Interview with Ben Frost

I didn't conduct the interview, but after reading this very brief seven question chat with the Australian man living in Iceland, I probably wouldn't want to make the effort.  I don't think interviews really make sense with him. And yet, Frost's take is so highly entertaining, and true to how intense artists operate. Interviews SHOULDN'T work well with these folks. Because if they gave a shit about what people think, forcing answers where there are none, then we wonder who they're trying to please. Anyway, do take a look. It's super short, and great no-nonsense words from the fellow who wrote one of the best albums of 2009, By The Throat.

Chicken Beatbox

One of our hens finally laid her first egg, and so, at long last, we will have fresh eggs every day!  We are so happy about this, as it has been a lot of work without payoff, until now!  Glorious.  In celebration, here is a lady beatboxing, chicken-style:

Mogwai Film

Mogwai Live Film "Burning" Teaser from Nathanaël Le Scouarnec on Vimeo.

The Scottish band Mogwai performs an incandescent show in front of a stunned crowd. As if time stood still, the audience is transported along by musical waves, both poetic and violent. 'Burning' dives into this wild sensual flow. Directors Vincent Moon and Nathanaël Le Scouarnec guide us into a dream where there is no tomorrow. This is a black and white experience of the senses carved by the raw emotion of this pioneering band that doesn't need any words to touch the heart of its listeners. Layered and innovative, the movie has its finger firmly on their pulse, a sonic adventure between hope and rebellion. A lifetime of feelings in just one night.



Presented in Copenhague, during CPH DOX, 13 november 2009.

Press +

Woa.

PRESS + from benjamin ducroz on Vimeo.

Top Five Albums to Put My Baby Asleep To

This list has little to do with 2009. Only one album is from said year. I just find it fascinating what helps calm my 1 year old son Everest to sleep when it's time to hit the hay. Distorted white noise is the champion, but there are many variations on this sound that can involve rhythm and melody. Let's check out the winners:

Expo '70 - Black Ohms
There's something special about droning guitars, and in this case the maker of this music reminds me of the kind of stuff I like to jam on my own pedal setup. Black Ohms is far and away the go-to album to put E-Man to sleep. The music is foggy and dark, but not foreboding. It's more like hanging wisps of velvet caught in a dream breeze. All the delay and reverb clips the minimal guitar riffs into syncopated mantras, which beautifully mirror the human heart. Babies love that, and Easy-E is no exception!

Nadja - Touched
This is the album that got the Nadja project its big credibility, and comes from a time when Aidan Baker and Leah Buckareff hadn't released over 50 albums yet. This was one of the first, and its alien distortions and plodding drums represent the quintessential Nadja sound. The noise is enormous, and amazingly beautiful despite its mega-dark tone. There's something warm about it all, and since the metal shoegaze style creates tons of white noise, this is perfect stuff. Relentless and effective.

Caspian - Tertia
Oh jeez. More Tertia worship. I can't help it. No matter what the pundits on my website say about this being a slog in the Caspian discography, I rebel and say this record is stunning and triumphant. Better than everything they've done. The first three tracks have LOTS of guitar distortion. There's a drummer in there, keeping time, but he gets so buried in the collossal storm of noise that these guys crank out. This was the first album I ever put Everest to sleep to, realizing that I could rock while I rocked in a chair. Since the narrative is spicy and rich, it's a special treat to put Tertia on. Especially on vinyl!

Stars of the Lid - The Tired Sounds of...
This band's name must be referencing the magical moment when wake becomes sleep, so who better to help a baby go down? It's not a loud fuzzy affair that fills the air with nowhere to go but the Land of Nod--but it is gorgeous and droney enough. The ambiance is created with symphonic instruments and a lot of long-decaying guitars. It's absolutely gorgeous, and I consider this album to be one of the best of the decade (if not THE BEST). It accompanied Everest's first few weeks of existence, on constant repeat, so it gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling.

Machinefabriek - Slaapzucht
This is a tricky one, because the music sometimes goes dead quiet. This was a compilation of two Machinefabriek records (Slaap and Zucht) along with a single "Still." It's the two Zuchts at the end that are the true dreamcatchers, with "Zucht 2" being the absolute mind-frier. Relentless buzz and static absolutely consume the air, making it impossible to remember that you wanted to breastfeed ten minutes ago. The only escape is easy-breezy dreamland. This record stands as a bit of a wild card, as the consistency of sound is not there. In the same way, his album Marijn does the trick as well. Just skip to the end to end the day.

Vinyl: Game On!

Julia got me a record player for my birthday.  Craigslist strikes again, and this time, the item found was brand new, never opened.  The man sold it cheap to piss off his ex, apparently.  One man's broken relationship is another's warm, analog listening bliss.  I can finally share needles!  Spin the black circles.  I have amassed a decent collection of vinyl leading up to this, and I've been listening every day.  Here is the vinyl I want to get next.  You gotta admit this is pretty cool:

The Mystical Shogun Kunitoki Strobe Light from Sami Sänpäkkilä on Vimeo.

Erik Enocksson - Man Tänker Sitt

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet.

