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goodbysunball · 10 hours

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Digital monsters

Sneaking a few in before April's done and gone. Many of these musics were experienced digitally only for the most part, whether it was due to lack of a physical product or expensive import prices, none of which now apply (except for the Stone Rollers) as I finally get around to posting this. Ian's making Light Metal Age tapes, MIKE just put Pinball on CD, I finally pulled the trigger on KNÆKKET SMIL, etc. Still, the car is the place where most listening is done these days, an unavoidable and really-not-that-bad reality. Windows down, these up:

Maria Bertel & Nina Garcia, KNÆKKET SMIL (Kraak/No Lagos Musique/Otomatik)

It would not be much of an understatement to say I'm a bit burned out on free-improv-jazz and adjacent records, but a live video posted earlier this year by @dustedandsocial piqued my interest in this duo. Nina Garcia shreds and mangles the guitar in a manner both controlled and explosive, like the best no wave auteurs, but the draw here is what Maria Bertel does with the trombone. She pulls these long, drawn-out notes from the belly of the instrument, like glass fibers being pulled from a melt, reminiscent Phill Niblock's arrangements for cello or voice. There's plenty of scrape 'n skronk coming from the trombone, too, like on "Trick & Illusion," but I find the bass-y drones to be more interesting. The end result is a brittle, harsh push-pull between the relatively free guitar and the more grounded trombone, where it often sounds like the two are running in circles in a room with their eyes closed, occasionally colliding to combine forces. When they are not at odds, as on "Nightmare of a Lunatic," the results can be thrilling. At other points on the record I am reminded of Harvey Milk's "Pinnochio's Example" (the title track), later-period Sightings ("Lost Arts," "Twin Truths") and the instrumental side of Khanate ("Playground of Blind Forces," "Inorganic Body"). Given how this is presented - bare, without any perceivable ornamentation or post-production - it makes for a tough listen; you've gotta be in the mood for something this harsh and unadorned, 'cause meeting you halfway isn't happening. But, if you've any affinity for old instruments hammered into new shapes by inspired/inspiring hands, there's some powerful, almost-mystic energy wafting from the grooves.

Bobby Would, Relics of Our Life (Digital Regress)

Bobby’s back, continuing his partnership with the esteemed Digital Regress label, who brought his STYX release to the LP format. STYX was dedicated to his mother, and initial listens have left me convinced that Relics also appears to be wrestling with her passing. Unlike STYX, which contained tracks like "Hype On" that worked themselves into something resembling upbeat and energetic, Relics is a comparatively somber affair. It's bookended by two quiet instrumental tracks ("Runaway" is especially good), and in between is more skeletal, maybe even refined, version of Bobby Would. The overall effect here is often reminiscent of Wonderfuls, or Lewsberg on In Your Hands: gossamer-thin arrangements, sparkling guitars, slow tempos and mumbled vocals. While there are points where Bobby Would presents as a bit listless or hopeless, it never stretches to the maudlin, mostly due to the opaque phrasing. As on previous BW releases, the lyrics are still usually little more than repetition of single phrases until they become profound, which works especially well on these subdued arrangements. The more I listen, the more it sounds like a natural progression from his last two proper LPs, the subtle refinement of a now-signature sound. Like “Maybe You Should” from World Wide World, “Tryin' 2," "Is It Nice Now?" and “No More” rank with some of his best slow dancers; "Explain" and "All I Do" feel like Baby's grown now, using only the necessary elements to create a song and cutting the tape when it's done (not that Bobby Would has ever had a problem with economy). The only misstep here? The hidden track at the end of the physical record, a cover of UB40's "Red Red Wine" (no fucking joke), and nothing more need be said about that. The nine tracks that properly make up Relics of Our Life deserve to be lived in, spindly guitar lines swirling around like smoke and mumbled vocal incantations taking you elsewhere for the duration. Another unassuming gem from the surprisingly durable Bobby Would.

Light Metal Age, s/t (self-released)

In retrospect, I think Gen Pop's PPM66 is one of the best records to come out in the past decade, wringing modern ennui by the neck to squeeze out lyrical inspiration, nailing down a balance between catchy and smart in an impressively effortless way. That record flew, and still flies, under the radar, unfortunately, and the band is no more. Light Metal Age is the new project of Gen Pop's Ian Patrick Corrigan, and it sorta picks up the thread of PPM66, but veers off into the countrified black humor of Country Teasers ("Quil Ceda"), lonesome new age ("Oakland 2017"), and a chilling minimal synth track ("Garage In Meridian"). Corrigan's vocals sound like Bill Callahan in his early days as Smog, but in content he appears to be searching for a place or meaning or some sign that the world isn't as backwards and cruel as it actually is. I think opener "What He's Done" is my favorite song of the year so far, a perfectly dusty guitar line paired with deep, reverberated vocals coldly presenting a personal inventory (“Tattoos since he was 20,” “$20K he owes/20 years to go”). It’s all tied together by the chorus of “You said let it go/But do you know/what he’s done?,” the anxiety of being a prisoner of your past neatly summarized. “Quil Ceda" is my other standout favorite, the biting line "It will make you sick" now popping up in my head all too often as I go about my days. Really, there's something to like on every track here: the double-timed portion toward the end of "T.U.L.I.P."; the rain-soaked, pre-dawn alleys conjured by "Garage In Meridian"; and the subdued Ben Wallers impression on "Gaps In the Material." Sure, "Oakland 2017" is maybe a bit long and saps momentum plopped in the middle, but this seems more like a mixtape than a finished product, and I've come to appreciate the cracks in the tracks forced together. I've been playing it non-stop for nearly two months now, a potent distillation of the young American's modern struggle, laid out without self-pity and the right amount of simmering discontent. Can't ask for much more.

MIKE & Tony Seltzer, Pinball (10K)

Here’s an unexpectedly economical and breezy offering from MIKE, produced entirely by Tony Seltzer. Not sure what Tony Seltzer did here to allow MIKE to let down his guard and puff out his chest a little, but it’s a welcome change of pace, if a bit forgettable. Seltzer’s beats aren’t going to have many rappers come calling, but they’re exciting enough jumping off points for MIKE to try on different personas. I get hints of UGK-era Bun-B (named checked in “Underground Kingz,” as required), Young Dolph, and Lil Baby in MIKE’s rapping on Pinball, and it’s fun and jarring to hear him rap over trap beats like “Yin-Yang.” For all his efforts, the album lags in spots - “100 Gecs,” “Underground Kingz” and “R&B” have become laborious over multiple listens, the beats sputtering, the rapping losing steam without MIKE’s usual emotional overflow. But the opener “Two Door,” the unassuming bounce of “Skurrr” and "Pinball," and the Niontay-featuring “2k24 Tour” still connect, MIKE throwing off a satin boxing robe and sparring with whoever. It’s true that overexposure to this album over the past few weeks has probably taken away some of its luster, but hearing MIKE in this capacity paints a more complete picture of him as an artist. Short ‘n mostly sweet, with no tears, Pinball’s sure to be a steady listen through the punishing summer ahead.

The Stone Rollers, The Ballad of Bill Spears (self-released)

Are the Woolen Men done? Nothing official on that, but members are shifting priorities to other groups: guitarist Lawton Browning is in Change Life, and the Stone Rollers features WM drummer Raf Spielman. The Stone Rollers have been releasing single tracks, one at a time, since September of last year, and The Ballad of Bill Spears puts all four tracks together. It's a separate project and unfair to compare the two, though there are strong sonic similarities to the Woolen Men. The Stone Rollers are bouncy and hard-strumming, somewhere between folk protest songs (yes, there's harmonica) and country with a punk edge (but obviously not as bad as that descriptor conjures). In the spirit of the best country songs, the Stone Rollers don't restrain themselves from saying some really mean shit on these songs, taking people to task with an acid tongue and leaving without apology. I like all four songs - if you're not listening to the lyrics too closely, these are breezy pop songs with the strong character of the '60s - but I think "The Shell Song" and "You Can't Reach Me" are the two best. The former has the harshest lyrics ("When I see you down the line, I hope you're not the same" and "I won't wait around to see what you become/because good or bad I do not care at all"), and "You Can't Reach Me" is an ode to the dream of escaping "my life/bound up so tight" for the greener grass. All four tracks are simple and effective/affecting in an immediate way, familiar but bristling, classic-sounding but unmistakably modern. A nice teaser from the Rollers, who I can only hope will excoriate this feeble review on an upcoming track.

#Maria Bertel #Nina Garcia #KRAAK #Bobby Would #Digital Regress #Light Metal Age #Gen Pop #MIKE #Tony Seltzer #Stone Rollers #Woolen Men

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goodbysunball · 2 months

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Cement mixer blues

A couple more for your March, with Opening Day right around the corner. Four picks, all hits, and more waiting in the wings - but until then:

Thomas Bush, The Next 60 Years LP (Jolly Discs)

Album number three from Thomas Bush, one carving his own path through the history of quietly devastating British folk. That Bush has much to do with "folk" in general is debatable at this point, but there are fractured fragments within his damaged, precise compositions. On The Next 60 Years, he refines his vision further, not solely through reduction (though that, too) but with a bit of surprising bombast on the B-side. "Same Life Flowed" opens the album with plodding pop, the double-tracked vocals opening up just enough during the chorus to complement the harpsichord melody, and runs into the pensively dueling guitars on the accurately named "Pure Intention." As is Bush's wont, the album never keeps a straight course after this beautiful opening; some songs, like "Mulligan" or "Flood of Light," creak like floorboards in an empty house, whereas "Face In the Water" jumps out of the speakers from behind the curtain. I've never pieced together any influence of Talk Talk or Mark Hollis on Bush's sound, but now it's crystal on "Burn Clear," the patiently brushed cymbals and pattering drums pairing with slowly ringing chords, all directed by Bush's carefully delivered vocals. The samples on "Burn Clear" get turned inside-out on "Face In the Water," its booming synth chords leaving backwards bubbling loops in their wake, the distortion becoming ever more prominent as Bush's most clear, confident song unravels over its duration. The synth chords turn green midway through, and the garbled loops run rampant to cloud any pop ambitions with more unease. The album closes with the quietly devastating "Xtrails," a repeated descending progression of guitar notes and scattered synth chords, tying the album together neatly with only the necessary ingredients. In early listens, "Burn Clear" and "Face In the Water" were the highlights, but now tracks like "Thirsting" and "Xtrails" have become my favorites, the ones where Bush takes something recognizable and strips it to a skeleton and makes the bones vibrate with noise, creating a new story for the figure largely free from its past. Stunning, especially during my pre-dawn drives, but potent enough, and enveloping enough, to transport the listener from start to finish anytime. Sold out at the source, but I suspect copies will land stateside soon; if not, All Night Flight is handling the distribution - hop to it.

