive at school either a) way too early, or b) during class. Being the dilligent student I am, I tend to go for the first option. So I arrive a solid half-hour before I need to for an 8 AM class, meaning the campus is essentially dead. I set up camp in the cavernous main hall and planned to do some much-postponed reading and listen to some tunes.


Appropriately, I decided to put on some music that, much like my reading, had fallen on the wayside. And while I didn't exactly regret puttng off Northanger Abbey, postponing Tobias Hellkvist and Dead Letters Spell out Dead Words's White/Grey/Black was pretty stupid on my part. Super dense celestial drones, ebbing and flowing with the just the right amount of ebb... it's wonderful stuff for lonley winter mornings, really. If you've got an empty field or long, snowy bus ride in your near future - and you count yourself a fan of the somewhat epic brand of ambient by Stars of the Lid or Eluvium - be sure to give it a listen. Although the decidedly "Black" part of the collaboration lives up to its name, so maybe I should qualify the field should be "devoid of life" or your bus ride to school should be "in a potentially dangerous blizzard." Or something.


Tobias Hellkvist and Letters Spell out Dead Words - White/Grey/Black

Sorry, folks.

End of the semester at school, so this writing-for-pleasure has taken a backseat to writing-for-my-degree. Sorry!

& extra sorry to whoever is in Toronto on a Mac right now and has been checking for hourly updates the last couple days; stay in there champ, updates soon!

Dust, American Dust

Personally, as a musician, I have a hard time with making simple things engaging. It's probably not just me, but when I'm writing, I have the tendency to want to make things as grandiose and epic as possible - that's engaging, surely. Surely, I tend to think to myself, that a piece must keep evolving and twisting and turning to be involving. It's entirely desirable, but that's the rut I seem to be in. Thank god for artists like Pete Fosco, who make such a powerful case for simplicity that it makes me want to give up ammenities such as, oh, multiple instruments, overdubbing, et cetera.

I can't tell if it's genius or simply confidence that makes Dust, American Dust so compelling: is Pete Fosco doing wonderful things with guitar, distortion and reverb in an elaborately calculated way, or does he just sit down and instinctively know something great is going to come out? It could certainly be either, really; give it a listen and see if you can tell where it's composition and where it's improvisation.




In any case, what matters here is the sound, maaaan. Hazily floating somewhere between aggressive-harshness and dreamlike-fuzz, Dust, American Dust sort of sounds like a shoegaze guitarist lost in space: all loud guitars and reverb and fuzz and feedback, but with no band for context, it all feels very lost. Very surreal, very sublime, kinda harsh, kinda scary. You know how it is.


Pete Fosco - Dust, American Dust

This thing is sadly out-of-print, and I'd love a copy, so if anyone has one they [for some strange reason] want to sell [or give] to me, get in touch. In the meantime, buy some other releases from Digitalis Industries - tons of cool stuff on there

In colonial times, we fought for our right to own - and whip - slaves

If you can't manage to see the tongue-so-firmly-in-cheek-it's-practically-ripping-a-hole nature of this album, then you either haven't heard it or are entirely unfamiliar with the likes Anal Cunt or GWAR or with, really, the entire notion of parody in heavy music.

Slave Whipping Blasphemy is the supposed duo of Sir Reginald and Seamus DeVille, allegedly both full-fledged members of the KKK and having appropriately grim, blurry band pictures in full attire. Hailing from the deepest recesses of Texas and kicking out some completely twisted, but actually really fucking good black metal, SWB have gotten a fair share of internet flak for their racist themes, unsurprisingly. But godfuckingdammit, if you can't see the inherit humour of a KKK-led black metal band, or song titles like "The Kall of the Kvlt Klux Klan" then the entire internet must be a large, scary, terrible place.

What separates this from most parody-metal is that this music is actually sort of good. I only say "sort of" because I am kind of hesitant to admit it, because this is actually a wickedly solid 20 minutes of lo-fi blasturbation. "Nigger Anthem Massacre" serves as well as any black metal intro in terms of setting the atmosphere - in this case, the colonial south - and each of the 8 following tracks is legitimately memorable and distince, which is much more than can be said about many a modern metal album. Take, for instance, the eerie bellows in "Uncle Tom's Cabin in Flames" of slaaaaaaa-aaave whipping blaaaasphemy, slaaaaaa-aaave whipping BLACK METAL which is ridiculous on paper but awesome on record, so I guess your enjoyment of it will be based entirely on your frame of mind. "Abraham Lincoln, I Fucking Hate You" is a comedy classic, and faux-grim black metal satire abounds in almost every track (such as having your slaves plow your fields UNDER THE FREEZING MOON).

Physical release was limited to 10 copies because it was so fucking kvlt.



Slave Whipping Blasphemy - A Kall To Whips

Now, the real question is: are you going to leave your Last.fm scrobbler on while you listen to this?

Kram Ran

I'm not patriotic in any sense of the word. As Bill Hicks once said, "my parents just fucked here, that's about all." But nonetheless, I can't help but be proud when two parents fuck in my country and produce some legitimately exciting musicians, the latest of which I've been introduced to is Kram Ran.

Hailing from Winnipeg (a city fondly reflected upon by many in the Canadian music scene), Kram Ran is a one-man affair culling influences from... well, shit, everyone according to his Last.fm page: "A Silver Mt Zion, The Robot Ate Me, The Microphones, Radiohead, Xiu Xiu, Tim Hecker". Which isn't entirely inaccurate, really. The beginning of "A Death & Kill" tricks you into thinking that Silver Mt Zion influence is at the start of the list for a reason, before segueing into a jumpy piano riff and positively manic vocals calling to mind Xiu Xiu's Jamie Stewart quite handily. Kram Ran seems to channel Xiu Xiu fairly often, actually: "To Dance With Your Dear Dread" opens with a searing wall of keyboard destruction and the buried, desperate vocals and, later, "And Once Upon a Time" recalls a certain singer's quiet, barely-in-tune whimper; it also reminds me of the brilliantly naive vocals on Our Brother The Native's latest, if that's a point of reference for anyone of you (and if not, get the newest Our Brother The Native, goddammit). But hell, the comparisons are started to piss me off, so I imagine anyone associated with the Kram Ran camp was tired of it since I brought it up.

What probably wasn't clear in that last paragraph is that this actually, truly is an excitingly original EP. I'm not going to go into detail because I really want you folks to hear this yourselves, but definitely grab this thing; it's free, and completely worth your time. With equal parts fraught desperation and contemplative crooning (check out "Kill Then Give" for a good mix of both; the falsetto breaks halfway in give me the shivers, I tells ya), and, appropriately, a lush blend of acoustic and electronic instrumentation, A Brief Affair of Limping and Gathering of Clipped Wings is one of my favourite home-grown EPs of the year.




Download the whole thing and/or buy yourself a copy here (only $5)

Midterms are over, hooray!

I had to catch an early bus to school this morning. Luckily the bus stop is 5 minutes from my house and there's a Tim's across the street, so I could grab a muffin because I overslept and didn't have time for a proper breakfast. I got a chocolate chip one, but I could tell it was touching a banana muffin, which ruined a solid half of the muffin top.

Anyways, it's about 6:55 AM at this point and I stand around the bus stop, waiting for the [always] late GO Bus to arrive. The stop is on a fairly major street that runs through the whole city, and connects to two highways and most of the major roads around these parts, so traffic was pretty dense come 7. I'd been standing around eating for a solid 5 minutes before I notice a dead cat on the road, next to the curb. It looks fairly intact considering how dead it is.

Now every time a car goes by I cringe, because this well-preserved dead cat is about 3 inches away from becoming decidedly less well-preserved. I turned up my music because the only thing worse than watching cat brains paint 5 of an 18-wheeler's tires, I reasoned, would be the sound of cat skull cracking, or worse, of not-quite-dead cat screaming (though I was confident it was thoroughly deceased.)

The bus came eventually (late) and it too managed to miss the cat. I got on the bus and gave the driver my overpriced ticket, sat down, and didn't hear any cat-crushing as we pulled away from the curb.