People often talk about the music when they see these films, what a dramatic addition it is.  There is something about Enocksson's minimalist approach that is hard not to like, but the music of Man Tänker Sitt is somewhat bland when compared to his other work. Farväl Falkenberg was so bright and diverse musically, and it's as if the subject matter of this newer film set big limitations on the composer, subduing his talents into drab territory.  There's really no way to make Latin sound cool, is there?  I certainly applaud Erik Enocksson for, again, doing something different.  We can hear the talent trapped below the surface, but one gets the feeling that the Latin verses and the repetitive themes are best spread out within the context of the film and not jammed into twenty-seven short minutes.  It's all pretty heavy handed, and may or may not scare parents come caroling season.  If you see a lost child with a byzantine halo wandering around the Christmas tree this year, maybe give this soundtrack a spin.

The Muppets do Bohemian Rhapsody

Black To Comm - Hotel Freund

The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - Here Be Dragons

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet.  It's a good one...

Here Be Dragons possesses a unique quality of being stylistically special while at the same time striking a very strong vibration of nostalgia.  Time slows down and folds over as the myriad forms and styles are sent through a kaleidoscopic opium den.  The album cover is a striking acrylic painting done on wood by one Luke Berliner.  The girl depicted in the painting appears to be in a deep trance, eyelids heavy, casting a spell upon those who dare lose themselves within her gaze.  Her androgynous appearance as well as the dark, ambiguous nether-scape sets the mood up convincingly for sultry violins, burly trombones, haunted electronics, and a cast of other earthly and cosmic sounds to conjure a most splendid nocturne.  

Dock Ellis Throws a No Hitter on LSD

This is just a great story and a great montage of images/animation.

Dock Ellis & The LSD No-No - watch more funny videos

Passion Pit - Sleepyhead

Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - "Lead Squid" - Video

The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble "Lead Squid" from TheKilimanjaroDarkjazzEnsemble on Vimeo.

Pelican - What We All Come To Need

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet

Pelican have been using the heavy riff platform to capture a pop sensibility for years, and here on WWACTN we have catchy proto-metal storytelling along with the first taste of the band incorporating vocals. Whether they continue doing this is another matter, but the band sounds more crisp with its song writing. At times their riff-to-riff style can smell a bit like riff-by-number, arbitrarily piecing parts together, but Pelican get to the point more quickly here than on past albums, and it makes for a very satisfying listen -- Maybe as satisfying as the new Pelican Burger at Kuma's Corner in Chicago, who name all their burgers after famous metal bands. A ten ounce beef patty with pan-seared scallops and lardons in a garlic white wine sauce on top of a parmesan crisp, served with white wine-garlic aioli sounds good. If all this doesn't whet your appetite for a band that is doing metallic post-rock as good as anybody, then not much else will.

Nadja - Under The Jaguar Sun

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet.

Like a Mexican food platter, Nadja's latest opus has options.  I love habanero pepper salsa on a taco, but when it becomes oppressively spicy, I need antidotes like sour cream and fresh lime to soothe my burning mouth.  If I'm busy listening to Nadja, which usually means being consumed by alien guitar distortion and slow, plodding metal drums, sometimes I want out.  As blissed-out as Aidan Baker and Leah Buckareff can make their slow motion sludge, the mind occasionally changes gears before the music stops.  Under The Jaguar Sun is the umpteenth release from these dream-doom veterans, but it is the first that offers up a platter of devastating heat and cool, ambient refreshment, as the album features two, count 'em, two CDs to be played simultaneously!

MONO - Live - HFS!

Having a ticket for a show almost four months in advance is pretty crazy.  Every day is a chance to lose the thing, even when it's magnetically fixed to your fridge, not far from the desperate grasp of a compulsive, exploratory elfin warrior, such is my son.  Everest never got to my ticket, but in the end it turns out I didn't even need it, since Nikki the Seattle Showgal talked to Taka a couple days before and got me and a guest on MONO's backstage list.  So I ended up selling my ticket, briefly talking with Taka to thank him, and witnessing one of the most inspiring shows I've ever seen.

I brought Jon with me, who being fresh off a break-up and lonely, was a good candidate to surprise with this show.  He was having Thanksgiving with his former lady and a bunch of others, and I have a feeling I inadvertently saved him from that situation.  Too bad he missed Maserati, who were simply awesome.  My reaction to their records was tepid at best, but they are a formidable live act.  Jerry Fuchs, as advertised, is an incredible drumming machine.  People talk about this guy, but until you see how relentless he is, you know nothing.  The force with which he hits every snare and every other drum is HUGE, never letting up, no matter how many thousands have preceded the one in this moment.  Somehow he is as strong at the end as he is at the beginning of the set, maybe stronger.  And the band are attractive blokes with surgical skills on the delay.  Got my booty shakin'.  

This wasn't the type of opening band I was expecting for MONO, but it turned out to be perfect.  A little adrenaline preceding emotional catharsis, which is exactly what the Japanese rock group MONO are all about.  They are the champions of the quiet/loud/quiet post-rock, a style which has been all but played out.  MONO are a different breed however, because when they play, they go into a trance and experience absolute bliss.  Sometimes they see the audience, and sometimes not.  They are so involved in the music they make that they ignored their monitors catching on fire at the Montreal show during their first song.  Apparently they were so loud, equipment started smoking.  They finished "Ashes In The Snow" regardless.

I had the distinct pleasure of standing right next to Taka as he played.  At the Biltmore the sides of the stage have a cage along them, but you can look through and have a very intimate experience.  This man and his band are so passionate about music, it turns into a religious experience.  Hair in the face, facial expressions become moot, like MONO are black clad dolls programmed to slay the soul.  I hadn't ever been a huge fan of this band, but there is no doubt why they are so revered.  They are good and they are loud.