Contaminated, Celebratory Beheading LP (Blood Harvest)

Amidst a glut of ho-hum, self-referencing contemporary death metal, I wasn't really prepared for the complete onslaught that makes up Contaminated's second LP. I liked Final Man a lot, but things seem to have gotten a lot bleaker in the seven years since that came out, and Celebratory Beheading is the record that balls up collective agony into relentless, boneheaded death metal. It takes all of 15 seconds into opener "Suffer Minutiae" for the band to launch into a chugging breakdown riff, and even after multiple spins I feel as if I haven't captured the right words to describe music so single-mindedly brutish. There are no synths, electronics or really anything resembling a breather across the album. This new-look Contaminated feels like layers alternating between Carcass (pre-Heartwork) and Autopsy, with a dash of County Medical Examiners or other goregrind practitioner. Each song is made up of multiple movements, which is the stupid way my brain's been reduced to describing this record when it's on, but the very basic recipe is to pound with death metal crunch and follow it up with a grinding blast, before pulling back and taking another swing at your head. These parts are masterfully fused together without gaps or any recognizable structure, suffocatingly dense compositions coming one after another. Once your ears adjust, the pieces of the bulldozing sound can just barely be picked apart. The drummer's right up front with the vocals, and the two seem to goad each other on; the guitars, drenched in distortion and as beefy as I've heard (sans exterior electronic noise) in ages, churn out mercilessly hard or dizzyingly fast riffs. "Final Hours" is the point in the record where I finally catch my breath, and by "Apex C.H.U.D." (stands for Circular Headbanging Under Duress, pretty sure) you're stomping around like a sumo wrestler. Imagine running in a sewer tunnel away from a tidal wave of waste, each turn bringing no more distance or relief from the chase; at some point your legs and chest give out and you submit. I haven't looked at the included lyric sheet - the album and song titles are illustrative enough - but this seems to be the soundtrack to intentionally hammering a nail through your finger, pure visceral animal thrill, presented without concessions or interludes. My favorite record of the year so far.

Los Doroncos, Sun and Fireworks LP (An'archives)

There's nothing like the first whiff of springtime to bring me around to an album that made little sense during the dregs of the new year, and Los Doroncos' Sun and Fireworks is one for the ages. Seasoned vets with deep ties to the Japanese underground - members from Denudes, Maher Shalal Hash Baz, Doronco Gumo - but what you get here is a dream dive bar band, playing music both intimately familiar and somehow buoyant, not bogged down with expectations or concerned with much else than playin' hits. If the band set out to make classic rock feel fresh again, they nailed it, taking the scoff right outta my throat and using it to hit another solo. The band rips on the two longer tracks, "A minor" (one of the young year's best tracks) and "Drum," but elsewhere things are downright breezy. Guitars are largely unadorned until solos call for distortion, vocals are charming, paper-thin but hopeful, and the drums do enough to keep everything together. For me, any cynicism is eradicated by the beautifully disarming guitar lines littered about in "LuLu 2," but just as often it's the solo pushing its way through the clean chords of "Tin Ear." I'm in the midst of fixing up my porch, and if I get my way, I will be having a few beers back there with Sun and Fireworks elevating my mundane accomplishment. Come through.

Peg, We Know Who You Are and Everyone Is On the Lookout CS (No Rent)

Meeting of the minds between Cube's Adam Keith and Jackie-O Motherfucker's Dave Easlick, both of whom previously teamed up in SPF. I can't remember SPF's music much, though it may be time to revisit given how much I've enjoyed Peg's debut cassette. The music on We Know Who You Are feels like dub recorded without or presented without permission, as if found on a thrift store cassette, and then given added rhythm by Easlick and Keith's drumming and programming. "Mutual Percussion" is a sterling example, drums fading in and out while viscous treated guitar bubbles and the sound of a breeze or footsteps periodically emerge to confusingly give the feel of a field recording. The album feels sometimes ominous, sometimes sarcastic; the intention feels pure but you're never quite convinced with a track like "Agenda Jazz," either. Beyond sifting through the tape for intention, there's deep enjoyment here, skewering and distorting sounds in a way not unlike Equipment Pointed Ankh, though Peg's got a decidedly more abstract, glowering, smirking result. Hard to pick favorites, but if forced: the slouched strut of "Athletic Posturing"; the disarming "Everyone," all glistening synthesizer and distant drums; and my favorite, "Bog Standard," Easlick letting loose on the kit while a bassy loop and high-pitched noise build towers in the shifting sands. Really feels like these two met each other head-on this round, keeping stakes low for themselves but understanding one another intuitively to create one of last year's best albums.

#Thomas Bush #Jolly Discs #Contaminated #Blood Harvest Records #Los Doroncos #An'archives #Peg #No Rent Records

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goodbysunball · 3 months

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Laughing with the gods

A couple latecomers in 2023 that ought not to be missed. Happy New Year, in February.

Drifting, Dream Autopsy (Förlag För Fri Musik)

A welcome sign that the Discreet Music-adjacent actors continue to find grey skies and grimy alleys to haunt. Drifting is an overseas collaboration between Form Hunter's Weston Czerkies and Gothenburg's own Julia Bjernelind and Dan Johansson. Both Julia and Dan are in Amateur Hour, and Dream Autopsy ends up around the same neighborhood as the underrated Krökta Tankar och Brända Vanor double LP, but Weston reorients Drifting with a strong emphasis on tape hiss and mechanical noise. Within this space, Julia's voice acts more as a poltergeist haunting the proceedings; there are probably proper lyrics, but long song titles are colorful enough, and the keening vocals provide instrumental contrast to the rather bleak, often caustic rumblings below. A few brief respites are found across the album: the beginning of "Kill Them All at Once," for example, is a catchy yet eerie vocals-and-keyboard snippet, and the very end of "Narratives In Music Is a Fuck (In Two Parts)" rides distantly groaning tape loops with Julia's sickly-sweet vocals. The push-pull between the gentle vocals and the tape noise is presented as organically as possible, playing out as two sidelong tracks devoid of any clunky transitions or jarring cuts. Dream Autopsy doesn't come as much of a surprise in terms of the sounds within; the label's own "sublime tape music" descriptor fits. But how effectively the sounds are rendered makes it feel more intentional than just a meeting of the minds. Shocking how much this one sticks once it's over, and even more shocking that it's still widely available - scoop now and avoid regret later.

Mount Trout, Petrol Bush (Albert's Basement)

Praise be to Albert's Basement for putting the new Mount Trout album on wax, something I've daydreamed about doing for both Screwy and Shelter Belt but never had the connections, know-how or gumption to do. The warm-sounding, naturally imperfect vinyl format is readymade for Mount Trout's brand of detuned, shambling and spacious music, a tradition the guitar-bass-drums trio continues on Petrol Bush. This one feels like the most approachable of their three albums to date, with tracks like "Dan's Bar," "Aquatic Waltz" and "No Wrong" featuring sparkling guitars and gentle tempos that could slot in next to Devotion-era Beach House on a playlist. True to form, there's some grit and sinew buried in the mix, a couple curveballs lest you get too comfortable in the late day sunshine conjured by certain tracks. I'll let you decipher the lyrics to "Dreams," and "Find a Man" and "Shoveller" simmer with a nearly AmRep level of angst. "Find a Man" is particularly jarring, coming after the daydreaming "Aquatic Waltz,” where the lyrics ("Find a man, find a man/who can be my lover") become drawn out and more menacing as the song goes on. The lyrical efficiency on "Find a Man" is a new refinement for the band across Petrol Bush, and one need look no further than the first track here for proof. The lyrics are made up of little more than "Laughing with the gods/I don't know/if things are really good," slipping a splinter under the fingernail during some Dionysian afternoon. It's the space Mount Trout has always lived in, looking for comfort or peace (possibly found on "No Wrong") but embracing the pain, injustice and shame pervasive in the world. Petrol Bush, like Shelter Belt, puts me in a contemplative, somewhat melancholy headspace, but everything here feels warm, gently baked in the sun; it sits somewhere between Low and Palace Brothers, but with enough needling from the lyrics to sidestep any self-pity. The LP was released late last year, and didn't land here until late January, otherwise it might've taken the top spot in my year-end list for 2023. Highly, highly recommended; put it on and simmer in it while the great thaw beckons.

ssab��, Le Roi Est L'oiseau (Few Crackles)

Blink-and-it's-gone release from mid-November 2023, courtesy of France's intriguing and selective Few Crackles label. ssabæ released Azurescens one year before and was favorably reviewed by some shops and writers I respect, and while I managed to grab a copy from Technique Street (fave shop/distro, big ups), at the time it felt a bit too refined and stately for my taste. Still, there was something present in the music that made it past the sparkling reviews and limited edition pressing, and stuck in my craw long enough to make checking out this new album a priority. Glad I did, because Le Roi Est L'oiseau is even better. The loose collective running about 12 members deep, according to all of the names on the sleeve, takes elements of jazz, folk, field recordings and chamber music to make this hushed, spare music that only works with the rapt attention of the listener. On one hand, this is a collection of influences and sounds that pops up a lot these days, either from contemporary outfits or reissues, and it's not really a priority for me to make space for all of it; on the other hand, a track like Le Roi Est L'oiseau's "Le Premier Soir du Monde" comes on, sits you down and makes apparent the potential of this amalgamation of sounds in the right hands. There is an almost alchemical, mystical element to ssabæ, the austere presentation giving the impression that these sounds are sacred and deeply spiritual. The sounds here live in darkness, stillness, away from any light pollution; where notable contemporaries use repetition to transcend this sphere, ssabæ conjure shadows and voices in isolation. The stunning title track could fit on the Twin Peaks soundtrack were it devoid of kitsch, and there've been more than a few late nights where the voices at the end of the track get under my skin. Quintessential late-night soundtrack, near-perfect in presentation and execution, and hopefully an album the label sees fit to make available again.