It wasn't there when I got off the bus 8 hours later, nor was there any noticeable pool of blood/sinews/bone fragments, so I assumed all went well.

What I'm trying to get at is I'm done midterms now, so things should be picking up here again. And to keep things relevant to this post and this blog, I'll probably post some Birchville Cat Motel when I get home from work. Sound good?

Midterms

I'm balls-deep in midterm essays right now, but that should wrap up by the end of the week & I'll be back on the ball. Sorry for the lack of... anything.

Put My Dream on This Planet

If you're not familiar with Jandek, I highly recommend reading the Wikipedia article on him, because it's one of the more intriguing stories in contemporary music, especially since rock and roll has lost much (read: all) of its mystique.

A quick run-down: a man (herein referred to as Jandek for convenience's sake) release a bunch of outsider folk albums in the late 70's/80's, disappears for a while, comes back with a trio of spoken word albums, experiments for a while, then randomly plays some live shows for the first time... ever in the mid-2000's. Why is this so interesting?

Well, we barely know who Jandek is.

He releases his own albums (on a label called Corwood Industries, which, in addition to being owned by Jandek, releases only Jandek material), has offered only 2 official interviews ever, and makes only sporadic, largely unannounced live appearances. During his hiatus, it was assumed his output was a result of a manic recording session resulting in over a dozen albums, but then he came back, decidedly older sounding, and we're led to believe he's still at it. Hell, there was no way to confirm that he was even the gentleman that appears on almost all his album covers until he played his first live show nearly 30 years after releasing his first album (which itself was released under a different pseudonym, under the guise that it was a band that released it).

Put My Dream on This Planet is one of his "experimental" albums: almost an hour of unaccompanied voice, half-singing and cripplingly depressed. "I Need Your Life" is a 28 minute plea of uncomfortable desperateness, that might be laughable if it weren't so serious and, well, sad, in every sense of the word.

I don't even care if I'm in a wheelchair
Or in a bed
Unable to move
For all I know
It's better than what I did today

"It's Your House", likewise, is a grovelling mess but a bit more poetic, as The Representative from Corwood demands a house made from granite and iron, denying all frills and extravagances in his quest for solitude and stability ("no glass, no wood, no plastic, no brick, no shingles, no aluminum siding, no syn-thet-ic [dramatic pause; our narrator desperately trying to find what he doesn't need] fibres") until he surrenders the building (presumably to whoever's Life he Needs), turning it into a symbol of commitment. Or trying to, anyway. Sad, really.

"I Went Outside" clocks in at only 1:18; for most of the song, he tries to find his shoes, and when he finally gets out, it's only snowy and cold.

Call it a sad mess of regrettable poetry or a brutally honest account of a personal crisis, either way Put My Dream on This Planet is enthralling, though difficult to listen to in terms of subject and presentation. Are you man enough?



Jandek - I Need Your Life
Jandek - It's Your House
Jandek - I Went Outside [COMING SOON - my internet's being a bitch]

If you want to buy some, check out this flyer and mail the man a cheque.

FORMER GHOSTS NEEDS YOUR HELP

I was incredibly psyched to see Former Ghosts (aka Jamie Stewart + Freddy Ruppert + Nika Roza, aka Xiu Xiu + This Song Is A Mess But So Am I + Zola Jesus) this Friday as a treat after a week of mid-term essays and non-stop reading, but alas, they've had to cancel because for reasons unbeknown to the public, the venue pulled out leaving these folks stranded.



Right now, they're looking for a place to play, otherwise there will be no Toronto show at all. So if anyone out there in the blogosphere can lend a helping plan, PLEASE contact ryancraven@theagencygroup.com .

This is guaranteed to be an amazing show, so someone, please, throw a bone to the fine folks in Former Ghosts.

Thanks

Beyond the Valley of Ultrahits

I'll just come out and say it: Richard Youngs is probably my favourite contemporary solo artist. He's been releasing music pretty much nonstop since the early 80's, and has dipped his feet in enough to genres that I suspect he'd have to graft a third foot onto his left ankle to become any more diverse. From drone, free jams and noise to minimalist folk and half-hour piano ballads, this guy's got his bases covered. And just to make sure he's got even non-existent bases covered, he'll quietly throw out some completely left-field albums. So if you aspiring free-acoustic/kazoo artists have something planned, just know that Youngs beat you to it with New Angloid Sound. And watch your back, Jandek: Summer Wanderer is stiff competition in the "Best Independent A Capella Album (Male)" category. And if any of you motherfuckers are planning on recording over an entire album with an alternate take of that entire album, you'll probably kill yourself after listening to Autumn Response, because you won't do better. Sorry.



Basically, every time you pick up something that says "Richard Youngs" on the cover, don't think for a second you can even guess at what you're getting. The only constant is his consistently high quality of output; this may be total fanboyism, but Youngs hasn't really done any wrong.



So what are you to make of Beyond the Valley of Ultrahits, then? It's synth-pop. Of course.

Incredibly lush synth-pop at that. Layered synths, twittering drum machines, and, of course, Youngs's brillaint voice, dubbed and sounding more majestic than ever. It's a charmingly simple album, too, contrasting sharply with some of his more multi-tiered epics like River Through Howling Sky: simple melodies looped and piled on to each other, catchy choruses... really, it's just a great synthy/poppy record.

And y'know what? I'm gonna give you the whole thing. This was released in only 2 pressings, each tragically limited to 100. It would be an absolute shame if more people didn't get the chance to hear it.



Richard Youngs - Beyond the Valley of Ultrahits

Since you can't buy this album, show some support and buy some of his back catalogue from the fine folks at Jagjaguwar.

Enjoy, and feel free to comment.

ALL TOMORROW'S PARTIES: PART THREE (Sunday)

Alright, finally wrapping up this tedious and boringly written review.

This was the day of the festival I had been really holding out for. A bunch of legendary bands doing legendary things, all in the same building, and things kicked off with Japan's almighty Boredoms. Let's just get this out of the way right now: the festival could've ended right after their set and I'd've been 110% content. The building could've caved in (sure felt like it was going to). I could've suffered from post-infant death syndrome. Heart failure. Spontaneous combustion. Anything. For the 70 minutes that the Boredoms were on stage, there was 70 minutes of the most hypnotizing, enthralling, exciting music I've had the privilege to see in person. Nine drummers in perfect unison, Yamantaka Eye in the centre with his seven-necked guitar, beating, jumping, wailing, crooning, calling, beckoning, yodeling, screaming, thrashing... screw words, this was positively transcendent. Someone posted the whole set on Youtube, so get on that.

Not to be outdone by ridiculous stage-setting, the Caribou Vibration Ensemble followed, with a huge line-up of 15 if I recall correctly. Three drummers, auxiliary percussion, guitars, brass, woodwinds, and electronic fuckery courtesy of Four Tet. Very cool idea, great execution, but almost every song had the same climactic "last song" explosion feeling, kinda of dampening all the following climaxes (insert your own joke here.)

Proving that Japan is the leader of eclectic vaguely-heavy nuttery (sorry, Netherlands), Boris handily cranked out another festival highlight by playing Feedbacker in its entire slow-burning, cataclysmic glory. Flawless, really, which makes it hard to talk about. But how fucking cool is a double-necked guitar in a red-light stage fog? Yeah, thought so.

Crystal Castles are right up there with Animal Collective in the "admittedly hipster-friendly faux-indie that is enjoyable on record but atrocious live" category. Painfully loud throbbing bass combined with Alice Glass's off-key and off-time shrieks and squawks were thoroughly difficult enjoyable. Which is a shame, because I want to dig this band more than I do, really. Danceable but not obnoxiously so, and a vaguely punk aesthetic should make for a good time; then again, maybe it's more punk to go on stage drunk and kick out some half-assed jamz? Let's not talk about punk, actually. We all know where that goes.

Arguably the most legendary of the day's line-up was Bob Mould (if you are Googling this name right now I swear I will kill you) playing Husker Du songs with No Age, which is the closest many of us youngin's will get to seeing Husker Du live. What I admired most about the set was how No Age wasn't just Mould's house band for the hour. Rather, they played together, trading off vocal parts, gelling very well and playing extremely tightly. And closing with "New Day Rising"? Pants = officially soiled.