"Yearning" was a personal highlight, as I love You Are There as a whole album.  The guitar duet is so delicate at the beginning, it's like sad children playing on the rim of my eyelids, throwing balls of freedom into my tear ducts.  The explosion they launch into near the climax always catches me by surprise and I thought my spinal cord snapped in half when they got me again at the show.  SO LOUD.  Earplugs saved my life (and Jon's I reckon).  Wow are they loud.  Never get caught in front of MONO without them; You will be sorry. 

I was delighted to hear all the Hymn To The Immortal Wind material (sans orchestra) because I really hadn't appreciated it yet.  The songs are so strong and vivid, especially when Taka decides to get up and attack his guitar (like, karate chop it) because he felt like it.  And then later he's on the ground, reaching like a goner in the desert for his flange knob, geeking out in some holy way as he's splayed out for a couple minutes.  It would always take me by surprise when Taka or Yoda would stand up suddenly to really let their guitars have it.  I am not sure Taka even has a guitar strap, so he balanced it on his pelvis as he gyrated.  

This performance was so emotional and inspiring, it was like going to church (but for people who actually seek the divine, not some bland going-through-the-motions drudgery).   I had no idea it was going to be holy.  Wow.  If you expect holy, could be disappointed.  If you live holy, you live like MONO do on stage, because if there is one thing I will take from this it's that doing something half-assed isn't worth doing it at all.  Do what you love, or even better, love what you do, whatever it is.  If you give it all, you are going to be rewarded spiritually or in some other way.  Don't waste your time faking it for the Man or killing yourself with monotony.  GO LIVE, and live powerfully.  MONO might do a lot of build-build-climax-refrain in their songs, but imagine having cathartic movie moments 8 or 9 times in one night!  That's what they do every day on tour!  

There's an interview with Taka that Nikki did the following night (even mentions my name a couple times.  FUN!)  Watch the interview and some of their songs here.

Nadja - Live

A much-anticipated show, and I almost forgot to go.  I was busy playing with the family at our neighborhood block party, performing in the yearly gong show with Everest, drinking a La Fin du Monde.  I knew going into it that after a full day (soccer game included) it might be hard to muster up the energy to pull this off.  But it's Nadja.  They're heavy, but oh so chill.

Before seeing them I knew it was going to be a pretty lax show.  If you've ever heard a Nadja record  you know what you're in for.  Dense maelstroms of distorted guitars and alien effects all swirling and shimmery as a sloooooow, plodding drum beat pounds you into oblivion.  Metalgaze?  Ugh, horrible term.  Nadja are interesting because, even though Aidan Baker and Leah Buckaroff have refined their musical style to the point where they have many imitators, they never seem satisfied.  They releases so many albums (about one every two months on average) on different labels and in different formats it's probably hard even for them to keep up with what they've made.  And that's the straight-ahead attitude I've come to enjoy about a lot of my favorite artists.  Sure I love Tool, and I appreciate the fact that they take five years to craft their records.  But Aidan Baker seems to press the record  button, like, every week, and something good comes of it.

More proud than anything just to support these artists, I stepped into the Rickshaw Theater dressed as a dapper dan.  Fedora.  Overcoat.  Mexican wedding shirt.  This theater is very new, quite cavernous in size, especially when about 40 people come to a show.  Forty ain't bad, considering it was only announced a couple weeks prior.  I always wonder about the people who attend obscure shows like this.  Would I want to hang out with them?  I'd probably rather hang out with Aidan and Leah.  They are both fairly short and have understated personalities, I would learn after the show.

Nadja are not a big show.  They have visuals, which were humongous on top of the tall back wall.  They were really pretty, getting more colorful and complex as they played.  Aidan plays a guitar and a suitcase.  All his pedals and tubes and effects are stored inside this pudgy luggage that he sits atop a table.  Leah, meanwhile, plays her bass with her back to the audience.  I usually find this annoying, but it's probably a focus issue.  Nadja's music isn't so much "Let's do this together, audience" but more "Here is what we do" so it doesn't matter if you interact with the crowd.  

Most of the songs they played were from an album called "The Bungled and the Botched" which was released a couple years ago, very limited, on CD.  This year they released it more widely on vinyl.  I honestly didn't care for the songs, on the whole. There was one where they both were using violin bows to make their guitars creeeaaak and shimmer.  It was highly atmospheric, all kinds of sounds fluttering about.  While the plod was kickin', the drum machine didn't sound all that good.  A painful reminder that a live drummer would just be so much better.  There was even a drum kit on stage, and I still don't know why.  No one used it.  Such a tease.  

A lot of it was improvised amidst the general structure they had laid out.  Aidan, turns out, is a really good guitar player.  He was sometimes really wailing with his synthetic effects turned to the max, and was completely buried within the melee of sound.  Pretty cool.  Nadja go up there and do their thing.  Not really an ounce of showmanship between them.  They are not Sunn O))) with the robes and the lights.  It's two regular people conjuring massive sound via small means.  It's just great to see it happen, for once.  I wasn't blown away.  It was what I expected.  The best part was sitting on top of one of the bass-heavy speakers right in front of the stage, Leah's rippling low end massaging my spine.   But then I couldn't really hear much else.  So I had to move around, and depending on where I stood, things sounded quite different.  

