The recent BBC Four documentary Krautrock: The Rebirth of Germany, the most thorough examination of the genre since Julian Cope’s definitive Krautrocksampler, has finally made its way onto the Interwebs. And it’s as solid as you’d expect.
From the BBC: “Between 1968 and 1977 bands like Neu!, Can, Faust and Kraftwerk would look beyond western rock and roll to create some of the most original and uncompromising music ever heard. They shared one common goal – a forward-looking desire to transcend Germany’s gruesome past – but that didn’t stop the music press in war-obsessed Britain from calling them Krautrock.”
I really dig John Weinzierl’s (of Amon Duul II) logic early in the film, when he says “we wanted to be international,we tried very hard to not be Anglophonic and not to be German. So… space is one solution.” And it’s totally worth mentioning that Werner Hertzog shows up for a bit. Action packed.
Well shit, snoozed on this one. Considering my obsession with Dilla’s Donuts, you’d think I’d have an ear open when an album comes out that’s just as flavorful. So to cut to the chase, your collection of instrumental hip-hop is busted if it doesn’t include Parisian beat maestro Onra’s 2007 release Chinoiseries. Similar to the recently dropped Ethiopium, this project focuses it’s sample source on a geographic location, mining the vinyl era of Chinese and Vietnamese music exclusively. If you like your beats staggering, erratic, and sweet, this is 32 tracks of top shelf, Adult Swim worthy jams. Chopped, layered, and ready to serve. Stop reading this, go buy it.
Dragon Turtle, the duo of Brian Lightbody and Tom Asselin (of Lewis & Clarke), is the newest project to arise from the enigmatic La Société Expéditionnaire. Their debut full-length Almanac, is an expansive 45-minute trek that explores an alternating fear and awe of the natural world, and everything in between. They didn’t pack lightly either, hoarding a curious mix of folk, kraut rock, post rock, and small touches of world music.
The maiden voyage of “Causality” pushes off with warm cider acoustic picking, muffled distant bongos and various textural percussion. Mountain-enveloping swarms of foggy synths drift in and idle as quiet wails in the background provoke riffs to thaw out slowly from the mix. Other tracks like “Moon Fallout” follow suit with cloud-bursting strings and downtrodden vox that somberly consent to the ebb and flow, setting up thematic contrast for the desolate episodes that explode like glorious outbursts of cabin fever. So even when ambient side paths like the 11-minute “Hourglass” seem static, and probably run on for longer than they need to, they still manage to artfully contribute tension to the tracklist. This is definitely an album that makes more sense when listened to in one sitting.
At times, the mingling of antiquated instrumentation evokes the hermetic splendor of the Microphones opus The Glow Part 2, while the anxious kraut pace of “Island of Broken Glass” marries fireside calypso, dislocated melodies, and charred guitar work into something that could easily be mistaken for the collage work of Faust. This is exampled especially on the claustrophobic vignette “Apophis”, sporting bizarre french speak-singing, banjo twiddling, and choppy samurai licks.
What we have here is very much a studio-crafted album, with many exhaustive hours spent in the band’s personal hideout One Forest, experimenting and harnessing the perfect textures for their cause. At times, the obsession with pure sound can borrow a limb from their focus on composition. A few cuts like the oddly naked pensive noodling of “Hometime” feels like an afterthought, or a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit but was jammed in anyway. Almanac is not perfectly conceived, nor is it always spectacular, but it is consistently immersive the entire way through, culminating in some of the most intense moments of frantic beauty to come out of my speakers all year. The unique sound space that these two have carved out is worthy of your attention alone. Highly conceptual with little pretension, and passionately constructed, these ten tracks turn over enough gems along the way that I am already salivating for their next release. Not an album to miss out on.
Good stuff tomorrow night at local vegan restaurant, bar, and de facto freak flag flyin’ headquarters The Swan Dive (which has a website now).
Curstillistas, hailing from the Pine Tree State (that’s Maine, ya’ll), are a mysterious and mercurial collective who amalgamate soaring, sunny rhythms with totally schizophrenic instrumentation. Freak folk, yes, but there’s also a visceral accessibility and pulsating, aquatic vibe that makes you feels comfortable while it secretly slips LSD in your earl grey. These dudes are enlightened. They’re on MySpazz, of course, so go see ’bout them. Recommended if you dig Os Mutantes’ more chill repertoire, Benoit Pioulard, and High Places with a touch of Bark Psychosis. Broken twang folk dudes Little Gold and the gorgeously sparse and spacey western haunt of Egret (who you should look out for on the next round of Kentucky Fried Psychedelia) round out a totally fucked acoustic evening. Should be wicked, especially on a crisp fall evening with a body buzz. More info at Joel Hunt’s place.