Now, here's where I lose you: I don't really care for The Flaming Lips. I don't hate them, I'm just terribly indifferent. So when my options were "watch them play until 1" or "get a decent sleep for an early departure tomorrow", my girlfriend and I leaned towards the latter. That being said, the 10 minutes we caught seemed to be the wildly entertaining live show the Lips are known for: costumes, confetti, balloons, the whole 9. Fun time, to be sure.

Ah, I really can't wrap this up eloquently. I didn't enjoy writing this. I'm sure it was awful to read too. Sorry folks, things'll pick up from here.

ALL TOMORROW'S PARTIES: PART TWO (Saturday)

Let's get right into things: Sufjan Stevens kicked things off with by playing Seven Swans through; I can't say I particularly care about Mr Stevens (nothing personal), but it was a solid set of lazy folk that was by all means enjoyable, and probably something much more if you cared about the man/album.

I really want to love Grouper. On record, the dreamy/droney cave-born acoustic-thing works wonderfully. This is late night headphone music at its finest. As such, live it loses a bit of what makes it so great, since instead of walking through the snow at 2 am contemplating life and other such deep meaningful things, you're standing around with a bunch of other folks staring at Liz Harris for 40 minutes. I think I'd dig this a lot more if she met me behind an old church and played at midnight, but in a concert hall, it loses something.


Circulatory System carries the rainbow-flame acid torch passed on from Olivia Tremor Control and played a lively set, with a comfortable mix of catchy pop and all-out psychedelic jams. Again, they continued the early-afternoon theme of "enjoyable but not remarkable", but [also] again, it ain't nothin' against the band. It's entirely possible I was too excited for the latter half of the day, but that would be unprofessional, wouldn't it?
& alas, no surprise Jeff Mangum sightings. Dang.


Bradford Cox played his first set of the day as Atlas Sound on the decidedly more intimate second stage. Sure, on any "technically" level this was a fairly atrocious set with numerous technical problems and restarts and "hold on just a minute"s, but fuck it, I love Bradford Cox. He could run over my dog and I would not be able to get mad at him. Infinitely friendly, charming, and a great performer. One of the festival highlights for me.




Unfortunately, due to major jet-lag in my travelling company, we had to retire for a bit of the afternoon, but there was nothing I was particularly dying to see, but I have heard that Black Dice and El-P kicked out some fairly serious jams.

Shellac welcomed us back and nearly killed us, easily eclipsing every band in terms of volume during sound check alone. I'm not gear-heady enough to tell you what kind of amps they were using, but it looked like some sort of military equipment: a large, chrome box for an amp head with a solitary oversized dial on the front. As expected, they were tight as hell, kicked out some riff-heavy tunes and generally straight-up^rocked a lot harder than any of the bands there. You know, in that "fuck art, bang yr head" kinda way. No nonsense. Well, as no nonsense as "Squirrel Song" can get.


As the evening came to close, I get the feeling that whatever mastermind-cum-evil genius planned this festival twisted his moustache and cackled maniacally as festival goers were forced to choose between a serious conflict: Deerhunter or The Melvins? Fuuuuuck. After great, great deliberation, I decided my love for the Melvins was too deep and had been going on since middle school and I could not pass up the chance to finally see them live. I was able to catch the start of Deerhunter's set, though; "Cryptograms" and "Never Stops" lead me to believe I missed great things. Dang.

But hey, it's the goddamn Melvins. The Melvins! Fuck! They did not disappoint at all, even if I still find the two drummers thing a bit superfluous. A great mix of new and old stuff, including some of my favourite tunes from each era ("The Talking Horse" and "Hooch", respectively), but with such an expansive discography, you really can't please everyone, you know? (I was secretly holding out for "Honey Bucket", but what can ya do?) That being said, that's by no means a knock against them; they've been at it for 25 years now and it definitely shows. Plus, I caught an interview with King Buzzo earlier in the day, and it really makes me wish his legitimately hilarious banter carried on to the stage.


The night closed with Animal Collective, a band which I want to like but infuriates me to no end. Feels is a fantastic record. Their earlier, more experimental material circa-Here Comes the Indian has some great hidden gems ("Hey Light"). They even have some killer pop tunes in their recent discography ("Peacebone", "Brothersport"). But live? It's one giant piss-off. They've seemingly abandoned everything pre-Merriweather Post Pavilion, save for "Fireworks" and ditched any semblance of organic music, sticking exclusively to samplers, save for the rare guitar. What results is a bunch of overly-indulgent jams on frankly annoying loops, and with a hilarious amount of reverb and delay on the vocals rendering the hooks indistinguishable from the electronic clusterfuck. Great songs like "My Girls" lose their punch and dynamics. Garbled, unfocused, and frankly boring. Which is a shame, because on record, even their new material is largely enjoyable; minimal but still engaging pop songs.

PART THREE, THE CONCLUSION, COMING SOON.

ALL TOMORROW'S PARTIES: PART ONE (Friday)

Feel free to skip the first couple of paragraphs; the meat of things starts below the personal back story, but if you wanna come along for the whole ride, go right on ahead, sailor.

The multi-day music festival is not something we really "do" here in Canada. We get some one-day things rolling through my neck of the woods (Virgin Festival, Warped Tour), but unfortunately, many of those one-day things all-day suck (Virgin Festival, Warped Tour). I remember reading through issues of Terrorizer (a British metal magazine (that is, about, not forged from, metal) in high school, and being absolutely floored at the weekend heavy metal camps, where European metalheads could congregate in a field out in Germany, bring a tent and some beer, and rock the fuck out for three days straight while an amazing line-up played from noon 'til dawn. Wacken, Bloodstock, Graspop... a dime a dozen over there.

As time went on, my tastes changed, but I was nonetheless jealous of the folks across the pond. How's this for an idea: take a really great band, have them pick a bunch of other really great bands, and have them all play over the course of a weekend? Bloody brilliant!, I'm sure they said over tea, adjusting monocles, etc. And so for many a year I was insanely jealous of the UK's musician-curated festival called All Tomorrow's Parties.

Eventually, ATP found it's way to North America, specifically New York, but actually specifically to Monticello, a nowhere town two hours from New York. And fuck, the line-ups were just as stellar and the whole experience sounded absolutely incredible.

So I went.

Earlier this summer, my girlfriend and I were browsing the line-up of old festivals, drooling and gawking and how cool would that be-ing. It would be so cool, it was decided. So a after a few extra shifts at work, some emails, some bus tickets, we set it up. September 10, we are leaving on a Greyhound bus from Toronto to New York, arriving the next day. Rad.

(At this point I will spare you the boredom of the 10+ hour bus ride, but just for the record: the new "extra leg room" Greyhound buses? Bullshit. They're uncomfortable as hell. The leg room is fine, but they went and fucked up the back and neck room, which made sleeping next to impossible.)

Unfortunately, due to Manhattan traffic and a missed transfer we missed The Drones playing Wait Long By The River and the Bodies of Your Enemies Will Float By. So I can't say much about that. Or anything, really.

The Feelies were up next and we were able to catch 80% of their set, wherein they performed Crazy Rhythms in its entirety. The jangly post-punk felt kind of flat on record, but the songs are definitely there, and live they absolutely nailed it. Super high energy for an album conceived almost 30 (!) years ago and a rock-solid performance. Here's hoping the reunion isn't just for touring.

Continuing the night's "Don't Look Back" agenda, where bands faithfully recreate entire albums live, Dirty Three (with Nick Cave on piano) did as much of Ocean Songs as they could fit into their one-hour set. Hyperdelicate post-rock doesn't normally translate into thrilling live show, but Warren Ellis was able to bust out all matter of kicks and jumps and wildly frontman-like behaviour all while cradling a violin and more than making up for his lethargic bandmates. Luckily, Cave's appearance didn't overshadow the material; his additions were subtle and tasteful, and the set was flawless. Definitely a highlight.

