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Hagalaz' Runedance
Volven
Well Of Urd
Within a clearing deep in the forest, a throbbing drum begins to beat. Soon the feet of the dancers tap out the rhythm, circling around the center, whirling faster and faster as flutes, bagpipes, lyres, and other Nordic and Celtic instruments join the tune, building to a frenzied crescendo of ecstatic release that sends spirits soaring outward and within, opening themselves to the ancient mysteries that lie at the heart of our being, connecting us to all.
The music of Hagalaz' Runedance, the creation of Andrea Nebel Haugen and various guest musicians, initiates us into the spiritual mysteries of Northern Europe, especially those of the female Vikings, such as the shamanic/witchcraft/herbalism tradition of Seidr. So if you're not interested in pagan/Neo-folk, this probably isn't for you. But if you're a fan of the World Serpent crowd -- Current 93, Sol Invictus, Fire & Ice, and the like -- then you'll dig this. Combining traditional folk instruments with modern electronics and lyrics inspired by shamanic trances, the pull of the seasons, and the search for personal meaning in a world overfull of straitjacketed minds and hearts, Hagalaz' Runedance calls us to remember the old ways of myth and magic and respect for the natural world.
Quite aside from the spirituality, though, the music has a magic all its own. Hagalaz' Runedance uses a much wider range of instruments, and performs with more polish and skill, than almost any other pagan folk musicians I can think of. This produces an incredible sound, as on the title track "Volven," whose pounding drums grip you by the gut while a droning fiddle (strykelyre, I think), gentle bells, and atmospheric synths perfectly evoke the trancelike experience of ritual described in the lyrics, from which we are awakened by gypsy handclaps at the end. "Your World in My Eyes," with its sad, echoing flutes, lyre, and harp (?), expresses sadness and anger in the lyrics about the bloody and oppressive history of humankind, while "On Wings of Rapture (Vision of Skuld)" remixes an earlier song from the album with Middle Eastern sounds and rock guitar while still retaining the ancient Nordic folk instruments, creating a whirling dervish of a track that ought to become an underground dance club hit. About the only bad thing I have to say about Volven is that occasionally the synths get a little overdone and cheesy, as on "Solstice Past," but this is a small complaint about an otherwise excellent album.
Well of Urd, PO Box 277, 6300 AG Valkenburg, Holland, http://www.hammerheart.com; http://go.to/hagalaz-runedance
Dave Aftandilian
Kind Of Like Spitting/Jeff London
Home Vol. I:
Post-Parlo
This ambitious and beautiful series from Post-Parlo Records starts out with this four-song split shared by Jeff London and Kind Of Like Spitting (a.k.a. Ben Barnett). Ben shares one song with West Coast singer Corrina Repp, and it's a song written by Jeff London, so the cohesive nature of this single is brilliant. It all fits together like a soft West Coast dream. Portland shines through this release, acoustic and indie and so like the rain and the weather. Four songs isn't much, but here every song fills you, so you aren't left wanting, maybe just sighing and wondering where life goes. Jeff London brings out a little bit of organ for his first song, but it's soft, like slow punctuation, and the guitar and smooth voice are left to float through you. "...there's no greater pleasure, then starting up from scratch / at least they tell me so, I've yet to just let go..." - Jeff London
Post-Parlo Records, PMB 49121, Austin, TX 78765, http://www.postparlo.com
Marcel Feldmar
Super XX Man/Eric Metronome
Home Vol. II
Post-Parlo
The second excellent offering in this series puts together a couple of indie pop stars who create, alone and together, some of the most beautiful songs this side of Bright Eyes... ten of them. Super XX Man is Scott Garred of Silver Scooter, and Eric Metronome comes from the band Tiara. Both of these bands have never disappointed, and these songwriters together also fail to do anything other than astound. Acoustic based and running along the indie folk edge, these ten songs touch the heart, and hit overflow. You can hear soft elements of the bands Silver Scooter and Tiara, but there's more here. The combination, as sometimes these singers share the same songs as well as going it solo, brings out hints of a musical sensibility that has been grasped by few. Pedro the Lion comes to mind, at times, as does Elliott Smith, but as the songs play on, there are few comparisons to be made... just enjoyment to be had.
Post-Parlo Records, PMB 49121, Austin, TX 78765, http://www.postparlo.com
Marcel Feldmar
The Vogue
As Brass and Satin
Self-released
No wave new wave cracks the windows. Vocals whine and snarl like some teenage Andi Sex Gang, while the keyboards moan and fly in the background. The guitars jump out in a Make-Up manner, like rock n' roll stripped down and cut on raw teeth. The drums kick like a Blues Explosion at times, but against the rest of the rhythms, it sounds darker and more menacing. Shadows on speed and it bites like a glam rock vampire at a New York nightclub surrounded by the thoughts of strung out gutter punks.
