free and expressive rock more than anything, heavy on both on creative on sonic levels, this seattle jazz improv power trio rips throughout. wally is the ultimate party man, rip roaring with jazz heads for decades, bill’s precise preparations and explorations redefine what guitars are meant to do, and kikuchi flows freely within the intuitive improv these heads carry (and with a wealth of technical and extended techniques to boot). the album title basically lays it out for you, cuz i guess sound is psychoactive on a chemical level or something?
aka the noise band from Bletchley, UK trance punks? or maybe the call to action undoing the trance? that minimalist repetition of grit and discontent definitely induces reflection, as do the relentlessly nihilistic poems ranting militant contentment to extinction. this is the first album they did with GW Sok, former frontman of The Ex, and i definitely feel the political connection. the somewhat title track seems to give a fishbowl narration of our modern end times and with the meticulous carelessness of their musical delivery you can’t help but feel fine, cuz the world is fucked anyway. pity this busy monster, manunkind, not. Progress is a comfortable disease (ee cummings)
abacus 7/18/2018 A Library
split pairing of Andrew Quitter on anxiety electronics and Egan Budd on metal/junk percussion; its all just a bunch of noise tbh, compositions of cinematic destruction, confrontational yet distant; transdimensional death industrial gutting up against cavernous tonal primitivism. like getting sucked thru a black hole and landing in a boneyard of crumbling architecture. Andrew brings more bleep bloop space travel sounds (especially on Devil’s Icebox, despite the subterranean field recordings) while Egan feels grittier, raw (except Mineral Resurrection gets pretty synthy and Coffin Dust is raw af). if the heat gets any more oppressive this will sit nicely otherwise these are some icy fuckin sounds.
cascadian doom folk of the apocalypse, this group of ladies from Olympia perform acoustically and by candelabra because when the end comes there will be no electricity. somber, sparse yet uplifting in the most dismal of outcomes, vradiazei literally translates from Greek to “getting night” or “darkness comes” they lost their banjo/bouzouki player to motherhood, life eats away at us all one by one. vocals on the B side
cuddly duo of freak folks out of Seattle on an assortment of broken instruments and looping droning and buzzing electronics; extended noise mantras unfold into underwater exotica grooves, squishy rhythms and tribal play toy pandemonium warbled echoes of social ineptitude take form in feral whelps, growls and howls; some cluttered garage hang out ayahuasca hazing
black metal split from the Seattle area: Drakul unleashes relentless death infected blasts of grime and decrepitude; obsessions include the occult, psychopathology and necrophilia so you know its tasty. Sermons On a Moonless Night is like a depressive vampire porno, distant fog laden blood rituals with garbled goblin vocals, hog growls, and digital blastbeats for your amphetamine fueled late night suicidal meme quests
sparse guitar folk narratives from Seattle’s Jesy Fortino; recordings from an era ago, recorded at the Josephine; gentle yet haunting plunges into the weight of a heavy spirit; her voice is rustic yet somber, a real heartbreaker, evocative; live performance so the songs track together, just play them all and weep.
thrashing primitive soul and dance through vocal loops and an antagonistic drum machine, Portland’s Mall Palenske is everywhere in the City of Roses, crashing every experimental show he can with his lopsided frenetic party music. joyous seizures of acid glitch hop that jerks and jumps all over the floor. originally from Michigan then Chicago, Matt’s been jamming PDX since 2013 and seems to have endless shows on the circuit. shake, rattle and roll
Seattle’s Andrew Scott Young is creeping up to be a heavy hitter in the free improv experimental world, hitting the scene playing alongside Weasel Walter’s ‘American Free’ release in 2009 and steadily giggin around the country since. here we have a 2013 release that strays from his usual extended technique free-scrape for some out-of-genre experimentation. the A-side opening with sawed bass string bird calls and spiderleg piano mashing, a tribute to his HS music teacher this feels a sort of new-classical tribal-ritual; blistering reeds sing a windsong with buzzing voices mumbling along and a Himalayan clatter of percussion explodes into a fireworks finale. the B-side plays around electronics, squelchy circuit beats with a parent’s garage sort of lo-fi feel in an 80s action flick aesthetic. the title track seems to have lost the beat and got fixed on a groove skipping about a bit before catching the glitch again. not enough recorded works yet but definitely a name to keep an eye out for.
malevolant 4 way split session of mischievous nonsense makers from round the globe on hyperactive German SHITnoise label. HeidyYouko from Japan a gender stretching penis jiggler of muffled mumbling mambo beat smashing. from Ecuador I PORNO YOU aka herector espermatozombie opens with delinquent street yammering that erupts into hacked and mangled breakcore terror. the mysterious cyrillic translates to burning pinwheel, a duo of Henry C. Rial from Pennsylvania and Bee Spit from Minnesota: an overblown wall of grinding gray static. the final track from another mysterious group from who knows where with countless aliases including Asshawl, Flowerdiva and Transbreak Girlcore Queerbass brings one grueling long slab of minimal power electronics full of distant clatter and bang drowning in its own murky muck. all tracks pleasantly disruptive in their own way and a splendid introduction to this worthless label full of too many worthless releases.
the best in fuck-all-music harsh noise screeching electronics dark drone drivel safari guided by Oxen headmaster Matt Purse aka Fenian collecting garbage collectors from around the globe: FACIALMESS and BLACKPHONE666 from Japan, or Dromez from Ohio, KAKERLAK from Oregon, Black Sand Desert and Leah P from LA, etc, etc… cracked cut-ups, feral feedback foaming, hateful horror hardwares… for the self-loathing in all of us, music to murder listeners to.