Suicide performing Suicide (as the ATP website affirmed, "their first LP", not actual suicide) was one of the main things that sealed my decision to make the journey to New York. Nothing short of legendary, the duo were wildly inventive for the late 70's; when punk was a guitar-bass-drum affair, Suicide worked as a duo, with drum machines and keyboards, with songs often being just an abrasive, industrial rhythm under half-singing punctuated with manic shrieks and bursts of noise. Now, 32 years later... things are bad. Real bad. A set list is one thing, but lyric sheets? For your own music? And having the sound guy read them was just sad. A deadpan roadie saying "Ghost rider. Motorcycle hero." into the microphone made me cringe. And so did Suicide themselves. It was like watching that drunken, creepy, "funny" uncle do Suicide karaoke at your family reunion. "Rocket USA" was especially embarrassing, as Alan Vega mumbled and groaned and generally showed his age. Admittedly things clicked a bit as the set went on, but it was still kind of... sad.

I never really got why everyone went apeshit over Panda Bear. Sure, Person Pitch was groovy, but it wasn't as mindblowing as you'd be lead to believe. Reverb-drenched minimal loops and Mr Lennox's soaring chorusy voice are lovely and all, but each song is just that on top of a creative sample, and it all becomes very samey very quickly. So live it's no surprise that the loops become more annoying (and unpleasantly bass-heavy) to the point of incoherency, the vocals do their normal Panda Bear thing, and the "show" consists of a man standing at a mess of wires in front of a projection for an hour. Monotonous, really.

David Cross did a funny, if extremely drunken, set, and I don't know what else to say about a comedian. He spoke well, I guess? Nice voice? Good jokes? He was a comedian, and he was funny. What more do you want?

I only caught about 10 minutes of The Jesus Lizard before being so impossibly tired I could not stand it, but much unlike Suicide, they seem to still be hauling ass despite their age. David Yow immediately found his way into the crowd, and right off the bat people/fists/feet/bottles were flying. Would've been a great time had I not been dead on my feet.


Stay tuned for parts 2 and 3... sometime. This is kind of a tedious thing to write. Is it tedious to read? Let me know.

COMING SOON

- All Tomorrow's Parties write-up (PREVIEW: shit was dope brah)
- something droney
- the best band name ever?
- frequent updates

STAY TUNED

The Big Gloom

Comparing bands to other bands is Cloud Strife-sized double edged sword with a greased hilt. On one hand, sure, it's the easiest way to sum up a band's sound, to say they sound like Band X, Band Y and if Band Z had a baby with Band A while Band C cut the umbilical cord, but it also seldom does justice to neither Bands X nor whatever band you're trying to talk about. So when everyone compared Have a Nice Life to Joy Division, My Bloody Valentine, and Sunn O))) among others (I think I heard Swans somewhere), I did my best not to immediately shit myself 5 times and die, because how on Earth could a band live up to those veritable legends?

Well, shit, they just about did.

And the only reason it's "just about" and not "absolutely" is because this is still a young group.

So, instead, maybe that should read shit, they fucking will.



Poor formatting and excessive curse words aside, this band truly does combine the best of all the aforementioned worlds. Joy Division's uncomfortably depressing lyrics, My Bloody Valentine's wall-of-sound, Swans' repetitive, hypnotic song-structure, Sunn O)))'s... ok, this comparison has always been kind of lost on me, but whatever. Throw that in with a vague black metal aesthetic (the non-ridiculous kind) and a healthy DIY spirit and even a sense of humour (keep up with the Enemies List twitter) and I swear this description is still not off base: Have a Nice are indeed all of that, quite handily.

Though I feel like I'm already falling into the negative-side of this comma-happy band roll call: Have a Nice Life are still a unique force, and not merely derivative of any of the aforesaid.

"Hey now", said the Blogosphere, "this band is old news, mate. Remember early 2008, when everyone went totally apeshit over Deathconsciousness?"

Yes, but there's plenty of reasons for things to get apeshittier (?) now: grab a copy of the recently-pressed Deathconsciousness 2xLP, complete with huge explanatory booklet. Why the hell hasn't this sold out yet? Do your thing, internet. Or if you want some instant gratification, stream the whole thing here and then download the just-released b-side/demo compilation Voids. Worth your time and hard drive space, pinky swear.

Alright, I'm going to quite my fanboy gushing now. Dismissed.

I have no excuses.

Summer has been busy, and [some pun about pilots, astrayitude, etc]. But I'm hoping to buckle down now that the school year begins anew and my spare time won't be so occupied with summer things. You know how it is.

Anyways, how about Magic Lantern, eh?



I don't have much specific insight into this record, mind you. Nothing particularly profound or interesting or enthralling to share with you. Just some superb psychedelic jam stuff that will probably give you a contact high if you listen to it loud enough. Great fuzzy tones, great buncha musicians, all around a solid slab of improvisations. Think Acid Mothers Temple. You like Acid Mothers Temple, don't you?

Magic Lantern - Deathshead Hawkmoth

Exciting news!

So yeah, I've been a bit off track lately, but I have real reasons this time!

In an exciting turn of events, yours truly is a new staff reviewer at The Silent Ballet!

What does this mean for you, faithful readers? Well... nothing much, really. There will be slightly more "professional" sounding reviews up over on TSB, and this blog will remain an open forum for me to discuss whatever. Furthermore, just a reminder I'm always up for checking out your recommendations or even your own band. Just send me an email or leave me a comment.

You’re either crazy or dead, you just weren’t well bred.

Curious circumstances tend to breed curious albums, and generally the results are charming, unique, and can give an added layer of distinction to an already great album. Take, for instance, Ariel Pink beat boxing the drums on The Doldrums, or With Throats As Fine As Needles holing up in an abandoned bunker to record their self-titled album. Not that these quirks can save a bad album, but it’s always an added pseudo-sentimental bonus in an age of Pro Tools and recording budgets that could drag a third world country out of debt.

What is so remarkable about Our Brother The Native is their youth: releasing their 2006 debut on FatCat Records at the ages of 16 and 18 is incredibly impressive, and makes this now-trio either almost or barely 20, barring any sort of time machine-related accidents. What is equally remarkable is the rate of maturity and refinement of their sound, which results in Sacred Psalms being an early contender for one of the albums of the year.



Immediately clear from the opening “Well Bred” is the impeccable production: there is no studio-based “fullness”, but rather an entirely organic feeling lushness about the whole record; in fact, “lush” (in the “pleasantly full-bodied” sense of the word, not the colloquial bastardization) is probably the best adjective to encapsulate the feel of the album. Perpetually layered (and yet somewhat subdued) vocals and organ drones form the basis for stuttering acoustic percussion and all matter of idiophones and stringed instruments including guitar, banjo, mandolin and probably more and probably some I identified incorrectly and probably instruments I’ve never heard of. All ten tracks are positively flourishing with this feel, this cherry-blossoms-and-sunset sort of colourful je ne sais quoi, this mood which I’m going to stop wasting adjectives on because it’s meant to be experienced and not talked about.

Also set forth in the opener are the clumsy, though frequently lovely and often clever, lyrics. And “clumsy” is not meant here as an insult, but in the sense that they weren’t penned for metre or rhyme, but to fit with the song (or vice versa?). Though as odd as the chorus of “Ph. D, BA, I am your doctor, so listen to what I say” may seem, Our Brother The Native make it as restrainedly catchy as their timid vocals will allow. The rest of the hooks in the album are omnipresent, no doubt, but require some work on part of the listener; Sacred Psalms is a textbook “grower”, with each additional listen revealing some eccentric chorus buried so deep it takes five listens to uncover.



If there is any critique to be brought against the album it’s that this all-pervading feeling is truly all-pervading, with most every song having the same super-layered, faux-catchy vibe. Tracks that break this mould are unsurprisingly the standouts: the sample-focused, reverb-drenched “Dusk” brings to mind a lost Set Fire To Flames track, while “Sores” brings its chorus to the forefront and serves as one of the more immediately memorable numbers.