Stress Positions, Harsh Reality (Three One G)

I caught Stress Positions at a last-minute show booked here in Knoxville last December, knowing only that (a) Iron Lung reissued their demo on vinyl, and (b) the Chicago band was mostly made up of former members of C.H.E.W., who also had an LP and 7" on Iron Lung. The band went on to tear apart my flagrant indifference and put on one of the best sets I saw all year, drawing mostly from their just-released LP on Three One G, a label that I had no idea was still active. It's getting harder for me to differentiate hardcore punk, let alone get excited about analyzing why some bands are more convincingly pissed off than others. Stress Positions make it easy with acrobatic drumming courtesy of Jon Giralt (check "White Leech"), meaty riffs smeared with righteous anger, and the performance of Stephanie Brooks, a vocalist that can easily shift from rapid-fire to menacing. It doesn't hurt that the songs tackle politically-induced pervasive poverty, white privilege and police brutality with pointed lyrics and the appropriate high level of rage and indignation. The band does the fast stuff as effectively as they can do mosh-worthy: "No Sympathy (For the Police)" is the most fun you'll have stage-diving to hating cops, and "Performative Justice" fits an impressive number of movements in its grinding 25 seconds. It's after "Performative Justice" that things begin to depart from the norms of hardcore; "Sunken Place" has the same feel as the rest of the record, but the lyrics are more opaque ("Hell is a sunken place/in awe of its power/a subtle spasm flirts with desire"), and the crawling closer "Ode to Aphrodite" lumbers with a violent Life Time-era Rollins Band level of menace before the raging close. It's a jaw-dropping ending, both musically and lyrically anomalous for hardcore, the lyrics tackling the repression of sexual desire tangled within a hollow morality. Powerful record; here's hoping they stick together to tease out the ideas in the last two tracks into another recording.

#Drifting #Forlag For Fri Musik #Mount Trout #Albert's Basement #ssabae #Few Crackles #Stress Positions #Iron Lung #Three One G

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goodbysunball · 4 months

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Best of 2023

Toledo, OH, Dec. 30, 2023

It's going to take years to unpack the last few months of 2023. Whatever mental trauma is inflicted upon those removed from the situation in no way approximates the devastation and inhumanity occurring daily to millions. That the US is funding it all, and institutions and businesses domestically are punishing those who speak out about it, is sickening and terrifying. The latest Lulu's email newsletter wrote more eloquently about it all than I could, and plainly calls for empathy at the end: "Be good in a bad world."

And we do that, pretending things are normal for the sake of others, our kids, our partners. But things are not normal, and that pressure forces other changes, because while we can to some degree control what happens within our lives, there's no fix for seeing (let alone experiencing) dead, maimed children regularly on Instagram, victims of bombings without caution or consequence. A sense of powerlessness pervades. What we can do is keep talking, sharing and banding together. Being good in a bad world.

Some notes:

Lots more instrumental, or nearly instrumental, music than usual this year on my list, which tracks with the current climate. Music without words, or without discernible words, leaves space for thoughts to become untangled, sure; but a lot of what’s highlighted below felt more transcendent than meditative.

I still listen to rap quite a bit, but very few new songs I heard stuck around past a few days. Call it malaise from living in an era where every other song on the radio has a trap beat. Starlito dropped a clunker, which shouldn't have shocked me but did, and it personally felt significant. Maybe it’s indicative of the old guard’s demise, but hopefully it removes a wall and allows me to engage with newer rap music better. That being said: Veeze's Ganger was head and shoulders above everything else; billy woods' short verse on "As the Crow Flies" made me gasp the first time I heard it (and I also loved ELUCID's verse on "Baby Steps"); and I listened to The Jacka's The Jack Artist most of all.

Of all the books I read this year, two books by Fernanda Melchor, Hurricane Season and Paradais, stood out. Melchor’s prose is incredibly powerful, bleakly funny and vicious in equal measure. The sharp, frank assessments by characters in often ludicrous situations feel like a product of the contemporary but imbued with some ancient wisdom. Shout out to Julia S. for the new and notable South American literature tips.

In the midst of holiday/short day doldrums, amidst endless bleak news reports, it was difficult battling back cynicism to listen to anything, especially back to all of these records and tapes listed below. It ended up being oddly therapeutic, highly enjoyable and maybe necessary, the same as when I force myself out to shows when it's easier to stay home. That feeling chips away at the notion of this list-making exercise as futile, for me certainly, but hopefully also for you. Thank you for reading, and I hope you find something you like, too.

And so:

LP

Lewsberg, Out and About (12XU)

Equipment Pointed Ankh, From Inside the House (Bruit Direct Disques)

The Native Cats, The Way On Is the Way Off (Chapter Music)

Water Damage, 2 Songs (12XU)

VoidCeremony, Threads of Unknowing (20 Buck Spin)

Emily Robb, If I Am Misery Then Give Me Affection (Petty Bunco)

CIA Debutante, Down, Willow (Siltbreeze)

Olimpia Splendid, 2 (Fonal/Kraak)

Nusidm, The Last Temptation of Thrill (Bruit Direct Disques)

Incipientium, Undergång (Happiest Place)

Witness K, s/t (ever/never)

Leda, Neuter (Discreet Music)

12"/10"/7"/CS

Chrome Cell Torture, Laugh Then Lie 7" (Scarlet)

Joe Colley, Acting As If 10" (Substantia Innominata)

Disintegration, Time Moves For Me 12" (Feel It)

Life Expectancy, Decline CS (Iron Lung)

Gabi Losoncy, Lieutenant single-sided 12" (self-released)

Peg, We Know Who You Are and Everyone Is on the Lookout CS (No Rent)

Romance, Seven Inches of... 7" (self-released)

Sial, Sangkar 7" (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Slow Blink/Stomachache split CS (Hectare)

Howard Stelzer, oh calm down you're fine CS (No Rent)

Troth, Idle Easel 12" (Digital Regress)

Mark Van Fleet, Vordenal CS (Refulgent Sepulchre)

Stress Positions at the Pilot Light, Dec. 9, 2023

Shows

Bill Orcutt & Chris Corsano duo at Jackson Terminal, Knoxville, TN, April 1

Hell & My Wall at DRKMTTR, Nashville, TN, April 7

Cyberplasm, X-Harlow & FKA Ice at the Pilot Light, Knoxville, TN, May 18

Lewsberg at JJ's Bohemia, Chattanooga, TN, September 27

Stress Positions & Utopia at the Pilot Light, Knoxville, TN, December 9

Five songs favorably commented upon by my 3 y/o daughter*

*Something that happens so rarely that I try to take note when it does

Dua Lipa, "Levitating"

Martin Frawley, "Heart In Hand"

Mount Trout, "Hang Around"

Witness K, "In Knots"

The Young Senators, "Ringing Bells (Sweet Music) Part II"

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goodbysunball · 4 months

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Carolyn Thompson, What makes you think you’re so special?, [from the Penguin Great Loves edition of Forbidden Fruits. From the Letters of Abelard and Heloise], (book leaf, cotton), 2015 [© Carolyn Thompson]

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goodbysunball · 4 months

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The weight off

One last missive before list season consumes us and 2023 is vacuumed up by time.

The Lewers, 518A (Lulu's Sonic Disc Club)

Yet another new supergroup from the endless expanse of Australia's underground, this one featuring Yuta Matsumura (Orion, Low Life, solo, many others), some folks from Itchy Bugger and Rapid Dye, and more. The Lewers douse these seven tracks with loads of reverb and a couple great Itchy Bugger-style guitar lines worming under the surface. Think 4AD: gauzy, dreamy excess best paired with a juicy red wine, topped with deceptively catchy vocals. "Postcards for Terrorists," a big winner in the song title contest of 2023, is probably the poppiest number, the intertwining vocals of Yuta and (I think) Sarah Davis driving the chorus home. The songs led by Davis ("Kalopsia," "Specter Vermillion") and others like "Sin Tonight" have a 70's English folk-like quality, lilting and haunting, performances that seem inspired in part by the soundtrack to The Wicker Man. While every track on here sounds good, and I keep returning to the record during the gray days and long nights, most don't register in my memory after the record's done, with the exception of "Postcards" and "O Karina." The latter is almost an instrumental song, with Matsumura singing well beneath the shroud of guitars, and when that second, sharp guitar line that slices through about two-and-a-half minutes in, it trickles in through the brain and down the spine every time. This kind of lush, textural music often benefits from a little length, but the Lewers keep things trim, maybe to a fault, as a couple tracks could have been teased out like "O Karina." Likely I just wish the record was a bit longer; even if it isn't anything new, 518A's confines, most definitely outfitted with a white faux-fur area rug, are a fine place to sprawl in contemplation.

The Native Cats, The Way On Is the Way Off (Chapter Music)

Long-player number five from Hobart's finest, many years removed from their last, John Sharp Toro. In the interim, the Native Cats released two of the best singles in recent memory - Spiro Scratch and Two Creation Myths - so expectations were high. Their core sound remains Chloe Alison Escott's spoken-sung vocals and incisive, biting lyrics grounded by Julian Teakle's bass, but they're joined by live drums on a number of tracks here, and there are even points when Escott cedes control of microphone to backing vocals (The Last Gang Vocal on Earth, according to the credits). Over the past ten years, Escott's lyrics have shifted from fictional scenes to the semi-autobiographical, incorporating more personal details in the songs, sporting ferocious tenacity or tender self-affirmation depending on the song. Her queer and trans identity is inseparable from the Native Cats' evolution, including all the frustration, self-doubt and pockets of joy involved in coming out and being out. She hardly sounds defeated; given the spots of violent imagery across The Way On Is the Way Off, I wouldn't bet against her in a fight.

The record begins in fits and starts, and while the first three tracks are undeniably in the now-recognizable Native Cats style, I think the action really begins after the "Former Death Cult" interlude. "Small Town Cop Override" roars into action with a drumroll and features one of Escott's sharpest lyrical performances ("I strive for victory or hallucination" and "I've seen the future, it's a chain of tricks/Come 'round and watch me turn a crisis into six") atop pounding live drums and blaring chords, burning bright and out in 80 seconds. It bleeds right into "Vivian Left Me," a slow, plodding number with a bass line ripped from David Sims' playbook. Escott has free reign to prowl over the buzzing, ominous terrain, and drops one of my favorite lines of the year with "When your dreams come true, they feel/distressingly like dreams." The track sears and bubbles without cresting, endless tension floating exhaustedly into the haunting "Dallas," a spare, solemn ballad. The lyrics are opaque, tangled; it feels like a meditation on what has changed for Escott, and what can't be changed or outrun, all wrapped up in the album of the same name released ten years ago.