overlapping hemispheres of orchestral music and celestial noise, interdimensional soundscapes blending machines, instruments and found objects enveloped by electronic dark matter with light trails of processed field recordings and effects. sound artist from San Francisco I believe apparently inspired by the mystery of life and molding these “techno-organic impressions”. horror sci-fi soundtracks full of spaceships haunted by alien specters. creepy, nefarious visions
american born multi-instrumentalist David Gutman residing in brussels produces an exquisite palette of lost, listless drones; a dusty mirage of electroacoustic serenity blending field recordings, synths, guitar, piano, glockenspiel, etc into a violet haze over orange dusk. soothing yet somber these pieces are perfect for hot summer evenings, though may be better suited for the august-september months
composer, sound artist, musicologist: Luciano Chessa is a highly prolific figure in the avant-garde / modern classical / experimental sound world grossly underrepresented in our library for the fact that he has been active for decades and is based out of the Bay Area. anyways, what we have here is a collection of compositions ranging from 1987 to 2013 covering a huge expanse of compositional styles and formats:
-the first piece (1-4) a percussion-piano duet reinterpreting Pier Paolo Pasolini’s final unfinished novel, an examination of gender politics and identity psychology.
-the second piece (5-8) a selection of free compositions commissioned by the Bologna Conservatory where he studied in the 90s set to vocals performed by Chessa himself and controversially incorporating his popular music influences resulting in a more playful, almost catchy delivery.
-the third piece (9-11) a string quartet commissioned by and dedicated to a couple for their wedding tells the story of Italy’s most prominent post-WWII luthier.
-track 12 is a piece for solo guitar/voice, based on a poem about Amadou Diallo, a Guinean immigrant murdered by NYC police officers in 1999. this piece, he explains, carries a nihilistic tone resulting in a “painful overdose of silence.”
-the fifth piece (13-15) is a series of “salon dances”, piano compositions for four hands that involve intersections of actionism outlined thoroughly in the liner notes”
-the final two pieces are a repurposing of earlier compositions for solo violin requiring the performer to wear two green “jingle-bells” bracelets.
the compositions contained here are serene, cerebral, provoking, challenging, surprising, playful… a wonderful sampling of Chessa influential compositional styles and a wonderful introduction to his work.
yet another example of how shit towns make shit music in the best kind of way: Reno noise-rockers bask in the squalor and trash that their hometown so proudly sweeps under the carpet; after the viral opening, dying piano keys and all, they kick you in the teeth with a good ol’ Bone Voyage. the ceaseless punk-tinged ruckus that ensues chews on the obscene inhumanity that the names’ theme suggests, pushing masculinity to the point of parody. their bandcamp tags definitely touch on some relevant motifs: bleached bones, cadillacs, cannabis, canyons, death, decomposition, hardcore, horses, minimal, motorcycles… side A closing track seems like a sorta anthem to the Nevada wasteland they’re doomed to wither away, the B side packs some sludge, some Dead C sorta drone noise, and a long-drawn teetering dirge to close it all. real rollicking rock and roll music for those that don’t pull punches
newest EP release from LA-based rapper with south-bay roots; this is some real Bay Shit to an almost ironic extent: bingeing on local crunk/trap genre tropes in a hedonistic self-loathing purge. the lyrical content leans tongue-stuffed-cheek like the sex-obsessed 16 year old he always will be gettin loose in the club. his punk/hardcore background shows in the humor, with an i-don’t-give-a-fuck delivery, equally juvenile as it is critical while constantly maintaining personal elucidation. apparently he spent the past five years in isolation writing/recording this; i’d hate the world too.
based out of Lisbon, the Principe Discos label has been pushing electronic music from the city and its suburbs internationally for the past 5 years or so, focusing on African influenced sounds and releasing their vinyl with individual hand-painted stencils; BNM is no exception.
dense off-kilter tribal rhythms of afro-portuguese derivatives (Funana and Kuduru amongst others, drawing from Cape Verde and Angola) with hints of Batida, a more locally sourced fidgety/frenetic style (the fruity cachaca cocktail from Brazil is equally relevant). 3 producers: 2 brothers in their early 20s, DJ Kolt and DJ Noronha, and the 17-year-old DJ Perigoso. some more emotive harmonies in the mix, even an insurgent house repetition amidst the step, but mostly pure jungle music (not in the breakbeat sense, but in the environmental sense).
dance so hard you get dizzy
UK producer Joe Higgins brings cranky stumble fuck all techno; babble bass bingeing incessantly, 72 hour club haze compulsively consuming stimuli mainline; bulging and popping that beat to pulse to in greasy tattoos and slick salience. seedy rave underbelly murking in its intrepid lurk. get sore just standing there
landmark 7″ originally released in 1978 of unnerving locked grooves, polluting ears and inspiring generations of future audio terrorists; thick choking on sonic debris, toxic pulsations of atonal hum and clatter. piercing monotony to rest your boots on your velvet ottoman while sipping mai tais to.
rank-stink cheese-grade horror movie soundtrack for COVEN (pronounced like woven not like oven) the legendary failed 1997 short film by Mark Borchardt (see: American Movie). the worst kind of pre-packaged cheap keyboard library music with hilariously creepy bone-chilling interludes. reviewers try to lure you with words like “ominous”, “dilapidated”, and “stark” but don’t be fooled, this shining example of creativity gone wrong is the most satisfying disappointment you’ll ever force yourself (and your listeners) to suffer through. perfect on any playlist and essential for our bulging library of blow-hard overpriced horror movie soundtracks. suck it Death Waltz
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