That being said, the quality of the album is such that any feelings of repetition are quickly pushed aside by feelings of “well hot damn, this is a fantastic record!”. At this rate, I’m impossibly excited to hear what Our Brother The Native will be doing five years from now, and quite honestly, a little scared about how brilliant another morsel of maturity could make their next album. Until then, we have Sacred Psalms, and we have one of the year’s best.

Our Brother the Native - Well Bred
Our Brother the Native - Someday
Our Brother the Native - Sores

As always, buy what you like. Pick it up here if you're in North America, or click here if you're across the pond.

New layout

Ya dig?

I realized there are a million other blogs using the "minima dark" thing, so I thought I'd switch it out for something else. I'm digging the sparseness. Tweaks to come.

Y/N?

SHOW REVIEW: Isis w/ Pelican + Tombs

Ok, yeah, another show review, sorry. Then again, since the uploaded MP3s get a minimum number of downloads, are you actually here for the writing for serious? Hm!

Anyone into the whole post-Neurosis/"atmospheric sludge"/"post-metal" sort of schtick (which I still haven't heard a satisfying catch-all genre name for) knows that this is a sort of dream line-up. Pelican and Isis? And these Tombs cats getting all sorts of buzz about 'em? For $20?

Tombs didn't quite slay me as hard as I was told they were going to, but they nonetheless played an enjoyable set of doomy black metal, which managed to keep things interesting by actually slowing down once in a while, throwing in some noise & ambient(ish) passages and generally being solid musicians.

Pelican, after finally micing their drums properly (make your own joke making fun of their drummer now, I know a lot of you folks hate the man) did their usual sludgy, riff-heavy instru-metal that, in [mentally] sober retrospect was pretty same-y, but in a live environment, it just straight-up rocks, for lack of anything more articulate. Heavy as hell, supertight musicians; great metal, great time.

Also in the "better live than on record"-category this evening (2 out of 3!) are the headliners, the almighty gods ov sludge (or so I'm led to believe), Isis. I can't really articulate why their set was so amazing (which is a bit worrying, considering I'm pursuing an English degree and all, but I digress), but these cats have perfected their craft and are a rock-solid physical entity in the concert hall. Not shying away from "quieter" moments for the live set, they made brilliant use of heavy/soft, loud/quiet dynamics, something the preceding band should make notes about, and something the crowd should recognize and mosh accordingly to; if moshing is ever appropriate at an Isis concert, it certainly isn't during the intro to "Dulcinea", you stupids. The set was mostly new material, but it was the old stuff that really slayed: the aforementioned "Dulcinea" was amazing, and the definite highlight was Panopticon's "In Fiction."

I daresay this was the best show of the year so far. This statement may not last the month, though: Sonic Youth on June 30th? Fuck. Yes.

(P.S. The Eternal is pretty cool. Needs more listens. "Antenna" an immediate favourite. Fragments efficient.)

life gets in the way of blogging

Yeah, sorry. Not dead, just busy.

Tidbits:

- Kayo Dot were disappointing
- Pelican/Isis were incredible
- New Sonic Youth LP out today
- possible exciting personal developments to share
- new Our Brother the Native is incredible, review soon
- fuckin' Mare reunion show this month

Update soon, pinky swear.

As we fall into static our hearts sing

I'm not gonna lie, folks, I don't know where I'm going with this entry. I just got a bunch of kewl new muzak, but it's all on vinyl and I can't be arsed to find downloads or lug my turntable down here and make my own MP3s.

First item of business: Have a Nice Life's Deathconsciousness is finally on vinyl and up for pre-order! Get yourself a copy now; I know I sure as hell am not missing out on this again. If you haven't heard of this, it's basically a pitch-black shoegaze double album put out in early 2008 that took certain online music communities by storm (although it's fallen slightly out of favour and is not longer "album of the decade"). Lo-fi, homemade, and beautifully lush in a paradoxically dark way. It's a fucking beast of a record in every sense of the word. Download "Bloodhail" and start the Enemies List love.

Second item: yeah, I've splurged a bit and got me a handful of new records that I'll be talking about in the coming while. Prurient, The Mile End Ladies String Axillary, MV+EE, Woods, Nadja... if, for some reason, any of you have a preference as to which (if any) I write up, lemme know.

Final item: ok, I've got a thing! All this talk of shoegaze reminds me of a swell find: Toma. Unassuming name (although a quick Google search brings up "TOMA Foundation for Burned Children", which is equal parts horrifying, funny, and sad) and the fairly Explosions in the Sky-looking artwork aside (not an insult, mind you), this album is actually unique in the remarkably overcrowded post-rock genre. Shock! Gasp! Awe!

Opener "Sins Of A Solar Empire" sets the pace nicely, with a typical feeling post-rock sort of jam, but without the same quiet-build-intense formula; instead, Toma have some actual balls and keep it loud with a wonderfully blissed-out, expansive, and remarkably full sound. They mix up their other songs a lot, too, so if this record is anything, it's continually (and pleasantly) surprising: "This Day" is a fairly straightforward shoegaze song, not totally out of line with A Place to Bury Strangers (i.e. loud guitars, quiet vocals, good times), whereas "This is the End of Everything" is a beautiful, piano-led pseudo ballad.

One of the things that makes Toma stand out are the vocals. The singer (sorry, I can't find any proper credits for this record, so I'm going to continue making vague references like that. You know, when you're at a party and you forget a chap's name, so in a hilariously sitcom-esque fashion you do your best to always refer to him as "man" or "dude" or "brodawg"? Yeah, like that. I should also note that I am led to believe that this is a solo project, based on the write-up on the band's Myspace? If so, this whole shebang is fivefold as impressive as I thought. Holy fucking parentheses.) has an astounding, deep, rich voice perfectly suited for the massive music; sounds a lot like the fellow from iLiKETRAiNS (I still do not get that band name whatsoever), and times, like a slightly less polished Scott Walker (but to compare anyone to Scott Walker is sort of silly.) I can honestly say that, when he really pushes his voice, it's absolutely chilling; I literally got goosebumps in the climax of "Terrorforming", and it's definitely one of my favourite music moments of this year so far.

Could it get better? Hell yes it could: the whole thing is free. Do yourself a favour and give it a shot.

SHOW REVIEW: MV+EE w/ Woods, $100

Folk rock extravaganza at my favourite local art gallery for $10? Sign me up.

First and foremost: the Whippersnapper Gallery is a fantastic venue. It is easily accessible by public transit (I'm looking at you, Sound Academy), suitably intimate (read: small), and since it is, at its core, an art gallery, it makes for a lovely place to see a show. As if that weren't enough, there's a very nice bunch of folks who run this place, and do their best to support local talent at a minimal cost to both the artists and the visitors. Seriously, catch a show or exhibit or party or anything you can there; this place deserves your support.

As for the show, it opened with $100, a local alt-country band getting a decent amount of buzz about them lately. That being said, I can in no way appreciate the genre they play, so I don't feel as though I can fairly say anything about their performance another than "I didn't like it" and "the free nachos at the makeshift bar were delicious and free."

Woods were undoubtedly the band that people came to see, as the crowd ballooned to twice its size after $100. They're the latest little buzz band, I hear? Whatever, it's well deserved: these guys write some viciously catchy fuzzed-out folk-pop, and balance it nicely with some psychedelic/jam elements. And, as if I needed more reason to love them, their live tape... player? Performer? Tapist?... is wildly entertaining: some sort of noise S&M enthusiast, masking himself with sideways headphones and abusing the shit out of a pedal-board-cum-DJ-set-up-cum-noise-factory. But despite the image, his drones and squeals and back-up vocals were tasteful and subtle, and added a ton to their live show, especially when things got far out, man.

I was kinda saddened that literally 75% of people left before MV+EE even began setting up, but fuck 'em, the hipsters only missed out on a great set. (I must also shamefully admit I had to leave somewhat early to catch the last bus home) They played with whatever band it is they have now (I believe it's the Golden Road) and kicked out jams from Gettin' Gone and the recent Drone Trailer, with each song being twisted and stretched into extended country-fried jam sessions, the highlight for me being the reinterpretation of the folk song "Hammer", with Erika Elder sounding as lovely live as she does on record, and Matt Valentine grabbing the Telecaster for some downright heavy fuzz riffage.