Marcel Feldmar
Jamie Lidell
Muddlin Gear
Warp/Spy Mania
The electronic disorder on this debut full length will be enjoyed by the avant crowd in your town, art kids who have inhaled too much paint thinner, and sadly, the impressionable post-hardcore kid who thinks anything not hardcore is good.
Muddlin Gear is a concept record without a concept, a one trick pony that should have been made into glue. The audio quality is grating, meandering in and out of low and high fidelities. The closest thing to resemble these "beats" is the sound of a subway. No, not that nice swooshy sound that reminds you that you are in London or New York, but that crammed car during Tuesday's evening rush hour. There is no space to breathe on these tracks, just crammed noises without relationship each another.
I fully embrace modern art and its juxtaposition aesthetics. Anyone who has seen my artwork or record collection knows I prefer controlled mess. But even I have to draw the line somewhere: this is one of the worst audio experiences ever experienced.
An epileptic start and stop filter approach, delayed television samples, the list of the lame goes on and on. All I want now is a strobe light and some cyanide. How a respected label could release such drek is beyond me, but a boycott is in order.
Joshua Krause
The Braindance Coincidence
Various Artists
Rephlex
In the bent world of experimental music, the number 10 must mean something extra special, for tenth anniversary comps from the heavy-hitting Ninja Tune and Warp Records have reaped amazing reception and fanfare. So why shouldn’t Rephlex join in on the fun? The label spearheaded by Richard D. James has had its own prolific output since its 1991 inception. Its stellar roster, including Mu-ziq, Bogdan Raczynski and Cylob all lend their tracks to this best-of package. But it is the DMX Crew and D'arcangelo who steal the spotlight with their jittery electro-funk and dense atmospherics. There is not one error of inclusion on this record, and as Ovuca's lulling "Afternoon Girl" winds the Coincidence down, your brain will be plenty exhausted, yet satisfied from dancing the whole way through this chronology.
Kiran Aditham
The Gift
Music From the Motion Picture
Lakeshore
When I first scanned the artists lending their songs to this soundtrack, I had to do a triple take. I try to be tolerant of music I don’t listen to, but I had to draw the line at Loretta Lynn and George Jones. I was expecting a Sam Raimi film to bring some noir-ish flavor the soundtrack, but most of the numbers are a bit Johnny Cash, but a bit boring. But good ol' Willie Nelson brings a bit more downtrodden, introspective acoustic wail to the table with "Great Divide," spicing things up a bit.
Along with an artist named Neko Case, as expected, the two scores courtesy of Christopher Young are the most interesting moments. But the latter are way too brief and lead only into more meandering, highway-diner jukebox ditties. Not to say these are happy songs, because like the movie itself, a sense of melancholy looms over the entire album. Since the film is based in a town that would perhaps enjoy this music, one has to assume that these songs fit in perfectly. But this Gift really isn't for me.
Kiran Aditham
Cyberfest 2000
Various Artists
Cool World/UBL Recordings
Here we go again. Are the strobe lights and sound system on? Then it's time to bring your brightest clothing and jewelry, parachute pants and happy-scrappy attitude to the Cyberfest, showcasing the "best and brightest" from the sprawling dance scene. Corny name notwithstanding, there are quite a few talents to be found on this record, including Mixmaster Mike, Paul Van Dyk, and Moby, all throwing down new mixes of their ubiquitous tunes, including Van Dyk's "Tell Me Why" and Moby's "Natural Blues." Alas, we have heard these songs a million times, so therefore, its better to concentrate on some of the lesser-known folks, like Plan B. Actually, maybe not. After hearing their pseudo-industrial-rap tripe on "No More Sunshine," it's time for these guys to come up with a new plan.
But fear not, you crazy club kids you, for your heroes Paul Oakenfold and BT will save your night. Their overplayed, tiresome cuts "Movement in Still Life," eerily similar to a Crystal Method demo, and Oakey's cheesier than pizza "Bullet in the Gun" should cause some body movin', but I prefer Christopher Lawrence's "Rush Hour" and Bedrock's "Voices." After tuning in, I wasn't sold on this Cyberfest. I’d prefer to listen to this record in the comfort of my home stereo rather than going and paying $90 for the actual event this year.