After the show I chatted with Aidan and Leah as their albums sold like hotcakes.  I was determined to find out if they drink alcohol.  For my review of Under the Jaguar Sun I was hoping their answer was "no" because that would explain how they output so much music.  You gotta be organized!  I got my answer when someone came up to Leah and asked if he could buy her a drink as part of a trade for an album.  She said "Sour Goose on the rocks" like a pro.  I inquired further, and Leah said "Yeah, we love to drink."  Laughs.  Oh, I think.  Not that I think less of you, but how am I going to spin my writing now??  Dammit!  

Down Review-From Here, For Anyone

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet

This EP brings to mind Plaid, a couple of producers who can write some pretty energetic, synthetic gems and totally captivate the human heart.  Down Review are trying to do this, but so far their first attempt runs more like a televised parade where everything goes according to plan.  There are no unexpected turns or anomalies in their world.  It's all very safe, making the nostalgic plateau they strive for seem a bit overzealous.  Compared to groups like the Abbasi Brothers, who play like children within their songs, Down Review are a bit stiff with their first EP, right down to the plain title.  One can imagine that given the broader scope of a full album, they might stretch their legs, take off their boots and let loose a bit.

Wooden Shjips - Phish phans beware

On a whjim I went to see this psych band from San Francisco.  Ok, it was more than a whim, but not by much.  I really hadn't listened to them ever, but they came highly recommended from Aquarius Records, down in S.F. and aside from being highly supportive of their local scene, AQ have amazing taste in music.  They are a big reason I am so knowledgeable now.

After some depressing Sunday Night Football, I took my intoxicated self a few streets away over to the Anza Club.  It took me at least ten minutes upon entering the quaint gymnasium-esque room to realize that the ambient music was being played by actual people.  They were on the floor, not the stage.  Ok.  The next band was local act Von Bingen, whose bassist is also Magneticring.  The bassist is my neighbor, Josh.  Julia and I often hear manic and groovy business coming out of his garage across the street, so it was great to be pleasantly surprised by an actual performance.  And wow, he's got a great bass synth sound going, feeding his axe through a pretty bulky analog something-or-other.  I wonder what his BC Hydro electric bill is like.  

Wooden Shjips are no-nonsense GROOVE.  Like, i mean, get in it, will you?! If I wasn't feeling as pedestrian and voyeuristic that evening, I would have been dancing up a storm so fierce that flowers would have bloomed in a crown over my hippie head.  It's not furious music, no, this is psychedelic rock to the core.  Simplistic drum beats and consistent bass riffs that hardly ever change supporting the mutational synthscape and the fuzz guitar wizard.  Oh, and vocals so echoey they sound like you are at one end of an abandoned airport and someone makes an announcement at the other end.  You get lost in this stuff, which means:  Very hard to play, despite the apparent simplicity.  You have to be focused or else you get lost.  And if you're lost the audience sure is, too.  One psych rock mis-step = the end of your psyching career!  

I am amazed, then, by drummers in bands like this.  How do they motivate?  Perhaps this drummer trances out, which is highly possible, and the best explanation.  The challenge comes not from the technical aspect, but in the stamina and focus department.  Bassist, too.  He rarely changes things up.  That is the nature of a jam band.  

Outside the club, I overheard some people talking about how this was the third straight Shjips show they had seen, this one the best show so far.  They were following Wooden Shjips, like they were Phish or the Dead.  Once you groove you can't stop, right?  If they get you once you just gotta get that groove back.  I was content to imagine my groove.  I moved a little bit, but it was pretty tame movement.  Very anglo of me.  Not next time, though.  Next time I will park my bike at home, and I will arrive at the show in a VW van wearing bell bottoms, sporting wizard's sleeves and a beard.  

Yeah, these guys are good.  Not usually my cup of tea, but definitely good.  Total worshjippable band.  And yet, unless you're in the mood, pretty bland to watch play.  Aging hippie types, unable to stop the groove.  Still recommended for dancing.

Kings of Leon - Why?

A friend of mine recently asked the question, "Why?" Referring to the Kings of Leon, who recently played TWO sold out shows at BC Place stadium here in Vancouver, he just didn't understand how or when they got that huge. I had no idea either. I remember hearing of them back in 2003 or something, but to fill a stadium twice as the headliner not too many years later just seemed insane. I thought they were going to go the way of Kasabian.

After watching this video, I now see that they appeal to dumbfuck america. And they're not dumb guys. They just dumb it down. They LOVE alcohol, the drug of the depressed and obedient. They sing about pretty basic stuff, and more than anything, they embrace the "rock star" persona, the untouchable partyers. Perhaps the true reason they made it over any other similar band is the fact that they are all related. Three brothers and a cousin? America loves those odds! The Jonas Brothers are right there with you. And Hanson, we remember, failed but not without all that label support dragging its tailpipes over the setting sun's horizon. Kings of Leon are quintessential splendor and excess. They are average dudes who live the american dream, sinning and jamming into the public eye. Plus, everyone believes they're Christian. That's a bonus.

So fucking fake. Bands like this get "Grammy's" while awesome artists, as we know, stick to the shadows. Let them dunk their shiny gold statues in the Hennesey; They can have it. They're average, and everyone can see that. It's not like they write all their songs. This type of music just reeks of male-dominator culture. It's in the details. The overt details. The priveleged attitude. The zero risk music. I've gone on too long. Why am I writing about these fuckers? I just can't sleep is all. I hope Kings of Leon can look the other way and not send one of their think tank people over to drop an insidious comment about changing my attitude toward shitty mainstream powers, like the Muzak drone did. (Look for that below)

Simon looks like Aidan Baker

I was listening to Nadja's newest release the other day, Under The Jaguar Sun, when it struck me that Aidan Baker, the man behind the music, looks a heck of a lot like my friend Simon. In comparing them, I see the differences, but the similarities outweigh the discrepancies. In fact, if you put some black rimmed glasses on Drea and cut her hair, she might pass as Leah Buckareff, the bassist in Nadja.