"Suplex" kick-starts the B-side, a mean bass line and Escott's sneering vocals competing for the first minute and a half, and then the song's taken over by keyboard and piano, a pillowy landing from the body blows of the first half. "Rain on Poison," like "Dallas," is moody and restrained, pounding toms and a single piano note ratcheting up the tension along with Escott's powerful vocals, and as the song progresses, elements are stripped back until it's just Escott in your ear: "Time is running out/At a rate I can handle." It's an almost absurdly powerful affirmation, implying some mastery over the passage of time, but such is the confidence espoused by the Native Cats across The Way On Is the Way Off. It ends the world-beating five-song stretch, and while the rest of the record is good-to-great, even including some of Escott's solo piano work at the end, the middle section is so rich that it feels excessive to have more music outside of it. Yeah, "Tanned Rested and Dead" is a burner, and the NYC-in-the-early-aughts bounce of "Battery Acid" is a good look, too; those tracks might be my favorite part of the record next week. That's the innate joy of a Native Cats record, now more than ever: still harshly resistant to snap judgement and best lived in, seeping into your skin like a sauna and pulling lost memories or feelings or chemicals to the fore. And yet, The Way On Is the Way Off remains endlessly listenable despite the weight of dreams or expectations, the band fully in control of their sound, as comfortable as ever in it. I don't know if it's their best yet - ask me in another few months - but it definitely feels like it might be. Stunner.

Howard Stelzer, oh calm down you're fine (No Rent)

Great tip from my brother to check this one out, he being an effective filter for No Rent's endless release schedule. Howard Stelzer is not a new name, but new to me, and oh calm down you're fine is a sterling example why digging for new music remains my favorite pasttime. Stelzer layers tape loops here, of anything and everything; during the impromptu Bandcamp "listening party," which Stelzer "attended," he revealed that samples include that of making an omelette and the school band warming up next to the classroom where he teaches, the latter featured prominently on "Everybody Thinks So." He's in the league of artists like Joe Colley or Jeph Jerman to my ears, though less wracked with anxiety than the former and more interested in the noise made by humans (as opposed to nature) than the latter. What makes Stelzer's work so exceptional here is the subtle sense of composition; the hard-to-follow logic in the way the sounds are paired, or layered, reminds me of how Philip Jeck would compose and arrange his music. One could mistake "Reconsider From Memory" for something by Jeck with unfocused ears, reminiscent too in the unhurried pacing across the tape. The results are decidedly much more abrasive in Stelzer's case, more smart aleck than somber, though like all experimental noise music worth its salt, what's being communicated is in the hands/head of the listener. As the somewhat disarming "Proportional" appears to wind down, Stelzer introduces some dizzying drum loops, conjuring some sort of ritual where you're at the stake, until the laugh track hits. Better luck finding the thread next listen. My favorite tape of the year, and lucky for you, still available from the label. Dig into more of his work on his Bandcamp.

Water Damage, 2 Songs (12XU)

2 Songs is my first proper run-in with Water Damage, and that is something I've committed to fixing after living with this LP in constant rotation for a month. The ensemble, running eight members deep, creates a thicket of psychedelic repetition, playing with tenets of noise, jazz, krautrock, and hip hop across two side-long tracks, appropriately titled "Fuck This" and "Fuck That." The former rips into action after a false start, a dense, throbbing miasma anchored by a tireless bass line and squalls of guitar noise and feedback circling each other. The band takes a quick breather after six minutes, coming back even noisier, and then inexplicably does the same thing again thirty seconds later - and somehow it all works, the two intentional hiccups swallowed by the aural equivalent of The Blob over the track's barely registered, but deeply felt, ebbs and flows. "Fuck That" is comparatively lighter, roomier, allowing room for a maddening circular xylophone (?) line and keyboards to float atop the distorted bass line and agile drums. Stick around until the bass line becomes loose and rubbery, the whole song submitting to its own weight, like the ghost of DJ Screw just took over your turntable. It's really difficult to do this record justice with words; it feels like it consumes the room, your house, then you when it's on. The density of the record is rendered in sharp relief through the high quality recording and the combined power of the players here, combining as one pulsating mass or frictionlessly bobbing and weaving. That they're an octet likely means I'll never have the pleasure of getting to see them do it live, but it's a consolation that 2 Songs is the best-sounding record of the year; it'll peel your scalp back plenty, and I recommend that you grab the LP and let it rip.

#The Lewers #Lulu's #The Native Cats #NO RENT Records #Water Damage #12XU Records #howard stelzer

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goodbysunball · 5 months

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Title lost

A coupla hitters for your end of Novembs—

Body Void, Atrocity Machine (Prosthetic)

I caught Body Void on their massive tour with Primitive Man, Mortiferum, Jarhead Fertilizer and Elizabeth Colour Wheel last year, and they stunned me with their singular-minded approach to make music as heavy and seething as possible with a guitar-bass-drums trio. In the live setting, they reminded me of bands like Fistula (the riffs) and Indian (the vocals), but for me, Body Void's recordings didn't stack up. Now, having augmented their setup with heaps of abrasive electronics to fill every space on Atrocity Machine with glass, rust and asphalt, I can definitely say they've captured the power of their live shows. The first two proper tracks, "Human Greenhouse" and "Flesh Market," are similar in spirit to their old tracks (slow leaden riffs, maybe a fast part, less concerned with structure than texture), albeit trimmed in length and twice as caustic. It's "Cop Show" that really announces the band's arrival, a nauseating see-saw whirr accompanying every downstroke, grinding the listener down for over six minutes until a slightly different version of the riff comes back for the pile-driving finish. The flip features two songs stretching over 10 minutes each, again recalling earlier recordings, but made whole with electronic noise. As exhausting as "Divine Violence" might seem halfway through, it's an agonizingly slow build to a blinding finish, and you'll be inadvertently headbanging throughout. The title track closes the record out in similarly smothering fashion, electronics whipping up sand storms while the band hammers out a riff swinging ominously like a pendulum, everything except the drums eventually ceding to the painful electronics over the final minutes. This is admittedly a tough sell in an oppressively bleak world, in a society intent on destroying itself, but it's a feat to make music this physically and psychologically punishing. As suffocatingly dense as the sound can be, it's no surprise that when Atrocity Machine ends, you're exhausted; but when it's on, and you're immersed in their onslaught, you don't want it to end, either.

Lewsberg, Out and About (12XU)

If there's a sound that will evoke memories of summer/fall 2023 for me, it's gonna be the warm drone introducing "Angle of Reflection," the opening track on Lewsberg's latest record Out and About. Anyone hoping the band would return to the comparatively uptempo self-titled and In This House LPs will be disappointed, as last year's In Your Hands proves itself to be more than a transitional record. At the time, that record seemed intentionally pared down to reflect the group's ranks shrinking from four to three, but the approach appears to have been instructional for the band in some sense. Everything on Out and About feels intentional, very little left to chance, not a hair out of place. Yet even with such a seemingly calculated approach, the band played one of my favorite sets I've seen this year, covering most of Out and About with equal parts precision (Michiel Klein stock-still delivering the searing solo on highlight "An Ear to the Chest") and an infectious enthusiasm. I'm not sure if that enthusiasm bleeds into the record for anyone who hasn't seen Lewsberg live, but I think I've come to prefer this refined version of the band, prone to roomy, sparkling guitar lines, simple floor tom accompaniment, and softly delivered vocals. It is very much a pop record, one that works as social or background music, but there's enough going on under the surface to satisfy a close listen or 20. Shalita Dietrich's rich bass line on "A Different View," the vocal interplay between Dietrich and newest member Marrit Meinema on "Without a Doubt," and Ari van Vliet's violin on "Canines" show a band that is very much buttoned-down, professional and yet still finding new spaces within a well-worn pop framework. Yes, I can do without the precious spoken word of "There's a Poet In the Bushes," but I'm glad they took the swing; this band is nothing if not outwardly bookish. The lyrics across Out and About - funny, pensive, never maudlin or self-pitying - point to a more complicated humanity behind it all, of course, and Meinema's contributions in that department fit right in. It's clear that Lewsberg have transcended the VU influence and have grown into their sound, and they arrive fully-formed on Out and About. One of my top favorites from this year, and easily my most listened to record of this year.

Jef Mertens, No Mathematics (Feeding Tube/Kraak)

New solo album from Jef Mertens, a bastion of the noise/drone scene in Belgium and abroad. Not sure what hipped me to this release - maybe the Kraak newsletter, because who can keep up with Feeding Tube's release schedule - but in any case it's a keeper. Mertens is on guitar and shruti box, both of which give his droning compositions a warm-yet-metallic feel, a sound reminiscent of artists like K-Group. He's accompanied by Nickolas Mohanna on a few tracks, contributing "electronics, rhythmic pads and treated zithers," giving a track like "Metal" an almost rhythmic backbone, pushing Mertens outside of the meditative circles he tends to run on his own. There's more than a hint of Pauline Oliveros' influence evident, on "Hapering" especially, where it's easy to become immersed in the majestic repeating pattern. No Mathematics instills an eerie calm on record, and I imagine Mertens is similarly able to silence small concert venues across Europe easily with his gently welcoming yet powerful pieces, soothing the most frayed of nerves, or at least getting folks out of their heads for a few minutes.

Emily Robb, If I Am Misery Then Give Me Affection (Petty Bunco)

A welcome return from Emily Robb, following up How to Moonwalk with a more introspective, yet no less sizzling record. If I Am Misery Then Give Me Affection comes with a promise of "high-minded celebration of guitar and sound and tone and string and amp," and that's about the gist of it. No Yngwie Malmsteen-style pyrotechnics here, just a detailed investigation into the instrument, channeling a cozy scratchy knit blanket ("Hermit's Cave"), providing a generous two-track dissection of "Black Angel Death Song"'s violent instrumental ("Dispenser" and "Slowing Singing Bathing Shaving") and sometimes just capturing in high fidelity an interesting noise ad nauseam ("Bells," an admittedly strange favorite). There are, of course, some more straightforward bits like "A Kiss" and "Solo In A" that should make most musicians want Robb in their band, but I find the tracks that mine the exploration of the guitar and exploit the possibilities of the studio to be the most compelling. There is a patient, calm feel to the record, best exemplified by the stunning lonesome electric blues of "There It Goes Again" and "First Grow a Gold Plant," that has been a perfect accompaniment to early mornings. It's rare that I don't flip the record straight over after the smoldering "Rolling Electric Ball" finishes, not wanting to leave the orbit of If I Am Misery, and that's not something I can say about many instrumental records, guitar-based or not. I'd say I can't wait for what's next, but I'm perfectly content when this one's on.