Kiran Aditham
Chris Speed Trio
Iffy
Knitting Factory
The Chris Speed Trio is Ben Perowsky on drums, Jamie Saft on organs and synth, and of course, Chris Speed on clarinet and tenor saxophone. Classy, classy outfit. They're all about restraint when you know they could just go off and off and off into interstellar space, but man, that's not on the program tonight. There's no selfish jockeying for space or muso grandstanding, much like prime Saint Vitus, The Chris Speed Trio lock into a groove and explore its infinite possibilities. Obviously, its Speed's show, but the record really does have a tight band-like feel. Apparently recorded in two days, Iffy is all effortless cool and junctures of raw emotion. Like on "FMU," when Soft on organ mimics Speed's saxophone lines note for note, before breaking off to each explore simultaneous variations on the same theme, and uniting again and breaking again. And they follow that one up with wonderful brooding "Gina," built around an Attractions-esque organ line that Speed vamps around, in and out, before it turns into something quite different and exotic. The mood of the album shifts a bit in the middle, with "Part III" and "Skew," both moody, slow burning and fading idylls. This effect culminates in the über-tense and repressed "Skipping Really High," in my humble opinion, the shining moment of the album. Almost kinda terrifying some of the time. Fear not though, Speed and his compatriots pick it back up at the end, positively romping through "CooCoo" and giving us a beautiful grandiose melancholy finale in "Slippers." Varied and exciting and new, which is what jazz should be, right? Right?
Knitting Factory Records, 74 Leonard Street, New York, NY 10013, http://www.knittingfactory.com
Matthew Moyer
Gothic Club Classics, Volume 1
Various Artists
SPV
Despite all of the wankery in the genre and "scene" (read: thoroughly beaten and decaying horse), music under the rubric of "Gothic" has at times in the last twenty years been some of the most exhilarating and crucial perfect pop. So forgive 'em for dodgy fetish nights, Marilyn Manson, fat goth girls doing inhumane things to corsets, dorky boys perpetrating crimes against fashion armed only with black eyeliner, every "dark" "personal" Web site EVER, and fucking dumbshit Voltaire, cuz there has been some godlike noise out of this mess. I bet you don't believe me. Okay, smug bastard, lucky for you, SPV has managed to corral a whole treasure trove of early Goth classics into a neat little double CD set. As far as I'm concerned, Disc One is where it's at, Disc Two has haunted my stereo only about five times. Why's that? Type O Negative, Inkubus Sukkubus, "I Walk the Line," and poor Diamanda Galas shoehorned in there, sticking out like a damn sore thumb -- five shitty reasons should suffice. But Disc One, there's the good medicine. Mission UK, Das Ich, Clan Of Xymox (before they were shitty), "Bela Lugosi's Dead," "The Weeping Song," a transcendent Fields of the Nephilim cut, and and and "LOVE LIKE BLOOD" (yeeeeeeeeeesssssss). God, and indeed, damn, this one makes me pine for the days before Orgy's version of "Blue Monday" was sure to fill the dancefloor. There I go, dating myself again…
SPV, PO Box 72047, Hanover, Germany, 30531
Matthew Moyer
Alice In Chains
Live
Columbia
A stopgap record issued for all of the worst reasons -- corporate record company pigs trying to bleed a dying band for every bit of cash/viscera they have left in them, anyone? Appropriate then, that this collection begins with "Bleed The Freak," a lesser-known nugget off their first record that is a goddamn welcome addition to this live portrait. At worst, this record will only whip up further unwelcome speculation into the health and sanity of Alice In Chains, at best, it's a potent reminder of how this band could be absolutely lethal when at their best. And though they aren't at their best live, they're still better than any other band you'll see on MTV right now, bar none. Jerry Cantrell's guitar tone alone melts down all of the pretenders to their throne. And some of these live recordings are fucking early 1990s! Hey listen, there's no new or unreleased songs, except for "Queen of the Rodeo," which is so damn throwaway, I'm not even going to dignify it with an insult. But the rest of the record is downright inspired. The track listing is interesting, though not a total surprise. Most of the big hits are here ("Man in the Box," "Rooster," "Would?"), and I could go on for days with tracks I thought should have been included, but they put "Junkhead" and "Love Hate Love" on there, so I'm smilin' in the end. It's great, it's like seeing an old friend again. It's sad, it's like seeing a picture of an old lover, what could have been. At least it wasn't a greatest hits collection. Against all my better judgment, I'll keep holding my breath for the new album. Hope is good.
Columbia Records, http://www.columbiarecords.com
Matthew Moyer
The Black Halos
The Violent Years
Sub Pop
Listen, don't believe the hype. I believe the hype all too often. Most of the time, I'm a total mark at heart. I want to have faith in bands, I want to join the loving throngs who hail the next great rock and roll salvation. So I hear about The Black Halos. I see some pictures. I'm impressed. A pretty good approximation of gutter scuzz punk glam perfection. Neat trick. I hear some reference points bandied around. Someone mentions the Stooges. Suddenly I'm very interested, indeed. Now The Violent Years is out of my eager hands and into my stereo, and what do I hear? How about a dog-average punk/pop outfit with a vocalist that sounds suspiciously like that guy out of Rhino Bucket? Yeah, that's not what I wanted to hear, either. No danger. No blood. No other bodily fluids or scars. Borrrrrrrrrrrrring. I'm sure they are quite serviceable as a live band, but the record is listless and uninspired. There's a crappy Joy Division/Warsaw cover in there, if you care to look. Fuck, does the Sub Pop label mean nothing any more? Labels, pfffffft.