In addition to playing amazing sets, both Woods and MV+EE are composed for an extremely friendly bunch of people who manned their own merch booths and were more than happy to have a chat, and seemed genuinely grateful to everyone who talked and bought merch (and, y'know, certain drummers from certain jam bands gave props to certain bloggers for wearing a certain Comus shirt, which was also cool (certainly).

Great bands, great sets, great venue, great nachos... what's not to like?

Check 'em out if they come to your neck of the woods, and definitely stop by the Whippersnapper if you're in the GTA.


P.S. sorry it's been all live reviews lately; I'll get back to the usual this week!

SHOW REVIEW: Wolves in the Throne Room w/ A Storm of Light, Krallice, & Thrones

Alright, updates should be back to normal now that, as of tomorrow, my school year is done (finally). And yeah, Tuesday updates aren't "normal", but I know all 4 of you are pining for something new to sate your need for my inimitable prose.

Normally, we all know the role of an opening band: to waste time before you get to see the band you paid to see. Ok, or bands the headliner respects and wants to expose to a wider audience, whatever. But by and large, these are not particularly groups you care about (my last show review completely notwithstanding, mind you.) Well, and to break some internal structure and acknowledge those last parentheses, this line-up was another exception: thee almighty eco-friendly epic black metal ensemble Wolves in the Throne Room, supported by A Storm of Light, Krallice and Thrones (just in case you didn't read the title, natch.)

A Storm of Light are a Neurosis-worshipping trio who, unsurprisingly, feature the ex-visuals... guy (visualist? visionary? visionsman?) from Neurosis themselves, who has also served stints in Red Sparowes and Battle of Mice, so the sludgy-credentials here are at waste-thick ooze out ofthat scene in Saw III with all the pig guts. (Which reminds me, I just saw Saw V, and how bullshit was that? (Along with Saws II-IV, mind you (but I digress!). Part of me wanted to think "oh my god, this is going to be so boss! And this album art is bomb, too, this will be the best damn thing since Isis!", while part of me knew that "all of these post-Neurosis bands are the same, ugh." Well, the latter turned out to be true, and while the female guest-vocals gave them some distinction, its by-and-large the same pseudo-atmospheric dirge tuned to drop-whatever.

(However, I did pick up their gorgeous Primitive North split with Nadja for a cheapo $20 (and you all laughed when I put off buying it!) and it's definitely worth your time, especially for the sidelong Nadja blissy, fuzzed-out drone that they do oh so well.)

Krallice were definitely set to impress, too, since they're the closest thing to a black metal supergroup since the short-lived Twilight, although curiously none of the members have any blackened credentials: the "ex-member of..." rollcall includes Astomatous, The Flying Luttenbachers, Orthrelm, and, inarguably the biggest draw, Colin Marston, of Behold... the Arctopus and several more-or-less interchangeable post-everything tech-wank bands. While I expected some sort of iffy, tech-black sort of deal, I was pleasantly surprised that there was nothing overly showy and the emphasis was on fierce, riff-heavy black metal. Shame about the minor sound problem (the vocals would overpower the stage-right speaker), but done well enough to spark my interest in the band. Well done.

By this point it seems like I could devote an entire entry to just listing the former projects of the acts on this bill: take Thrones, the solo project of Joe Preston. It would probably be easier to list the bands he hasn't worked with, but his resume includes tenures with the Melvins, High on Fire, Earth and Harvey Milk. And when you've played jackhammer on a Sunn O))) track, then no one will ever question your bad-assery again (and since apparently a bunch of you are questioning just how boss this guy is, he's loaded his everything with fucking bears.) Stylistically he was the odd-man out, opening with a lengthy drone/doom sort of thing that audibly confused some of the crowd, but this sort of thing is right up my alley, and goddamn did he make an oppressive layer of noise just looping his bass and fiddling with some samplers. Immensely powerful drones, followed by some extremely Melvins-esque "stoner rock" or whatever the tag is that one gives meaty-sounding, low-end heavy hard rock.

And finally, Wolves in the Throne Room have come out of whatever backstage ritual they were performing before the show and... well, carry it onto stage, as they dimmed the lights, lit candles, and cranked the fog machine to 11 to create a wicked atmosphere; this is how black metal is meant to be heard. For a bunch of outsider pseudo-hippies, Wolves can, to put it lightly, tear your fucking head of with raw black energy. Incredibly tight and remarkably aggressive compared to some of their recorded output, they were able to get heads a-banging' more thoroughly than any other band on the bill. (As a side note, $15 shirts are definitely the way to go; way to go, guys.)

For an open-minded metalhead, I'd dare you to find a better evening for $18.

SHOW REVIEW: Animal Collective w/ Grouper, May 16 @ the Sound Academy (Toronto)

Yes, yes, Animal Collective are the hipster garabe I've ever heard, but I wanted to believe it was just the Internet being the hate machine that it is wont to be. But fuck, Animal Collective have amassed the douchiest fan base ever, and yes, it's because of Merriweather Post Pavilion (and no, it is not the next Pet Sounds, goddammit.)

Don't get me wrong: I earnestly do like the band, and have for quite sometime. The last time I saw them was back in 2007 when they were on the verge of releasing Strawberry Jam. It was a good show, by all accounts: good sound, good set, good crowd.

Yeah, good crowd. I wish this remained true but alas, no. Grouper opened the show with a (slightly overlong for an opening act) set which I wish I could say I enjoyed, but it was drowned out by drunken chatter, sober chatter, booing, cries of "ANIMAL COLLECCCCTIVE!" and frankly disrespectful behaviour all around". I hate to sound like that bitter old man telling all the kids to git off his lawn (again), but seriously, some ounce of decency would be nice.

When Animal Collective did finally come on, I was pleasantly surprised they opened with "Chocolate Girl"; I'd like to think it was a conscious choice as a big "fuck you" to everyone there for "My Girls", and it did seem to leave the crowd a little disarmed (though it, unfortunately, didn't stop random "WOOOO!"s in the middle of the goddamn song). And guess what, folks? Your shitty cell phone pictures are going to look just like everyone else's. Put away your phone and enjoy the show. Did you really pay $25 so you could text in a new, exciting locale?

Though speaking of "My Girls", it was abundantly clear that that was why the majority of the crowd was there; that was when people starting dancing, that is when people did (could only?) sing along, that was when people decided it was a good idea to rush the stage. Same during "Brother Sport". And "Summertime Clothes". Hey, wait a second...

All in all, it was a decent set with decent sound (highlights being "Leaf House", "Comfy in Nautica" and the extended "Fireworks" jam) marred by the most obnoxious crowd I've ever counted. And as if I needed more reason to hate the Sound Academy (besides its absurd location, bottleneck exit and overpriced shows), what sort of venue allows drinks to be taken into the main concert area? The designated drinking area is designated as to keep drinks out of the show so you aren't stomping on cans or getting Heineken spill on your legs.

Fine enough show, but I'm not sure if I could deal with another crowd like that should they come back to town.

Setlist:
1. Chocolate Girl
2. Comfy In Nautica
3. What Would I Want Sky
4. Lion In A Coma
5. My Girls
6. Guys Eyes
7. Fireworks
8. Leaf House
9. Brother Sport
Encore:
10. Chores
11. Summertime Clothes

Zero sleep = zero insightful blog(ging)

Again, my schedule is taking a hit because of school; my poor time management skills meant I was up til roughly 4:30 am scrawling out an essay on art philosophy (Weitz vs Collingwood, for those keeping score at home.) Not to mention I'm at school from 7:30 am until 7:30 pm, so I've just got this quick apology on break before handing in my essay & sitting through a 3 hour lecture. So yeah, sorry folks; anything involving any remote creative effort will likely be... bad. See? I can't even come up with a clever way of telling you of the bad-ness.

Oh God, it's getting worse!

Here, how about something totally passive?
This is what my summer concert schedule is looking like so far, and seriously, it grows by the week. I'm incredibly excited, and you viewers at home can expect reviews of all of 'em.