Nadja is playing in Vancouver on October 3rd, which happens to be right around when I will be reviewing Under The Jaguar Sun for the Silent Ballet. Woa, spoiler alert! The album is a double album, and the intent is to synch the two discs, playing them simultaneously. Two halves, good on their own, making up an even more impressive behemoth when combined. Kind of like a lasting relationship, like Simon and Drea have. Or like the one I have. I don't know about Aidan and Leah, but they're probably buddies at the least.

So my thoughts were that Simon and Drea could BE Nadja, if they wanted to behave dubiously. Both have metal and outsider music backgrounds, and could totally talk the part out. Drea would have to go to the thrift store and make uneducated choices to pull this off. At the very least, they could be Aidan and Leah's stunt doubles when they have to sneak out the back of the Rickshaw Theater, escaping the crushing love of their adoring fans. It's a parallel universe waiting to be capitalized on! And hell, while they're at it, they might as well perform as Nadja. It's not like playing their songs is HARD or anything. Just press play and be spooky, right? RIGHT? Heh. Maybe not, but Simon and Drea got skills, yo. They could be Nadja, pick up right where the old players left off in case they died in a freak ferry accident.

Sample this awesome double album here. Or better yet, go here to stream the whole thing. See? You can learn their songs for FREE and then BE Nadja, performing wherever you want. With all the material that Baker releases, he needs more versions of himself to please fans everywhere. "Nadja" is just "Aidan" in reverse, by the way, and I think "Nomisaerd" is just as cool a name.

I can't wait to see these people play, and then pretend that my friends just played, drop my TSB credentials, get all 67 Nadja releases for free, and go home amazed at my confidence and choice in shoegaze metal friends. This is gonna rule.

Throbbing Gristle - The Third Mind Movements

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet.

The album would be a fitting soundtrack to a person locked in a musty, basement laundry room while having a quiet psychedelic experience. Sometimes the music sounds like an insect colony with indigestion, focusing on all the intimate, oily details. The wide array of sounds often leans toward the uncomfortably organic, with plenty of synth burps, pulses that sound like heartbeats, and wet mammals drooling and running amok. It's not exactly the most soothing of experiences, as it provokes a surly latitude of the unconscious mind. Much like a chance encounter with a decomposing corpse, the terror comes from your own inability to turn away. Some of the sounds are very kitsch and the drowning vocals can make a purist wretch, but the overall industrial tide pool of activity is an interesting ambient affair for a group that is notorious for doing just about anything.

*Note: I have never researched an album/band this much. I knew nothing about TG beforehand...

Muzak Bankruptcy

In February 2009, the company who brings us quality canned "radio" channels like Tropical Breezes (Caribbean Music), Moodscapes (New Age Instrumental) and Cashmere (Adult Contemporary) filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy protection. They were more than $450 million in debt. When I heard about this, I probably thought what just about everyone was thinking: Shoulda sold that shit to Ted Nugent when you had the chance, bitches!

Actually, my first reaction was "There is a god." Or something like that. Maybe Western Civilization wasn't so doomed after all. If Obama can call Kanye a "jackass" and be totally legit, and Muzak can die a quick death we might be able to turn this thing around.

But it turns out that Muzak actually was doing all right, and has twice as much collateral this month of September as they did in the Spring. With hot shot debt lawyers on their side, they expect to make a full recovery. No!! Back in 1989 Ted Nugent offered to buy the company for $10 million and promised to shut it down. His public bid to do this turned this old American company from Norman Rockwell-esque paltry nothings to everything despicable about the music industry. It was rotten, and it's a big reason why we all fire up the torches when we hear Muzak's name. That and its purposely low standards when it comes to music.

So, it looks like god is again looking the other way, because Muzak ain't going anywhere and Kanye still sells Platinum records. But since He is looking the other way, maybe we should just target the EchoStar VII at 119 degrees west longitude up in orbit. This is the satellite that broadcasts all of Muzak's channels. Taking out a satellite is certainly not good for a bankrupt company.

new Ramses III album stream

Steam the entire album I Could Not Love You More by Ramses III.  Gorgeous guitar-based ambient scapery, flecked with field recordings, banjo, slide, piano and warmth.   Yeah yeah, how many of these kinds of albums exist?  Too many?  Well not enough are this good. 

Jamie Who?

Friday night, and no one to have some beers and play a little fusbol with. Finally I don't have a baby to put to sleep, but no one is up for some cavorting around town. So I looked in the paper for a show to go to, and I stumbled upon the name Jaime Foxx. Yes, that guy. He tours with a band, which I didn't know. He's always been a talented fellow, but ever since he played Ray Charles he's been legit to be a professional musician. The man is probably good, but when I looked at the ticket price for this show at the River Rock Casino (where they advise you to know your limits and play within them) I was simply appauled. It was as if Jaime's staff decided to beat the scalpers to the punch and charge $99.50/$119.50 up front. At that price, you're a moron for choosing the cheap seats.