#Body Void #Lewsberg #12XU #Jef Mertens #Kraak #Feeding Tube #Emily Robb #Petty Bunco

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goodbysunball · 6 months

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Fresh trimmings

Alienator, World of Hate 7" (Convulse)

New recording from Portland, OR's Alienator following a 2021 demo. The band plays a sort of mid-tempo hardcore, burly almost-metal riffs and gruff vocals filling out the space afforded by the lower speeds. Passes surface level inspection, especially "I'm Nothing" or the stomping outro of "Social Disease," but all of the parts here don't really coalesce into the total package as advertised. Lyrics are clunky and hackneyed, even by hardcore's low standards, and I'm annoyed on each subsequent listen at how chugging death metal riffs are teased at the beginning of "Senseless Violence" and the title track but not fleshed out. It's all competent and fashionable, from the artwork to the execution, but doesn't really distinguish itself and, at worst, inflicts some secondhand embarrassment.

Delco MF's, March of the M.F.'s 7" EP (MF Records)

Seems recently any hardcore that catches my ear has to be verging on grindcore tempos, and Delco MF's do it better than most. The first 7" was great, and March of the M.F.'s continues the winning streak. There are some strong riffs on here, most potent on the title track, but this is a band primarily carried by the vocals and the drumming. "Future World" is a prime example, the vocals and violent tom fills racing and tripping over each other, until "Death of Me" pleases the crowd waiting to mosh. Six songs in six minutes, no room for filler (or, perhaps thankfully, a lyric sheet) - almost makes me agree with the "Hardcore Rules / Fuck Off" banner pictured on the back of the sleeve.

Mark Van Fleet, Vordenal CS (Refulgent Sepulchre)

I saw Mark perform as Face Place a few years ago, and it was cool, but felt very restrained and almost academic in its approach to noise. I was hoping for something a little closer to the heaving noisescapes he created as 1/2 of Sword Heaven, and now Vordenal comes close to fulfilling that wish: syrupy thick loops are urged to disintegrate, harsh sounds reflect off thin metal walls and a general unease presides. There are tracks, but this works as two side-long pieces. Side A's a little roomier, sounding like a high rise construction site on a windy day, creaking metal-on-metal and eerie whistling, until bolts shear and welds fracture during the swirling fever pitch of "Vordenal Slurp." Side B is just two tracks, and here's where the anxiety begins to burrow under your skin. The chomping and pounding of "Volume Fog" is particularly effective, and its guts are poured into the atonal drone of "Dungeon Summer," a drone that begins to pile on itself and buckle. When I listened to Vordenal on an airplane recently, it felt as if the plane were being ripped apart until the abrupt end of "Dungeon Summer" allowed the oppressive hum of steady cruising back in. What Mark's doing is in the league of Tom Darksmith and Aaron Dilloway, albeit a bit less polished than their recent works, but the stitches showing works in Vordenal's favor.

Life Expectancy, Decline CS (Iron Lung)

One of maybe three hardcore releases to leave a mark this year, Life Expectancy's Decline is a cavernous, feedback-ridden bullet train ride, except you're strapped on the outside like Mad Max in Fury Road. Plenty of noise here, including intro/outro on/off ramps, but the middle section is a pretty potent slurry of metal and punk, a combo that just doesn't add up for most bands. Vocals are a vicious black metal caterwaul, becoming more and more prominent as the tape plays, fully emerging on "Liquidated Flesh" and "S.M.R.A." where the tempo slows just enough for things to get really grimy. Blinding, blown-out, bleak: all applicable here, even if they curiously titled a track "Eggz." Completely unassuming packaging and quietly released, Decline sets a new bar for the skulls-and-chains crowd to gawk at.

Romance, Seven Inches of... 7" EP (self-released)

Hastily assembled sorta-supergroup from Sydney mows down the corny "murder punk" genre tag and reclaims the violent moniker for themselves. The band plays well - bass and drums thump and wallop, guitar slashes with abandon - but the draw here is the feral vocals of Jane, who must've had blisters on her vocal cords after the performance here. "Romance," "Fast Car" and "Surprise" are almost uncomfortable, blurring the line between performance and actual malice, and it's chilling in the best way. Nothing polished here, and all the better for it; you can definitely see why the band chose to self-release these tracks even after a couple of years. There is a palpable ferocity and recklessness across Seven Inches of..., and whoever says "fuckin' nailed it" at the end of "Sex Pact" ain't wrong.

Tàrrega 91', Fill de la Merda 7" EP (La Vida Es Un Mus)

The punk LVEUM mines from Spain almost always hits home with me, and Tàrrega 91' aren't about to break that streak. Fill de la Merda sports a bass-heavy recording, Discharge-style ripping guitars, but makes plenty of room for a prominent Rudimentary Peni influence to show its head, too. Not sure that there's anything groundbreaking to be heard across Fill de la Merda, but it's all performed as if they were the first band to stumble onto this confluence of sounds; that genuine excitement pushes a track like "Autoproclama De L'esclavitut Total" into a burner. Nice quick-hit 7" that checks a lot of boxes for me, especially that little guitar solo on the title track. Yeah, it's comfort food in a sense, but who better to serve it than one of the preeminent labels in punk and hardcore worldwide?

#Alienator #Convulse #Delco MF's #Mark Van Fleet #refulgent sepulchre #Life Expectancy #iron lung records #Romance #Tarrega 91'#La Vida Es Un Mus

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goodbysunball · 7 months

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Parched & parcel

Things are getting noticeably heavier and weirder, and we're the better for it. Some metal, finally, paired with some fine Aussie experimental noise and a band that'll make you believe in the dream of NYC again. It's the best season for this kind of stuff, so dive in.

dprk, Shitville Tourist LP (Studio Fabrik)

May I introduce to you Shitville Tourist (title of the year) by dprk, apparently a duo of Nick Dan (xNoBBQx) and Richard Fielding (Severed Heads) with support from a few mates. It feels like a journey in time back to where Twisted Village and Kye once roamed, where the journey largely justified the end product and the listener could take it or end up spending big later. While there is no question this record took me a few listens to unravel, what didn't take much to pique my interest was the gentle loop on "Crazy Little Corkscrew," something that sounds like a lullaby played with a steel drum, being poked and prodded by various electronics over its seven minutes. The track, like all four tracks on here, doesn't really go anywhere over its duration, but floats, writhes, twists and soaks in the sounds being made: pure joy in the noise made by machines. The title track and "Blumen Schmerz" are darker, more cavernous, where synths bleep and blot and drum machines whirr and exhale steam, creating the illusion of life where there is none. The latter has some creepy guitar parts splayed out on the pulsing synth backbone, but the investigation leads to no further conclusions; there is no categorization here. The finale, "Gulag In Space," provides not only another great title but a track nearly worthy of dancing, especially after the mind-fuck of the first three tracks. The beat bounces off all surfaces, as slippery as the rest of the record, but there is a sparkle on "Gulag" that winks at the listener as Shitville Tourist winds down. Something magnetic, or just plain alien, about the whole affair, but whatever it is, the sheer number of times I've played this have more than justified the hefty price tag. Great debut; let's hope for more from these true underground freaks.

Excarnated Entity, Mass Grave Horizon LP (Nuclear Winter)

Greece's Nuclear Winter puts out a ton of releases, so much that I've seemingly looked them over in the last few years. But taking stock, they've been responsible for the physical releases of a number of near-and-dear U.S.-based death metal acts like Blasphematory, the mighty Anhedonist, and now, Excarnated Entity. Excarnated Entity features a former member of Anhedonist, and there's definitely a similar approach to death metal with the two acts: mournful, grandiose but without the heavy-handed use of keyboards or Gregorian chant-like vocals. Excarnated Entity is also singularly focused on the horrors of war - not to be confused with the glorification of such in war metal - and provides ample heft to the incalculable loss of life. The band's demo, also reissued by Nuclear Winter in 2020, was a good primer for their debut LP, but the LP is devastating. The instrumental opener "Abjection" runs an elegant Mournful Congregation-style guitar line into the ground, simultaneously distraught and triumphant, and sets the stage for the rest. For anyone paying attention to the recent death-doom resurgence, Mass Grave Horizon fits right in and sets itself up near the top of that heap. While I think that there's a bit of momentum wasted in the middle section of "Corridor of Flame," that's really the only complaint I can level at the record. Everything else is properly filthy: gurgling vocals over blastbeats slam headfirst into downtuned chugging riffs, and a elegiac solo rises from the cracks in the pointlessly blood-stained soil. It's between "Irradiated Shadows" (the part before the solo, yeesh) and the punishing title track for my favorites here, but there's not a dud in the bunch. It's worth noting that the band does four-minute sprints as well as they can stretch tracks out to twice that length - a versatility that elevates Excarnated Entity above the one-note lifers rehashing the same formula on every track. Bleak, miserable and, given the state of the world, timely death-doom is what you get on Mass Grave Horizon, and if you think you've heard it before, it's worth hearing again in this singularly focused and dimming light.

VoidCeremony, Threads of Unknowing LP (20 Buck Spin)

I've got to give Nic at Repressed Records credit for pushing this one, as anything combining descriptors like "jazz" and "prog" with "metal" usually makes me run for the hills. But, this new VoidCeremony LP is checking all the boxes while flirting with all of the above, while (as Nic notes) throwing in a fretless bass solo on nearly every song to boot. The band plays death metal, firstly, and while there are some space-y outros and instrumentals, everything feels of a piece rather than forcing together disparate parts. The label press mentions that the band plays "with the gliding, controlled chaos and smooth fluidity of a jazz quartet," and that checks out, but I don't smell anything particularly jazzy about the record. Rather, I get a big whiff of Gorguts when listening to this record, another band that seamlessly combined progressive, thrash and death metal with grooves, resulting in something impressively complex without making it feel like a homework assignment. "Writhing in the Facade of Time" probably best displays all of these aspects, from the fading-in tech-death opener, to the sky-scraping guitar solos, to the crushing close of the track before the group's whisked away on a mystical Moog coda. The band shifts from strength to strength without any bloat, and just as importantly, without any clean vocals. Threads of Unknowing is my go-to workout record this year, the fluidity of the drumming providing blastbeat stress and necessary space in equal measure. Strap in, take a trip; whether you buy into the lyrics or overarching theme is up to you, but either way it's one of the most thrilling death metal records of the year.