May 16 - Animal Collective w/ Grouper
May 18 - Wolves in the Throne Room w/ A Storm of Light, Thrones, Krallice
May 21 - Unwigged & Unplugged: An Evening with Christopher Guest, Michael McKean & Harry Shearer
May 22 - MV+EE w/ Woods, $100
June 4 - Secret Chiefs 3 w/ Kayo Dot
June 7 - Isis w/ Pelican, Tombs
June 11- Do Make Say Think, Final Fantasy & Robert Lippok
June 13- Bell Orchestre
June 17- Patrick Wolf w/ Jaguar Love
June 18- Absu w/ Glorior Belli, Rumpelstiltskin Grinder, Sothis
June 20- Circle Takes the Square w/ Titan, Lords
July 10- Holy Fuck w/ Winter Gloves
July 11- Broken Social Scene & Explosions in the Sky w/ Apostle of Hustle, Thunderheist, & more!
July 16- Fucked Up w/ Women, Vivian Girls

HOLY SHIT.

The hollow mountain

As I'm sure you may have inferred by now, I'm a big proponent of buying records and physically owning music: artwork and packaging is absolutely vital to fully experiencing an album the way it was meant to be heard. And what arrived in my mailbox the other day is, perhaps, the greatest affirmation of that fact: The Hollow Mountain by TwinSisterMoon.



Scans aren't quite going to do this thing justice, but give it a look. In person, the booklet is a huge 8"x8" piece of screen-printed gorgeousness, tucked inside a beautiful hand-screened sleeve with a slab of hand-numbered vinyl (19/105 here.) Let's just say thank goodness it came in a protective record sleeve.



I was almost hesitant to play this thing: what if my hand slips? What if the needle scratches this beyond repair? FUUUUUUCK. But yeah, eventually I found my testicles and played the thing and wow. Like most releases by Natural Snow Buildings and all related projects, this is truly a record to crank to 10 and get lost in.




The structure of this album is a lot like that on his portion of the 3-way split, The Snowbringer Cult: eastern-tinged drones interspersed with acoustic folk. The drone numbers are standard fare for Mehdi Ameziane, which is to say, fucking awesome. All matter of instruments I can barely pronounce ebbing and flowing like a Lightbright melting underwater on acid. Sure, it's pretty same-y to his Natural Snow Buildings stuff which, in turn, is pretty same-y to isengrind (aka Solange Gularte, aka the lady-half of NSB) but when it's all so great I can't really be bothered by it. It's the shorter, simpler folk tunes that make TwinSisterMoon stand out: although technically unremarkable and all following a similar arpeggiated chord pattern, Ameziane's falsetto is gut-wrenching, and to have the lyrics finally printed only adds to the experience, giving grounding to the otherwise indistinct wailings.

I daresay this is the most accessible material from the project, and certainly from the whole NSB collection: the folk songs are beautiful, and the drones are all soothingly psychedelic (as opposed to some of the stuff found on Nigh Coercion...) and in digestible lengths of less than 10 minutes (sorry, no 46-minute "Song for Laurie Bird" here). Probably the perfect gateway to anyone who's had this project. The vinyl sold out immediately, but there is going to be a CD version on Ultra Hard Gel with a bonus track to boot.

In the meantime, you can get your TwinSisterMoon fix with the 3-way split The Snowbringer Cult, still not sold out (?!) which is actually a better introduction to this French psychdronefolkgaze madness, so ignore what I said before.

From The Hollow Mountain:
TwinSisterMoon - Bride of Spirits
Note: Dull Knife, thankfully, made sure this LP was sold only to people who wanted the record, not to the notorious eBayers who re-sell these things at several times their original price. As such, I am respecting their wishes and only giving you the sample MP3 they have on their own site.

From The Snowbringer Cult
TwinSisterMoon - Amantsokan
TwinSisterMoon - Kingdom of the Sea

Of boy bands and sludge

How exactly a sludge/doom band adopted the same name as a boy band I suppose isn't the most important thing about this band, and certainly something that's been pointed out so many times before it's incredibly unfunny by now, but... c'mon, what the fuck?

Anyways, the 5ive in question (or 5ive's Continuum Research Project as I believe they are now known, for reasons entirely unrelated to the pop group, I am certain) are an instrumental sludge/doom duo from Boston, who yes, you're right, can be compared to Pelican in that both bands write vocal-less epics with molasses-thick guitar tone. This is something you'll dig if you're into the whole Neur-Isis set of bands ("post-metal" or "metalgaze" or whatever god-awful portmanteau you want to sick upon this sound), or if you just wanna straight-up smoke a bowl and orchestrate it with some sludgy, stoner riffage.

The thing that, for me, really sets this band apart, besides the plain fucking awesome riffs is the drumming. One thing that almost prevents from fully enjoying a similarly-styled album, The Fire in Our Throats Will Beckon the Thaw (by Pelican, natch) is the drumming. It's so thin and bland and if there's anything interesting going on, it's overshadowed by the guitar work. 5ive is a duo, and while the guitar is absolutely huge, the drums are, both literally and sonically, responsible for half of the sound, and they establish themselves from the get-go. After the faux-drone into in "Gulls", when the riffing comes, the bass drum makes it's presence felt and makes sure the low-end dominates for the rest of the record. My drum terminology is at best uneducated and at worst flat-out fucking wrong, but Charlie Harrold definitely seems to focus on creating huge rolling tom/bass backgrounds which, compared to others in the genre, is really damn awesome. Not that he doesn't mix it up, mind you; the uplifting cymbal smattering on "Polar 78" is entirely responsible for the song's feeling and direction.

Not to put the guitar aside; after all, Ben Carr is the entire rest of the band, and has six strings to compete with a whole drum kit, and does a perfect job with a huge, fuzzed out tone that is de rigueur of the genre. I'd be curious to see if it holds up without the benefit of studio overdubbing, but as the record stands, it sounds fantastic. And goddamn, if "Gulls" isn't one of the cooler riffs I've head in a while, although by and large this album seems more focused on a wall of sound than distinct riffing, which is absolutely fine by me.

As if you needed more motivation to buy the record, the cover art is absolutely fantastic.

So it seems my school's internet is hella slow, to the point of barely functioning, for some reason. MP3's will be uploaded later tonight, sometime after 9.

Like an amplifier should

Yes, here it is, back on track, for now. Sorry if the next few entries don't match the exceedingly high standards I started out with, but I am sick and tired and busy with you've heard all this bullshit before get to the music goddamn.


If there's one thing I really do like when it comes to music, it's shoegaze. Terrifically loud, noisy, dense, occasionally poppy, and even the general aesthetic is just so damn cool. A little pretentious, maybe, a little ridiculous, sure, but those are words I'm totally comfortable associating myself with.

Holler, Wild Rose! sort of fall under this umbrella. Sort of, yeah. "Marylawn Hair" is My Bloody Valentine worship at it's finest, with that frankly glorious wavering synth wading through the mix. And "Holler, Wild Rose!" has a fantastic, almost post-rockish explosive intro. But instead of falling into fuzz-on-ten, reverb-on-eleven, three-two-one-LOOK-DOWN tedium, Our Little Hymnal is one of the most delightfully varied debut albums I've heard in a while (even if I am several years behind on this one... oops.)



From the flat-out, wall-of-geetar gaze sounds to surprisingly delicate acoustics to spirituals to tastefully done ambient interludes to whatever sort of "indie rawk" you wanna call it, it stays interesting and, more importantly, stays good. It's loud, it's soft, it's melodic, uplifting, heartfelt; wickedly solid record. They should have a new one coming out sometime soon, and the only thing out there besides this is the limited-to-200 Yarn EP. which is a nice little stopgap between albums.

I did my best to give you some representative tracks, but as always, if you think you'll dig the rest of 'em, throw some dollars at 'em.

Holler, Wild Rose! - Marylawn Hair
Holler, Wild Rose! - Sun Vines

ohhh shhhiiiiiii-

sorry,
been real busy with school/work
exam time, you see
I've been pretty dead this week
back to regular thing soon

Cover version extravaganza! Part one.

I basically wrote this just so I can share what has become one of my favourite covers ever, but then decided it could (potentially) become a nifty idea to come back to in future entries (i.e., when I am too lazy to do something original (woah, meta.)