Sub Pop, PO Box 20645, Seattle, WA 98102, http://www.subpop.com
Matthew Moyer
Warhorse
As Heaven Turns to Ash…
Southern Lord
Is it too late to erase all of the sins of my past? I fucking hope not. I want to start with one of the big ones -- I want to renounce all of the false doom metal idols of my past. Out Cathedral. Out Saint Vitus. Begone Grief. Get thee behind me, Black Sabbath. There is only room for One, and Their Word is law and gospel to me. Warhorse. Warhorse. Do not forsake me. Do not grind my miserable and unworthy bones under the unforgiving fuzz and rumble of your sacred guitars... Warhorse is one step beyond metal, or music, or even sound -- it's a primal, lumbering wall that paralyzes you where you stand, liquefies your insides, and all the while stripping your skin away with the sheer power of their drone god hammer. It doesn't matter what they do -- shit, even during silent interludes only pierced by a slowly-picked acoustic guitar (truly frightening idylls, cuz I just know the fuzztone is gonna kick my teeth down my fucking throat in about thirty seconds), Warhorse is still the deadliest tarpit-dwelling mastodon EVER. They create thick, hypnotic soundwebs of violence and blasphemy, with not one note wasted, not one kick to the ribs missing its mark. As Heaven Turns to Ash… is truly one of the most beautiful and well constructed and, yes, menacing records I've heard. All pretenders take note. This is Power. Power personified.
Southern Lord Records, PO Box 291967, Los Angeles CA 90029, http://www.southernlord.com
Matthew Moyer
The Shiv
Short Order Crook
Cosmic Debris
Tragic as it may be, they just don't make records like The Shiv's Short Order Crook these days, 1985 arguably being the final year post-punk of this sort was wheeled off the assembly line. And that sort? Try a smattering of doob-ready Sandinista!-era dub Clash, a healthy dose of angular avant-funk ala The Au Pairs and Gang of Four, a shimmering glaze of The Teardrop Explodes' dark beauty across the top, and an Attractive undercurrent of taut power-pop, and you’re in the Shiv's (very lively) ballpark. And speaking of The Attractions, the vocals of guitarist Jeff Moore and bassist Mike Marchio alternatingly resemble Elvis Costello on a Robitussin binge, deftly and distinctly lending an air of wry charm to such clever ditties as "Sex Finger," "Asian Persuasion," and "Under the Guise of Religion" – something many have attempted but most have failed, and Moore and Marchio succeed grandly. But despite the obviousness of the trio's influences (maybe not, considering some kids haven't even heard Nirvana…), again, there’s not much like this these days, The Shiv's closest contemporaries being the looser, noisier Sunshine and the more restrained, more definable Radio 4, but that's probably a good, good thing. Please, discerning ears keenly take note!
Cosmic Debris, PO Box 138185, Chicago, IL 60613, http://www.theshiv.com
Nathan T. Birk
Daisuke Tobari
Till the End of Dream
Poon Village
Mysterious and occasionally obscurist. That's really the only thing I'm sure of after many hours spent with this strange CD. I suppose if I was to situate this in some sort of universe, it would be one at least a few light-years near the one(s) inhabited by Jandek and the Sun City Girls.
The first time listening to the record is the best, because you never know what's going to happen next. And if you don't like what you're listening to at the moment, wait about a minute, and it'll change (most of the songs are one and a half to two minutes long.)
Till the End of the Dream has a lovely super lo-fi bedroom primitivism that makes it really endearing, but for reasons I can't explain. When it's not distorted beyond recognition, Tobari has a really pleasant voice that's well complimented by Casio keyboard meanderings, and acoustic guitar ("6," the only thing that identifies tracks here is their number and timing). However, most of the time, he twists his voice into guttural growls.
It's still hard to say anything really conclusive about this thing, other than "the artwork is really pretty," and that it's dedicated to Kobo Abe.
Poon Village, http://www.forcedexposure.com/labels/poon.village.html
Nirav Soni
Pan Sonic
AALTOPIIRI
Mute
A mélange of sounds, some found and some electronic. The textures are crisp, to the point of being brittle. There are swirls of white noise that drift in and out of the ether, amidst lazy percussions and a beat so effortless that you glide along in wonder. At times, the music sounds like a cross between a cheap amplifier undergoing meltdown, cosmic hiss and a short-wave radio channeling the ghosts of a thousand long dead pygmy drummers. At one time, Panasonic was a trio, in the past few years they have dropped the "a," and a member, as well. I cannot decide to what extent this has changed the music. The music on this disc is sometimes tedious and sometimes wonderful, a challenging and rewarding album of electronic music.
http://www.mute.com
Terry Eagan