Weak Signal, War&War LP (12XU)

Cool "reissue" of an album digitally released in 2022, hopefully given a wider reach with the push of 12XU. War&War is Weak Signal's third LP, and it sounds like a band comfortable with themselves, their capabilities and their sound: they can rip off a garage-punk track like "Don't Think About It" and slow things to a simmer on "Consolation" with ease. That the band sounds so self-assured did make this record feel a little too easy the first few times; but, like label mates Lewsberg, the complexity of the tracks shines through on iterative spins. Seemingly small choices like the backing vocal melody on "Names" or the sparkling Cass McCombs guitar on "Spooky Feeling" begin to feel like bold, powerful moves amidst the background of resignation/resilience across the album. The mostly spoken, barely sung vocals paired with the often bluesy guitar lines give the record a rough, workingman feel - which, for me, means that things ain't going your way but what are you gonna do about it - but there's no glory in it, just a general disdain for how things are. It's definitely a bit of a downer, though I think the band would prefer "realist," and two lyrics from the middle of the record seem illustrative of the this approach: "I'm no weirdo/I'm no freak/but things keep happening to me" from "Songworld," and "If you think I care/that's where you're wrong" from "Yr Deal." I don't find that the lyrics convey apathy, rather an infinite patience or aplomb in the face of everything spinning uncontrollably off-axis. War&War feels similar in spirit to what True Widow was doing on the heavy sigh of As High as the Highest Heavens..., though without the depressive bent of that record. A bit of despair creeps in on the cover of Johnny Thunders' "It's Not Enough," which bleeds into the gray, abstract noise of the title track, but the band puts their dukes up again on closer "Who the Hell Are U?," a fitting end to the record to reinforce the group's street savvy instincts. Weak Signal's delivered a doozy, and one of my favorite new-to-me discoveries of the year so far.

#dprk #Excarnated Entity #Nuclear Winter #VoidCeremony #20 Buck Spin #Weak Signal #12XU Records

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goodbysunball · 8 months

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Four du jour

Flailing wildly to keep up with music and the embarrassing stacks of sealed records piling up. Here’s an effort to slow down and pay more attention to what’s in house - some really great stuff within. Dig if you will:

Famous Mammals, Instant Pop Expressionism Now! LP (Siltbreeze)

The Bay Area's Famous Mammals follow-up their self-released cassette with an LP on Siltbreeze, a fine pairing if there ever was one. Much like that cassette, the band channels some of the greats - Swell Maps, the Fall, the first two Pere Ubu records - and wraps it up in the warmth of late '80s/early '90s home recorded cassettes. At 18 tracks, this is a bit of a strain on the ol' attention span, but the band seemingly can't stop writing good-to-great tracks, so why not? My favorites are when they get a little stormy and aggressive ("Comets for Poets," "Empty London" and "Quips In Print") and the experimental tracks littered throughout, some instrumental ("Metal Forest") and some not, like Amber Sermeno's great performance over the nimble guitar line on "Charmed Effects" or the absurd and quotable "Crayon World." There is definitely a sense that the Mammals are repeating themselves over 18 tracks, also like the cassette: "Let the Light In," "Soul Without Sound," "Like a Shadow" and "Parachute Traction Excites!" have a lot of overlap, the distorted jangle on each reminding me of the next, even after many runs through. All of these tracks are pleasant enough, with "Like a Shadow" likely emerging as the most pop moment on the record, but they can also sound like filler when placed next to more adventurous tracks. On a record full of questionable sequencing, only one moment stands out as egregious: the steely deadpan of "Thou Art Abstract" falling face first into "Cotton Boy Tuesday" and its goofy nursery rhyme vocal melody, bringing the record to a dead stop only four tracks in. Its two minutes pass and the record regains momentum a few minutes later with "Empty London" and never looks back. I'm unsure if I've listened to Instant Pop Expressionism Now! so much in an attempt to grasp at some hidden thread or because of the record's magnetism; but, I can say that the best tracks, isolated or within the LP's context, are some of the year’s best.

Martin Frawley, The Wannabe LP (Trouble In Mind)

Been back and forth on whether or not to write about Martin Frawley's second LP, The Wannabe, but it's been played much too often in my house to brush aside anymore. Frawley was once a member of Twerps, went through a pretty bad breakup and some self-destructive tendencies were unleashed, released Undone at 31 in 2019 on Merge, and now he's landed on Trouble In Mind for the follow-up. There was an intriguing long-form interview with Frawley on LNWY around the time of the first album's release (link's dead now) that piqued my interest, but I'd never checked him out until now. Where he's at on The Wannabe is a much better place than the interview from a few years ago, but the writing is still biting and sardonic, leveled mostly at himself, though the sparkling title track takes on "the industry" at large. There's definitely that surface-level classic rock feel to The Wannabe, the hits spaced out with bared-soul singer-songwriter schlock and some others that don't take the luster off the hits. At his best, Frawley sounds like Warren Zevon on his Asylum albums, or a David Berman stripped of metaphors, funneling frustration, depression and a sharp sense of humor into his lyrics. That earnestness is something that works to Frawley's advantage for the majority of the album, painfully replaying a chance encounter with an ex on "This Is Gonna Change Your Mind" and admitting to wanting his deceased father's approval on "5th of the 5th." At worst, he's creating objectively beautiful but a bit too literal songs like "Lola" and "I Wish Everyone Would Love Me" that, while certain in their intention, could benefit greatly from a bit of clever obfuscation. For the majority of the album, the band he's assembled works hard to keep Frawley grounded and steady: "Slip Away" churns like Boxer-era National, and "5th of the 5th" chugs and sears like the Velvets on Loaded. But the band never steals the spotlight from Frawley's lyrics, for better or worse. The contradiction at the center of Frawley's lyrics - that he's down on himself but still believes in himself, that he's a mess but worthy of your love and attention - is a hard place to invite listeners, but he makes it pretty comfortable throughout The Wannabe. Parsing out that contradiction, however heart-on-sleeve, is at the core of what makes the record stick. There's probably not a lot of room in the underground for a record as openly emotional as this, but for the most part it feels refreshingly messy and human, a shot in the arm I didn't know I needed. Maybe you could use a boost, too.

Index For Working Musik, Dragging the Needlework for the Kids at Uphole (Tough Love)

Strange brew, this one: Index For Working Musik manage to make a record that's refreshing in its precision, hard to pin down, and slippery enough to evade my feeble memory even after several months of familiarization. The band plays a style of rock that's patient and unflappable, with vocals delivered just above a whisper, and emerge with a sound as lush as it is stark black and white like its cover. There's a Come On Die Young vibe to the opener "Wagner," maybe just in the brittle guitar line and tone, but wholly lacking in tension until feedback wrests control over the final seconds. The closing track "Habanita," maybe my favorite here, rides a slowly picked guitar line to open up new paths, hushed group vocals and phaser guitar (or keyboard?) inflating the proceedings to spectacular heights. In between, I've been stuck playing spot the influence to try and attach a mnemonic device to the meekly presented spread. At points, I hear: Honey Radar's tape hiss-happy and economical approach to classic rock, especially on "ISIS Beatles" and "1871," the latter probably the closest IFWM comes to rocking; Air's "Cherry Blossom Girl" on "Palangana"; Grandaddy, perhaps due to a similarly laid-back presentation, on "Railroad Bulls" and “Athletes of Exile”; and so on. My favorites, "Wagner," "ISIS Beatles” and "Habanita," stretch the ideas out a bit longer, and maybe that's part of my problem: most songs seem too clean, or even risk-averse, choosing to stay within a tidy and neat set of parameters. While I think “1871” is an exception, the tense strumming of “Ambiguous Fauna” is cut short, and it feels like “Athletes of Exile” has just shaken off the rust when it ends. Despite all of the enticing details in the label’s writeup (endless experimental recording sessions, the inclusion of found samples and field recordings, a mysterious text that jump-starts the creative process), I still struggle to connect with the bulk of the record, however much the actual sounds satisfy. It sort of feels like the equivalent of a really elaborate window display for a boutique shop: there’s a high level of skill behind it, and everything is placed just so, but you’re kept at arm’s length by thick glass. Whatever the case, Dragging the Needlework for the Kids at Uphole remains enigmatic - the lyrics, that title - despite being crisply presented and never outstaying its welcome.

Optic Nerve, Angel Numbers LP (Urge)

New-to-me outfit from Sydney, and one with a sound and approach that, as the record's press sheet indicates, sets them apart from their many peers in the city. It's hard for me to hear Optic Nerve, and especially Jackie De Lacy's rough, barked vocals, and not think of the short-lived Rat King, whose sole LP Godsend remains a steady favorite of mine ten-plus years on. Optic Nerve isn't as bleak as Rat King, nor do they have much low end presence on this recording, though Optic Nerve's just about as intense, cold-working punk into new forms through force of will. "Tonic" always drives this point home for me, the song careening toward the finish with few changing parts, a bit of distortion and De Lacy's vocals the engine supplying the power. "Trap Door" initially charges forward in the same manner, but eventually splits open to reveal a bright and rowdy guitar line ripped outta Mikey Young's Eddy Current Suppression Ring playbook. Much like ECSR on their string of singles in the '00s, the band finds a lane and sticks with it throughout most of Angel Numbers. It's a blast to hear them hit the same highs over and over, fists pumping from two minutes into the opener through one minute into the closing track before it's inevitable deterioration. Some detours, like the moody instrumental "Interlude" and the crawling "Basket," as well as the choice to weaponize the shrill notes of the flute on several tracks, point to a broader horizon for Optic Nerve. Though not really similar in sound, there is a palpable energy on Angel Numbers that's present on Unwound's The Future of What and Repetition, all seething records dissatisfied with the present and hungry for something more. Definitely feels like Angel Numbers has flown undeservingly under the radar, but with only 300 copies to go around, I wouldn't take a chance on that being the case for very long. Tops of this batch o' reviews, for those keeping score.

#famous mammals #siltbreeze #Martin Frawley #trouble in mind #index for working musik #optic nerve #urge records #tough love records

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goodbysunball · 9 months

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“When a person is young he writes because it seems to him he has discovered a new almighty truth which he must make haste to impart to forlorn humankind. Later, becoming more modest, he begins to doubt his truths: and then he tries to convince himself. A few more years go by, and he knows he was mistaken all round, so there is no need to convince himself. Nevertheless he continues to write, because he is not fit for any other work, and to be accounted a superfluous person is so horrible.”