These are Canadian dollars, but goddammit if I am ever looking at Jaime Foxx again as someone to care about. Charging that much for a show is like saying you're in the hall of fame for humanity. Remember how low-budget In Living Color was back in the 90's? That was great, and it appealed to the layperson. I know that the natural progression for successful performers is to get bigger and bigger, charge more and more for a show. Don't do me any favors Jaime; Let me just throw in an extra fifty bucks cause you're so pretty. Shit, dogg. Has he really earned the $100 price tag already? A Jaime Foxx movie DVD, packed with extras and interviews, is like fifteen bucks, but at least I get to possess him. What are these songs that are so great anyway? It's not like he's been touring from the basement into the spotlight with his music. I wouldn't trust this white sport coat-wearing ass clown. It's suspect.

Then again, the hot seats for Puscifer's tour here in Vancouver are going for $230 before scalping, so what the fuck? Maybe Jaime's got a good show. Maybe I've missed out on the musician known as Jaime Foxx. He probably has a dramatic show. He is an actor, after all. You be the judge:

He's ok.

Music and Life, by Alan Watts

Steven R. Smith - Cities

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet.

From what can be ascertained about him, Steven R. Smith is a mensch, intentional and solid in his convictions, completely open to his beliefs changing at anytime. This open-minded attitude allows for the ease with which he picks up on Eastern European folk styles and incorporates them into a neo-American dream folk. He doesn't care about how particular instruments are supposed to be used. Traditions are interesting, but not a part of his experience. It's just music. In an American culture where we often jest, to our chagrin, about how there is no culture at all (only the blending of many), Smith delightfully blends a world of instruments and ideas into his own secret patch of the universe. Cities makes me want to cry, to believe in good people, to believe that the stories that I have to tell are important--more important than the ones that are being shoved down my throat by McCorporation Inc. every day of my life. This is essential music, and I recommend it.

Happiness is Love

The Happiness Project!  A project by Charles Spearin (Do Make Say Think/Broken Social Scene).  It's really phenomenal and interesting.  He records his neighbors talking about happiness, then isolates interesting cadences, rhythms of speech or melodies within their speech and writes music around it.  Apparently, seeing this live is something to behold and they happen to be TOURING this year (with DMST and Years, who are great).

Here is a link to a little diddy by Mr. Spearin.  Gotta hear this.  It's great!  It's off the NPR site.

http://www.happiness-project.ca/

Sebastien Tellier, Live: A Conundrum

This concert-goer went to see a certain Sebastien Tellier and now begs to ask the question: Do we really need another disco-pop sleezeball?

To start by being fair, this hairy sex icon is imparting quite a lot of humor into his stage role, so I can't be too cruel. But I want to be. Watching him perform was like being a child listening to an adult argument. Why are you arguing? What's so important? I don't understand your petty differences in the slightest. I'd rather be picking gooseberries and playing games.

Tellier's band is a bunch of skinny, older white fellows who, other than the drummer, are all pretty average. And boring to watch. And no, they are no Kraftwerk. They all appeared on the Richards on Richards stage (before it was later demolished by a condo company) first to some mild applause. My friend Raffi took me to this show as an attempt to bolster our comraderie, which I totally appreciated. Without expectations, I was ready to take in this unfamiliar music. What I wasn't aware of was how much of a cultish following this Sebastien Tellier has generated, and when he appeared on stage, white wine glass in hand, the crowd roared. Roared! Almost ironically, like they knew he was supposed to be a bad-ass sexy dude, his luster rivaling the sun it self, but no one was blind to the fact that the man in the leisure suit looks just like The Dude from The Big Lebowski.

Ok, so premise covered, let's get on with the music. Tellier begins with by playing a distorted electro-clash riff on this guitar (seen above). I don't know what it's called, but in my experience this shape and style of guitar was the most awkward to play. It's longer, laterally, than anything I've held, and it's mahogany, so it's really heavy. This is no virtuosity guitar, in my estimation. Tellier plays this riff for a long time as his band chimes in and creates a pretty good groove. This would turn out to be the only song I liked, so good opener fellas. Shoulda left the stage after this.

But no, the inside joke was on, and I began to care less. The disco worship and 80's pop sensibilities met up with some more modern rock melodies, sometimes turning into pretty lengthy dance jams. One or two moments were relatively tasty, but nothing was more interesting or horrendous than Tellier's existence on the stage. Dwarfing his band mates in intrigue, he was like a Don Juan de Chewbacca. The use of sunglasses easily hid his bloodshot eyes and along with his stoic beard, his face was like a photograph, expressionless and still.

Sex sells. Tellier knows this all too well and milks it to the point of esoteric campiness. I couldn't tell if he was actually getting drunk, or if he is always drunk. A modern-day Pan stuck in Lebowski's body, he somehow barely did anything on stage. He was off key. He did play the piano well, but not very interestingly. His band seemed aloof, standing at their keyboards as if their jeans were doing all the work. Yet SOMEHOW, when Tellier would take a sip of that white wine off the bow of his mini-grand piano, the crowd would howl. HOWL, I tell you. Eat drink and be merry was the theme of the night. Tellier would occasionally address the crowd in a gruff, fey manner and with a thick, sloppy French accent. I understood nothing from this man.