The cover song is a funny thing. It used to be the primary type of single in the early days of the music industry, where songs by black musicians would be stolen, reworked (and usually totally pussied-up) and performed by white groups, earning ridiculous sums of money for zero effort. Now, it's not quite as common for a band's biggest hit to be a cover (lol Gary Jules), but what's most alarming is that a discomforting amount of modern covers are not recognized as covers by the [dang ol'] kids these days [who won't git off my lawn]. I cringe when I think of how many 14 year old girls think My Chemical Romance wrote "Desolation Row."

However, the "cover" can also be fascinating when a band completely reworks a song and actually makes it their own; it's a fantastic way of paying tribute to an influence. And these are the types of covers I will be presenting.

Today's pick is "Only Shallow" by Nadja, song originally by My Bloody Valentine (but you knew that, right?) Both bands are known for their huge wall-of-guitar sound, with mouldy molasses-thick fuzz, barely-there vocals and just generally loud-as-fuck all-consuming soundscaping. I imagine a brief bio of the coveree would be superfluous to most of y'all, but regarding the coverer: Nadja are a drone/doom duo comprised of Aidan Baker and Leah Buckareff based right here in Toronto (ok, right there in Toronto since I'm technically in a different city) and are, hands down, the most prolific drone-duo the city has ever seen (an oft challenged position, no doubt.) Not only do they have a fucking absurd amount of releases in an amazingly short amount of time, but they are almost unanimously high-quality.



With regards to the cover, I can't think of a band more fitting to cover thee almighty My Bloody Valentine (except maybe A Place to Bury Strangers). You can tell Nadja are deeply indebted to them, and their cover is a brilliant tribute. In a truly Nadjian move, the tempo has been halved; the [pseudo-]iconic opening drum roll of the song is slowed to a lazy pace, with the guitars and keyboard following suit. However, the slower speed works stunningly well here. Combined with the thousands of overdubs and no less than 5 fuzz pedals turned up to 12 (all figures are estimates), it proves to be even dreamier and more ethereal than the original. Completely mesmerizing, and completely worth the time for fans of either band, or folks who can dig a nice shoegaze tune in general.

Nadja - Only Shallow

Hey, whaddaya know, these cats just put out a whole record of covers. As always, buy what you like.

I am a filthy, lying whore.

Sorry, something came up that took priority over writing that 3 people will read.

Update Tuesday, hopefully with something significant.

Sorry

Last week got super busy.

Update today, promise.

With Throats As Fine As Needles

Cool recording techniques, to my knowledge, always yield cool albums. Set Fire to Flames set up a bunch of equipment in a condemned house for a week with a whole lot of drugs to see what would happen, and put out the stellar Sings Reign Rebuilder. Sunn O))) set up shop in an old Norwegian cathedral to do Domkirke and churned out some of the best material of their decade-long existence (chiefly "Why Dost Thou Hide Thyself In Clouds?"). With Throats As Fine As Needles formed a four-man drone supergroup (featuring members of Nether Dawn and Birchville Cat Motel), then holed up in an abandoned bunker with portable instruments in a concept that, on paper, pretty much makes my dick explode.



Luckily the dick-explosion pretty much carries though on to record, too. (Wait, "luckily"...?) As one would could guess based on the talents involved in this project and the circumstances they put themselves in, this is abrasive, varied, noisy, and hugely reverbed stuff. It's all very layered and extremely dense, with so much shit going on it can't help but meld together into some blissed-out drone grooooooves, man. Especially the first track, where it feels like all four of them are going full bore and it comes off sounding like a much more evil Vibracathedral Orchestra or Natural Snow Buildings (both of which are terrible comparisons at face value, but imagine each of them were... locked in a bunker with battery-powered instruments.)

The packaging for this thing is swell too, with a hand-dyed rice (?) paper sleeve, so I'm assuming each of these is going to be unique. Less than 999 copies left, so get it while you can.

With Throats As Fine As Needles - I
With Throats As Fine As Needles - II

Flags Of The Sacred Harp

Sorry, today's entry is going to blow ass because I am operating on very little sleep, having pulled an almost-all-nighter to finish (and, for that matter, start) an essay & whatwith work the night of, before, and after, I am effectively dead.

Jackie-O Motherfucker (yeah, sorry, no spiel/context today) are a group musicians (OH SHIT!) who seemingly vary in number/instrumentation on an album-to-album basis, but there always seem to be guitar/drums/bass/something that is bowed and/or squeezed and my goodness every ounce of my creative energy is well and truly sapped.



Point is, they play some brand of sound which can be loosely umbrella'd under "psychedelic folk", usually in perfect proportions of "psych" and "folk" (at least on the album I'm talking about here), although they are certainly not afraid to go full-bore into either genre (take the alarmingly pleasant "Rockaway" compared to the cacophonous ending to "Nice One"). Speaking of "Nice One", they need more songs like this: abso-fucking-brilliant. The minimalist beginning slowly building-up to the psychy-noisy-folky-freakout is really goddamnn cool. That being said, if you like what you hear here, the whole album is definitely worth your money (though you can probably find it cheaper than this...)

Wow, sorry this was so shit. Better writing next Monday, I pinky-swear.

Jackie-O Motherfucker - Nice One
Jackie-O Motherfucker - Hey! Mr. Sky

Black metal ist kalt

Metal is fucking ridiculous. You know, I know, metal fans know it. I don't mean this in a negative way, but it's really fucking ridiculous. Power metal is fantastically whimsical, death metal is laughably brutal, and thrash metal is practically a cartoon.

But nothing whatsoever can match black metal (bolded for emphasis/grimness.) The attitude, the aesthetic, the fashion...
hell, it almost feels as style-conscious as the "scene/emo/whateverthefuck" 'movement'. It's gotta be grim, it's gotta be frostbitten, it's gotta be so invertedly necro and recorded in your basement onto a limited edition tape that if it isn't, you're a fucking poser so go listen to Job For a Cowboy you fucking gay-ass poser scum FUUUUUUUUCKKKKK HOLY SHIT I HATE YOU YOU SUCK SO MUCH.

(Admittedly, this fervour has died down somewhat in recent times; acts like Darkthrone and Satyricon are looking more like angry old men then costumed servants to Satan, and newer bands like Nachtmystium and Wolves in the Throne Room look downright friendly.)

Nonetheless, this sort of attitude means a lot of black metal is shitty, sloppy, aimless, indistinct, blast-beaten nonsense. So when bands come along and try something new, something a little more grandiose, with a little more thought and a little more effort (well, make it a lot more), a lot of people absolutely lose their shit (see: Deathspell Omega, Wolves in the Throne Room, etc.) However, one of my favourite black metal releases in the last few years (and, in fact, one of my favourite metal releases) is just well-written straight-up black metal: no keyboards, no female vocals, no extended ambient passages. Fucking I.C.E.



Imperial Crystalline Entombment, comprised of Mammoth, Blizzzard, IceSickKill and Bleak (yes, really), are pretty much a pure black metal ensemble hailing from the frostbitten fjords of Waldorf, Maryland ("pure" meaning guitar + bass + drums + vokills, not "pure" in the Aryan, National Socialist Black Metal way(see: Gestapo 666, Slave Whipping Blasphemy, etc.) What sets them apart is that they actually put noticeable time and effort into songwriting. There are choruses, there are vocals, there are hooks, and they do it all without dipping into "melodic black metal" territory. The lyrics are a tongue-in-cheek (?) story about the coming of Ravaskeith, and his bringing of an apocalyptic end in white. While the subject matter is ridiculous (word of the day!) and the lyrics not particularly deep/meaningful, they are written with... get this... metre and rhyme. The syncopation of the vocals and the rhyming does wonders when it comes to making a memorable, satisfying experience.

Mammoth rise in winter guise,
Take this child to the frozen side,
Empty human born of flesh,
Throw him, to the cold white death!

Buy it if you like it.

M4As, sorry:
I.C.E. - Hypothermic Possession
I.C.E. - Cascade Cavern Catharsis