— Shestov, The Apotheosis of Groundlessness

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goodbysunball · 9 months

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Mid-year report: 2023

More for my sake than yours, my memory's like a sieve these days - but here's a quick list of the stuff that's resonated most so far this year. Yes, I am going soft on you.

Sixteen alphabetical bullet points:

Cheater Slicks, Ill-Fated Cusses LP (In the Red)

CIA Debutante, Down, Willow LP (Siltbreeze)

Joe Colley, Acting As If 10" (Substantia Innominata)

Delco MF's, March of the MF's 7" (MF Records)

Disintegration, Time Moves For Me 12" (Feel It)

Leda, Neuter LP (Discreet)

Nusidm, The Last Temptation of Thrill (Bruit Direct Disques)

Olimpia Splendid, 2 LP (Fonal/Kraak)

Primitive Man & Full of Hell, Suffocating Hallucination LP (Closed Casket Activities)

Tàrrega 91', Fill De La Merda 7" (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Terrine, Standing Abs LP (Bruit Direct Disques)

Valee & Harry Fraud, Virtuoso (SRFSCHL/Fake Shore Drive) - minus the Twista verse on "WTF"; gonna live in "Dutty Laundry," "Sea Bass" and "Yea But Um" for the rest of the summer

Veeze, Ganger (Navy Wavy)

Witness K, s/t LP (ever/never)

Young Nudy, Gumbo (RCA)

Young Thug feat. 21 Savage, "Want Me Dead," and Young Thug's "Mad Dog" and "Gucci Grocery Bag" - been enjoying Metro Boomin's version of Business Is Business a little too much, given that it's weighed down by terrible features, but these songs stick

#bruit direct disques #primitive man #siltbreeze #leda #olimpia splendid #joe colley #valee #harry fraud #young thug #young nudy #cheater slicks #veeze

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goodbysunball · 10 months

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You're my buddy, you're my pal

A couple more for the road. A long overdue nod to the great Bruit Direct Disques, and Khanate's massive return to a world that befits their sound. Without further adieu:

Khanate, To Be Cruel (Sacred Bones)

After a double-digit years-long hiatus, Khanate orchestrated a surprise return to follow up Clean Hands Go Foul with To Be Cruel. I can't say I've listened to much Khanate in the interim, but To Be Cruel makes a strong case for revisiting the band's discography. Given the members' forays into other projects, I was expecting the sound to shift dramatically here, but that was incorrect: the band has doubled down on its glacial pace, heaving guitars and Alan Dubin's backed-into-a-corner vocals, at once human and feral. What's changed is only a greater attention to composition, allowing for some breaks in the drudgery to incorporate ideas from free jazz and improvisation. About two-thirds of the way through opener "Like a Poisoned Dog," the song is overwhelmed by feedback, the drums let loose and the bass holds the line; it's a brief, but thrilling moment, a break in the stark black atmosphere. Much of that atmosphere is owing to Stephen O'Malley's guitar and Alan Dubin's vocals, though I was glad to read an interview with James Plotkin where he agrees that some of the lyrics Dubin screams are patently absurd. That being said, the broader ideas behind the lyrics, coupled with their deadly serious delivery, induce chills throughout. Control is ceded to Dubin on the spare "It Wants to Fly," but his strongest performance is saved for the title track at the end. "To Be Cruel" is vintage Khanate, O'Malley and Plotkin squeezing every ounce from their chords, Tim Wyskida hammering the drums to punctuate each painfully slow movement. Rather than find release, the band chooses to return to the same structure at the beginning of the song, now teasing feedback out between strikes, slowly burying Dubin alive. To Be Cruel is the band's best work, as room-flattening, caustic and focused as ever, enough for me to consider making a trip if they tour behind it.

Nusidm, The Last Temptation of Thrill (Bruit Direct Disques)

Ah, Glen Schenau's inimitable Nusidm returns on one of my favorite labels, Bruit Direct Disques. We must enjoy these moments of kismet, no? The Last Temptation of Thrill fleshes out a refined version of Nusidm found on Hatred of Pain: less vocals, less crowded, and reimagining the dirge as something miasmatic and smothering. Largely gone are the clean, tromolo-picked guitars, but the drums carry the weight, something made perfectly clear on "Katy und Abel" and the beginning of the fully dystopian "Run to the Shops." There seems to be a lot more electronic layering in these tracks, songs built up not by clenched muscles but by feedback, pitch-shifted vocals, pedals and maybe even tape loops. This approach makes "Sit and Watch the Sunrise" come across as a threat, and reaches a logical, thrilling endpoint on "Arm Unemployed" and "Melody Moody - The Re-incision." The slow build of noise in the latter cancels out the jazzy bass line reprised from Hatred of Pain's "Vapid" and covers itself in thick mud, vocals escaping through the air vent and desperate for a response. The record builds up in fits and starts, interspersed with instrumental tracks, the best of which are on the B-side: "Tagging My Friends" brings back the frantic clenched-teeth acoustic playing, and "Talking to Animals" is all feedback and woodwind shrieking, taken home by the downtuned bass. The album's elements coalesce on the chaotic "Arm Unemployed," previously released but finding its home as the penultimate track here, which kinda sounds like Glen's take on rap-metal, if they ever made room for a xylophone solo. It must be heard to be believed, but you'll be nodding along for its five-and-a-half minute duration. The Last Temptation of Thrill is Nusidm as confounding as ever, but as potent as ever, too; the artist-label pairing here greater than the sum of its parts. Three hundo copies to go around, and sharply outfitted in Glen's own artwork and font to further confuse the issue. Come join me on his planet.

Terrine, Standing Abs (Bruit Direct Disques)

Terrine's last album Les Problèmes Urbains was described in the press release as "certainly one of the most demanding (comical) in the world." I'm unsure if my familiarity with the work of Claire Gapenne as Terrine is such that I understand her intentions more clearly, or if I've just accepted being wholly outside the joke. Whatever the case, her latest album Standing Abs is checking all the boxes for me. It opens with "She's So Kind De Ouf," full of harsh electronics and rhythms popping up and disappearing, all of the different elements building to a blaring climax. If you know Terrine, you know that these moments are fleeting, and the song is shortly followed up with acoustic piano and what sounds like a beat made by basketballs. The piano has been a strong part of Terrine's sound, but now it is woven into the album's fabric rather than included solely as a jarring shift in instrumentation. The rest of the album is a really interesting push-pull between modern electronic composition, with a nod to EDM, and these shorter pieces featuring spare, empty-room piano. It's hard not to think of ZNR's Barricade 3 when confronted with the dichotomy of electronic and acoustic sounds, presented to emphasize their contrast; but I will also echo Matt K.'s comparison to Lolina in his review of the album. Like Lolina's best work, there is a logic here, albeit coy and evasive, that still captivates. The stretch of songs from "Carrageenan Do Dad Jokes" through "Nuage De Nuls" features some of the same elements, but it's as if the beats and piano merge, split, or disappear altogether throughout. Far from being a purely academic exercise, there's plenty that just knocks here, too: "Les Moucherons à Oranges" sounds like the rhythm is being played on the piano strings, a kick drum coming in to intermittently stabilize the situation. "La Nimpro" unceremoniously kicks you out of the loft at the album's end, and the cycle is complete. It's a blast, shedding any sense of sabotage (hello, "L'anniversaire") and stepping confidently into their Sambas.

#Khanate #Sacred Bones Records #Nusidm #Terrine #Bruit Direct Disques

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goodbysunball · 10 months

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Clearing the weeds

Your monthly four-pack is here. While irregular, I'm sure you'll find something delicious within. Expect more in a few days' time, or expect me to fail to deliver on that statement. In any case, let's dive into it; three rather bleak ones offset by a sunny one, because it's OK to let the light in when it's too oppressive to go outside.

CIA Debutante, Down, Willow (Siltbreeze)

Third, and best, LP from the duo of Nathan Roche and Paul Bonnet, further entrenched in the dystopian landscapes armed with a dead-eyed stare and dry wit. The duo sounds rejuvenated here; I liked Dust, but there were parts of that record that felt forced and awkward. Down, Willow doubles down on what they do best: Roche's bleak recitations matched by Bonnet's scraping, harsh floor shapeshifting beneath their feet. The drum machine seems to have gotten new batteries, as the rhythms and tempos often approach danceable on "The New Season" and "A Dove," and both tracks feature some pretty caustic ripping guitar, too. Compositionally, Down, Willow is a big step forward, sounds growing deliberately with subtle changes in tone, pieces added delicately until the music propagates on its own, fraying and sparking and eventually exterminating itself. The tracks here are brief, all but one below five minutes each, capable of maximizing impact in a short duration not unlike Jorge Luis Borges' short stories. Roche's writing isn't on Borges' level, but the comparison holds when one considers the ability of these tracks to effectively transport the listener into different environments. Take "Japanese Garden," where layers of guitar give the effect of bouyancy and danger, walking on liquid mercury, the feeling of levitation briefly disappearing at track's end but soon returning in a new form on the instrumental "The Air Loom." Only the slow start to "Cabinet Minister" allows reality to seep in, though the track gradually builds to again cloud (or is it enhance?) reality, once again pulled into Down, Willow's sandpaper embrace. CIA Debutante, the probing magnifying glass for our doomed reality, as good as ever. Now, how about some U.S. shows?

Joe Colley, Pleasure Pressure (New Forces)

A quick return from Joe Colley, following up last year's stunningly bleak Deformation of Tone with another round of existential dread in Pleasure Pressure. He's been at it for a long time now, and each subsequent release seems to hone in further on what sounds or compositional choices will pinpoint unspoken fears and anxieties. While the LP jacket design makes it easy to think of Pleasure Pressure and Deformation of Tone as a pair, the former feels more like something that would've appeared on Kye rather than venerated noise label New Forces. It often has the feel of pieced-together field recordings, sounds given added heft through isolation and placement in a compositional whole. A bulk of the first side sounds like recordings of a room with a malfunctioning steam heater, for instance, and there's lots of fumbling, hard-to-place noises, hands moving pieces without clear purpose. I don't think Colley makes music with field recordings, though it's impressive that he can conjure these feelings and visions through mechanical synthesis. Certain points, like the beginning of the second side, immediately grab my attention, all sheared metal and churning devices; other portions feel a bit listless. With infrequent loud sections and without the intermittent samples of people speaking included on Deformation of Tone to guide the listener a bit, the record can lose focus. I imagine it sounds like walking around a residential area just hit by a tornado, crackling wires and burst pipes interspersed with eerie stillness, but also walking around long enough to become inured to the bizarre landscape. That same sort of disconnect could be at play here: I like the corroded sounds on Pleasure Pressure, but they often feel too aloof. When a voice finally appears at the very end, positing that "being born is violence," it lands with a thud, having not been hoisted up by the preceding sounds. Instead, Pleasure Pressure is content to writhe in murky doubt and curdled anxiety, risk-averse though more than capable and committed.