I didn't want to witness an encore, but thankfully there wasn't one! I was left with no interest (not even the maddening, sick reverse-psychology interest) to go out and find this music on MySpace or wherever. The thing that I'll remember the most is the people who came to the show to give their loud Pavlovian response to every one of Tellier's mannequin sips. White wine is symbolic of an ancient tradition. Other than water, it's possibly the oldest beverage known to humankind, and the French know how to do it right. So people easily trust that Tellier would be drinking something worthy of his untouchable mystique. I didn't see a bottle on the piano, though.

Where was the bottle? One would imagine he would display the label proudly, to at least promote some good fermented grapes. Alas, Tellier is more likely to drink the Vin du Table, for wasting such a deflated musical showing on a drink that rates high in AOC would be a travesty.

And do I really need to see a man pushing 40 lounging lasciviously across a piano? Conceptually it has the potential to be hilarious. I just don't believe Sebastien Tellier is all that good at pulling this off. He is a hack. As if he's come up with this persona and now, hiding behind the giant shades, he has to weather the storm of adoring fans. "How do I get out of this?" He looked entirely disinterested in being the sexy character he had created, instead going through the motions and realizing that people will still applaud. Just keep toasting the crowd and mumbling your fake French accent for the world, Sebster, and God will reward you with whores a plenty.

At least he is doing what he wants, and that can't be said for most of bovine humanity.

I saw this show months ago on April 14, but never ranted on it until now.

Philip Jeck, live 2008

Fabio Orsi & Seaworthy

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet

An epic understatement expressed through blissful drones, Near and Faraway is a collaborative album between Italian sound-sculptor Fabio Orsi and Australian ambient artist Seaworthy (Cameron Webb). For this release, the artists each composed their own piece and then worked together for a third, yielding gorgeously earnest results that can invoke the smell of wet grass in outer space.

With each track clocking in at over fifteen minutes, there is plenty of space to settle into. If you're not in dream-drone heaven then you probably are of the darker drone persuasion. This release really hits the spot and is a sleeper hit for ambient record of the year. Definitely recommended for fans of Stars of the Lid, Hammock, and all things wide open and sweet.

Rocketnumbernine - You Reflect Me

Read my entire review on The Silent Ballet

Headphones give the impression that Rocketnumbernine are playing inside a room in the back of your skull. The music sounds very close, with the room noise keeping things intimate and raw. Even the tape hiss is played with at times, lifting veils in the process. Many of the songs feel very warm, even though there isn't a load of melody to speak of. The drummer is a supreme talent, giving all the science a strong foundation. If you like experimental music and you like good drumming, I don't think you're going to find too many records that satisfy like this one.

Caspian - Tertia (so so good)

DOWNLOAD FOR FREE HERE:

Pretty much guaranteed as Record of the Month in August (one month ahead of time) over at the Silent Ballet, I wrote up why:  

Tertia is as essential and riveting as the wind in the trees, a woman smiling on a summer day, staring eye-to-eye with a predatory creature.  Far surpassing any of their previous work, Caspian treat the willing listener to a rock narrative that bleeds, cries, empathizes and above all triumphs with every note and production choice.  The compositional  intelligence on Tertia is simply stunning as the band move passionately from supremely melodic guitar mythologies to gracefully reserved piano and vibraphone suites to tidal waves of distortion.  From the secret clearing in the woods at the beginning to the heroic gallop at the finish, there is a special quality to the stories Caspian have woven here, every song a superb piece of balance and emotional performances.  There are clearly defined stories to engage in over and over.  One of those rare albums that breathes and suffers with whatever you are doing.  Coming from someone who shrugged at their other albums, I am proud to have been converted to say that Tertia is an instant classic and one of the best instrumental albums of the decade.

Gifts From Enola

How much virtuous throttling can one tiny stage take? Put six men from Virginia in the corner of the short-ceilinged Sunset Tavern in Ballard and you might not see a more amazing, skull opening performance. I feel like every night in the city there is one show you could go to that would far surpass all the other shows available. Not many people came to see Gifts From Enola open for other local instrumental acts Joy Wants Eternity and Misery Love Company, but there were enough on hand to justify such a livid and inspiring performance.

The Enola Gay was one of the American planes that dropped an atomic bomb on Nagasaki, and though their cheeky moniker is befitting of their epic, angular guitar brigade, Gifts From Enola started their show by giving the gift of ear plugs. Guitarist and keyboardist Tim Skirvin offered up a couple extra pairs of the precious ear foam before all five members leapt into their opener. They were collectively swaying and stomping, heads and beards darting betwixt each other, and firing each other up. It was an infectious beginning, one that fired this writer up to dance.

Highlights from the show included the monstrous Trieste, the twelve-minute center-piece off their brand new From Fathoms disc (the vinyl version of which is so premium and beautiful). With as many movements as a three act play, the band moved between pretty interplay among the three guitars, dreamy neck-hammering over synth washes, gigantic metal assaults complete with off-the-mic screams from bassist Nate Dominy, and momentous rock jams that contain a wealth of dynamism. This band can play! The sound inside The Sunset Tavern was average, but the guys from GFE later said their sound on stage was the clearest of their large North American tour.

Gifts From Enola impress with their stagemanship; no song is left to hang. Sound and sonic detail is constant as they move through a set. Silence was used as a tool, not a chance to catch one’s breath. They even brought a lighting artist with them on tour, further boosting the stage presence. LJ Stank, they call him, and he is just as into the music as the players, bobbing and thrashing at his console. At one point he changed shirts without anyone noticing. They finished with the album closer Aves, which climaxes with over-the-horizon guitar worshiping and all-together-now vocal harmonies. It’s just so incredible to be in such a small space and witness such a great band absolutely destroy. Who knew? More people ought to. Gifts From Enola are genuine, passionate artists that deserve to be heard.

My new music bud Nikki, of the Silent Ballet, filmed this show and has provided a video as well as my review on her blog, The Seattle Show gal. Take a look at it, especially if you are a Seattlite who enjoys going to shows. She has quite a thorough thing going. Here's the link to my piece and a video of the killer song "Trieste" by Gifts From Enola.

múm - Sing Along To Songs You Don't Know

Read my entire review at The Silent Ballet

Overall the recordings sound great - several tracks have unique outros or transitions that make this a really interesting and organic experience.  Listening to this band is always a look into a magical place like Santa's toy shop.  But again, múm have sort of imposed their own plateau upon themselves with their choice to appeal to the child within.  As if they feel like they have to play this music, it's hit or miss, (made more difficult with all the band member changes they've had over twelve years). I just find that certain bands, like the Notwist or the Flaming Lips, are more effective in their attempts to convert a sad joyfulness into the electronic-graced rock song, landing these Icelandic folks into a less-pronounced role as the subdued sibling.

File Under "G": Grouper at the Church

My weekend was quite busy.  I finished building our family chicken coop (for chickens, not families) on Saturday and then went to see Grouper.  On Sunday the family drove down to Seattle to take in the sun and the lake with some friends before I went out to see Gifts From Enola tear shit up at the Sunset Tavern.  

The Grouper show is, in my opinion, a model show for the future. Artists like Sufjan Stevens and Joanna Newsome have played in St. Andrews-Wesley Church before, but this was the first show I've attended there.  The space features a mock 14th-century-style Gothic tower, a high vaulted nave, deep transepts and nice stained glass.  Watching the sunset through those panes of Christ was actually really nice, for being inside.  It was dark in there.  But that's the way the artists wanted it.  

Openers Diadem, a male /female tandem, produced a very eclectic ambient piece for about 25 minutes.  The only light coming from a shaded lamp behind them.  Vocals thrown through a chaos pad, electronic circuitry and effects made to sound like bells and chimes, and a constantly shifting ambient terrasphere made their music one of CHANGE.  Constantly morphing, the music never went anywhere, but was interesting nonetheless.  

Not long after (and thankfully putting an end to the tasteful but way-too-loud house music) Empty Love, another man-woman combo, began climbing their little pyramid.  They turned the lights low and were illuminated by a series of colored circles, scanning across the stage right to left.  Nice mood.  The lady began some repetitive guitar pluckery that seemed to drag after a while as the fellow teased with subtle ambient touches.  Julia laid down in the pew, hed on my lap, and yeah I was starting to get the same impression.  Time to pass out.  I leaned forward, head on pewback (word?) and started to realize that I had drank Kratom tea before the show, which ever-so-slightly changes your angle on perception.  Before I knew it, the drone had exploded into an ocean-sized swell of staircased digital fuzz, undulating and breathing with life!  Well done, people.  And just like that, it was over.

Liz Harris meandered on and off stage in her capris jeans for a while.  She sat in her chair in front of her pedals and slung on her guitar, took it off; She did this several times.  The beginning of her set was constantly in question.  When she did start, I wasn't sure if I should believe, but there is no mistaking someone sing clearly into a crushing electronic fog, looping her voice three times into a complex harmony, all the while keeping time with some simple lower register guitar work.  This was one of the highlights of the whole performance, but I should note that the performance as a whole is how to take in Grouper.

Liz Harris apparently doesn't like to play live shows, at least not a lot of them.  Playing outside of Portland is a rare occurrence, so Julia and I snatched up tickets immediately upon hearing about the show, even though we were close to broke.  Now we aren't broke, and seeing the show was a special, a residual treat from the days when we were making a lot of very little.  (It's not like we're bling-blingin' now, but go with me here)  Grouper is similar in her approach to performance.  Bare-bones in set-up, with a flickering black-&-white projection shown all over the stage, she builds and builds colossal sound-scapes, peppered with tons of reverb that piles on top of itself so much that new, un-intended rhythms and effects surface, making for a very dense kind of music.  You can pick and choose what area of this sonic soup to listen to.  Or if you were like us, you trance out in your church pew, eyes closed, completely aware of the music.

We never fell asleep.  We were conscious the entire time, but we were definitely between dreams and being awake.  It was extremely surreal, to come back to the space and realize how incredible the sound was, little Liz up on stage with her black hair in her face, somberly unpeeling her lips toward oblivion.  Something about her performance was totally holy.  She said thank you once, but she never seemed to want anything from us.  She just wanted to give and then be done, go rest.  

Grouper is not typical drone music, and yet we can't help but call it that.  It is engaging to witness played live, far surpassing most of the platitudes offered by other drone artists.  It's because Harris is using what all popular acts get famous on:  Melody.  Beneath the tumultuous seas of her fuzz and reverb, there are songs.  And good ones.  It's the melodies that drift up like souls escaping to heaven, lasting as the pieces you remember long after it's over.  Grouper in a church makes so much sense!  I want to see more shows like this.  Sigur Ros always has said they'd prefer to play in spaces like that, for it is more befitting of their music.  As I grow tired of these rock and roll crowds (see the ISIS review below) I am looking for different kinds of performances, an intimacy that seems lacking in shows these days.  This show satisfied that desire on multiple levels.  Plus we left our baby at home.  It was the perfect date.