En Attendant Ana, Principia (Trouble In Mind)

Trouble In Mind has been doing a pretty great job filling its roster with international talent, and Paris' En Attendant Ana are one of their longer-running acts, this being their third LP with the label. Their sound is a keyboard driven pop, not too far off from Slumberland's sound with a healthy dash of the Clean, but they sprinkle in enough magic to make the music stick. That magic can be brief appearances by Camille Frechou's saxophone or trumpet, or it can be Margaux Bouchaudon’s meandering vocals on "Fools & Kings," or it can just be the band transforming a Loaded-style track into their own sound ("Principia"). Principia is sorta billed as the band's grown-up record, and there are big swings here: "Same Old Story" channels Stereolab with success, and "Wonder" straps into a krautrock groove, hoping to outrun past mistakes. What appears to be gone is the youthful jitteriness or exuberance of a track like "Down the Hill" from previous album Juillet, replaced instead by a handful of so-so tracks that evade remembrance. "Black Morning," "Ada, Mary, Diane" and "The Cut Off" seem like afterthoughts compared to the title track or "Anita," pleasant enough but weighing down the album. "Anita," on the other hand, is the track here, as much as everyone will talk about "Wonder"; it's everything they do well in one track, a motorik beat and rubbery bass taking the reins and holding tight as the vocals sway and saxophone blares. There's good reason why "Anita" opened their set that I caught a few weeks ago. As far as their albums go, I think I still give the edge to Juillet, but the handful of tracks that connect on Principia make it more than worthwhile.

Leda, Neuter (Discreet Music)

Unexpected and wholly welcome new LP from Leda (née Sofie Herner, 1/2 of Neutral), a proper follow-up to 2017's Gitarrmusik III-X landing on the heels of a cassette released by a label that shall not be named. You can skip the tape anyway, 'cause Neuter is what you want: brittle, unadorned chords and loops; readings doubled as lyrics tucked in the background, cloaked in distortion; and a spare but effective presentation, as much about what is there as what isn't. Tracks 2 and 5 are probably the most approachable compositions, comparatively, King Blood-style riffs repeated ad nauseam, but all tension and no release. What Leda appears to reach for, and often achieves, is transcendence through repetition, a feat notable for the short length of the tracks. I'm reminded of Robert Turman's Spirals of Everlasting Change (tracks 3 and 7) and the longer recordings from Paul Bowles' recordings in Morocco (track 8, my favorite here) throughout Neuter, but Leda's work feels grittier, not offering an escape so much as a hard look at what's around. What can often sound like music on life support ends up slowly pulling the listener into its vortex, making it difficult to do anything else but turn up the volume. The artwork is quietly stunning, too, the harsh jacket flooded with what looks like a micrograph of etched metal or rock, offering no clues as to what's within. Plenty of copies of Neuter have been pressed, though I'd prioritize grabbing one - a top favorite of the year.

#CIA Debutante #Siltbreeze #Joe Colley #New Forces #En Attendant Ana #Trouble In Mind #Leda #Discreet Music

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goodbysunball · 11 months

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In the summer dust

Live from June 2023, already, and still steadily accumulating plastic to shield me from the sun. Here are four more things you can listen to instead of Elon Musk and four more things you can buy instead of groceries. Crank 'em 'til that stomach rumble is drowned out.

BIG|BRAVE, nature morte LP (Thrill Jockey)

Their lineup now solidified over the course of the past few records, BIG|BRAVE picks up right where they left off on 2021's underrated Vital with nature morte. The record snaps open with Robin Wattie's vocals, and it's a harbinger of things to come: she's solidly up front flexing her vocal range, seemingly more confident and in control than ever. While still glacial and capable of whittling rock to dust, nature morte feels more accessible, in part due to Wattie's performance, but the guitars are more airy, allowing the soft, bright colors of the cover to bleed into the performance. There's an actual groove at the midpoint of "carvers, farriers and knaves," and my favorite track, "the one who bornes a weary load," begins with the post-rock atmosphere by way of '00s screamo. Of course, the band's bread and butter is still this absolutely crushing, cavernous one- or two-chord riff augmented by feedback, crashing drums and Wattie's vocals elevating to a full-on roar; they just utilize it more sparingly. What else has changed over the last two albums is how the band approaches the build-up to these climaxes, and how they can sound as disciplined as they do unpredictable. On "the fable of subjugation," for example, the band leads you face-first into a cold metal wall after the relatively calm textural intro, an un-subtle reminder to stay focused. When the loud part kicks in on "a parable of trusting," it almost sounds like vintage BIG|BRAVE until the guitar chords start to meander and sway, a simple and unbearably powerful show of restraint amidst the onslaught. This is a room-flattening/room-silencing record, the quiet parts captivating and the loud parts leaving craters behind when they strike. But in other ways, this feels like the band becoming more comfortable and confident expressing through texture and mood. To me, the trajectory of BIG|BRAVE feels much like Thou's over their first few years (from Tyrant to Summit, for instance), in that the two groups remained as heavy as ever while becoming more interested in creating an atmosphere, and not just churning endlessly in the sludge-y murk. I'm not big on where Thou went with their sound in recent years, and it could be that BIG|BRAVE is heading down a similar path; but for now, I'll enjoy nature morte and the sound of a band at the peak of their powers.

Disintegration, Time Moves For Me 12" (Feel It)

Fantastic debut from this new Cleveland trio, featuring the inimitable Haley Himiko from Pleasure Leftists, as well as Noah Anthony (Profligate), and Christopher Brown from Cloud Nothings. Disintegration operates in this darkwave/almost-EBM space, and it's solid ground for Himiko to sway and prowl over. The title track has her absolutely going off over an arpeggiated beat, and the acrobatics she pulls out on the chorus hit home every time. The slower tempo of "Carry With You" is another showcase for her vocal range; the combination of the heavy backbeat's gravity and the chopped treated vocals sounds like the track's being pulled under by its own weight. The record closes with "Make a Wish," which sounds like it could've almost been on the last Pleasure Leftists album, Himiko's vocals soaring over the airy, slicing backing track. The four tracks here are over too fast, an almost cruel tease; even "Hit the Face," the only track not to feature Himiko's vocals, connects on some animal level and gets the knees pumping and neck twisting, the coda not nearly long enough. Highest recommendation; please invite me to any party that's gonna be blasting tracks from this 12".

Glittering Insects, s/t LP (Mind Meld)

Total Punk sub-label Mind Meld is back with a vengeance this year, releasing a new Lavender Flu 12" and this debut Glittering Insects LP. The band features vets from Atlanta's underground: Greg King, Ryan Bell and Josh Feigert, who have recording solo and in bands like GG King, Uniform, Predator, etc. Can't say I'm all that familiar with any of their previous output, though it's been in my periphery for years. In any case, none of that prepared me for how powerful the meeting of the minds would be on Glittering Insects. This is very scuzzy, satisfying Am Rep or Dino Jr.-style rock with flecks of black metal ("Kratom Portal," "Calcified Time") and plenty of noise obscuring the vocals and the ground. The first five tracks, from the caustic noise of "Nuclear Rivers" to the tremolo-picking overlaying creaky keyboards on "Labyrinth Funnel," set the stage for what's to come, which is basically a survey of guitar rock from the past 30 years or so. The second track, "Silent Dream," is my favorite song of the year so far. The main riff gets stuck in my head for days at a time, and the slyly catchy vocal melody just barely pokes out amidst the din. Elsewhere, the band churns out menacing noise rock on "Peatgurgling"; attempts a Rudimentary Peni impression on "Obscure World After Death"; and reaches guitar worship heights currently only achievable by Cheater Slicks on the instrumental "Glittering Insects." My very minor quibble would be that "Dream Journal 12/8/21" doesn't quite fit and kicks me out of the dusty, thrilling orbit the rest of the record pulls me into, seeming much less complete than the rest of the album's tracks. It's just about the shortest track, and had I not listened to Glittering Insects many times over already, I probably wouldn't think to mention it. No matter - this is some real deal, clenched teeth exhilaration, a tour de force with the chops, energy and just the right amount of reverence to match its ambition.

HUH, You Don't Need Magic LP (An'archives)

An'archives has been busy the past few years, selecting the Japanese sub-underground sounds that pass muster and bringing them to the masses in beautiful editions. HUH is yet another new-to-me outfit, though apparently they've been around since 2007. The duo of Kyosuke Terada and Takuma Mori is based around guitar and drums, it sounds like, but there's a healthy dollop of electronics (as there must be) and warped, free vocalizations. If that sounds like Lightning Bolt to you, you're in the ballpark, but the band more often goes for low density: stretching out slow, twisted grooves ("Greenish Fog In You") or restrained relative calm recorded by haunted equipment ("Lousy Smirky," which kinda sounds like it could've fit on Sharpen Your Teeth). There are a couple freak-outs that show HUH paying fealty to their Rhode Island forebears, of course - go no further than the raucous "Spilled Beer" for your fix. What's more interesting is that there is a palpable joy on You Don't Need Magic; one that, to me, rarely comes across on most guitar-drum duo records. They emphasize exuberance over aggression, appear to harness the complete freedom from expectation, and possess the wordless communication between two musicians operating on a plane above most. You Don't Need Magic impresses on a number of levels, and if the way "Bitter Summer" rips apart at the halfway point to close out the album doesn't have you flipping the record over for more - you may need magic.

#Big Brave #HUH #An'archives #Disintegration #Feel It Records #Glittering Insects #Thrill Jockey #Mind Meld

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goodbysunball · 1 year

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Josef Breitenbach Untitled 1940’s

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goodbysunball · 1 year

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youtube

Thanks to the $5 finds of Glotoven and 4NEM today (what up Record Store Day detritus), I now remember that this was my favorite song of last year.

#chief keef #Youtube

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