Speaking of Maine, Phillip Bailey at LEO is reporting that Gucci Mane will not be playing in town next week because his ass is in jail. That sucks. It looked like I could’ve scored free tickets. “LOL Smiley Face,” with Trey Songz and the Soulja Boy, is the third best song of the year. The second is “The Be Colony” from Broadcast and the Focus Group. And the best is Das Racist’s “Combination Pizza Hut Taco Bell.” That’s what’s up, folks. That, and the show info below:
Cursillistas, Egret, and Little Gold
Friday, November 13
The Swan Dive
921 Swan St., Louisville (map that shizz)
9 p.m. / $5 / 21+ (FaCeBoOk)
Marc Richter may be best known as head honcho of Hamburg-based Dekorder Records, but since 2007 he’s run a parallel campaign as the dark ambient project Black to Comm. Closer in spirit to experimental figures of yesterday like Moondog and Bernard Herrmann than current artists, Richter seems dead set on completely disorienting our frame of reference. His new full-length for Type Records, Alphabet 1968, is a collection of oddities featuring: ‘kitchen gamelan’, smudged and disguised samples of vinyl, radio, and live recordings. Fairly static in composition, these ten tracks of densely forested clips provide a panoramic view of his meticulous sound dioramas.
The fragmented nature of this trip was designed to evoke the sensation of Richter’s favorite records, creating moods ranging from dark, gloomy ambient to sentimental musique concrete. Sparse traces of minimal techno are infused into the pulse of “Forst”, the album’s longest episode, a hat tip to fellow German pioneer Wolfgang Voigt. Dusty interludes like “Rauschen” and “Traum GmbH” tap curiously poignant receptors using only skeletal motifs of dry acoustic notes, phantom organ swells, and an omnipresent, but nearly subliminal backdrop of flickering voices, submerged tape loops, and field recordings. While frustrating at times, Richter does manage to arrive at moments of extremely cinematic avant-garde music that’s unlike much we’ve ever heard before.
Alphabet 1968 is available now through Type Records.
For Fans of: Burning Star Core, Eric Copeland, Gas
Louisville and the surrounding area considers itself a regionally and culturally ambiguous area. There’s probably truth to that. This mindset definitely yields some undeniably unique artists and groovy tunes that will rip open your mind with good vibes. It’s about time to highlight some of the music in the area that brings engaging cosmic riffage with a hint of colloquial charm. This is the first in an ongoing series of features. Here’s the first taste…
I’ve been meaning to write aboutTiny Fightsforever – at least since they debuted on the shortlived podcast back in May. This Louisville/Lexington collective straddles the median between driving motorik krautrock and crushed-lo fi freak folk bruisin’. These guys are next level. They fly on tattered and gnarly magic carpets, chiefing on the doom fire. Sonic warriors in every respect. I’m excited at the prospect of collaborating with Adam from Tiny Fights sometime in the near future (czech yo’ email, homes). “What’s Mine” is the club banger for the Sirens of Titan. Keep up with live shows on their MySpazz. (photo credit to Matty J @Picasso)
Idiot Gleewas mentioned earlier this week, as he’s playing our show on Friday. I felt it was totally unfair to simply describe his music as “Brian Wilson incarnate,” because it’s so much more than that. Sure, James Friley belts out the distant harmonies coming from 50 fathoms under the sea as Wilson did (and Panda Bear and City Center currently do). But the unpolished cadence and hypnotic loops are what really makes Idiot Glee distinct, keeping the sun-bleached psychedelia slightly askew at all times. Friley slays all the chillbrocore artists (i.e. Neon Indian) that the blogosphere’s currently chubbin’ for. This shit is solid, and I can’t wait to hear the full length. And James… keep the production dusty and warm. Shrouds of mystery are what’s happenin’. Hear more on his MySpazz. (photo credit to James’ FaCeBoOk lolz, as captured by Jamie Lazich)
I’ve already discussed these groups in depth, but it’s worth noting again thatInvadersandPhantom Family Haloare still the some of the best of Louisville. They are the monsters of folk. To the max. The Halo is touring with Russian Circles this fall, and are probably coming near you (if you’re a Yank). Go see about them. Invaders continues to come correct on the hashish sludge garage pop. They make Times New Viking look bushleague (and I like TNV a lot, no disrespect). And how fucking convenient… you can see both bands at Al’s Bar in Lexington on November 19. Epic. Both respective groups’ albums are available on heavy vinyl from local label Karate Body.
Speaking of Phantom Family Halo,Softchequeis opening their album release show at Lisa’s Oak Street Lounge on November 25 (Turkey Day Eve). They exist hard in positive chillspace, cultivating a sort of live, art-damaged trip-hop teeming with good vibes. Think of them as Blues Control with pretty vocals, or a more sparse Broadcast/older Stereolab. Czech it, and if you’re in the area, RSVP to the event. I’ll be there style:
Pax Titaniais like Silver Apples in the sense that PT’s Christopher Cpreck keeps the wrecked retro-futuristic electronic vibe thick by way of nothing more than homemade electrical equipment. See?
That’s DIY, son. It’s true beauty in dissonance. Pax Titania builds just enough tremolo-saturated structure to make shag music, yet just enough sonic distraction to appease the most post of post post rock talismen. No MP3s right now, but you can head over to hisMySpaceTimeContinuumfor a sample. “Terminal Implant” is a cut and a half.
Perhaps now would be a good juncture to share with you all that my own bedroom recording project,Meridian Signals, is now onAmie StreetandBand Camp, which I greatly enjoy over MySpazz. Go see ’bout it (self-promotion lol). Just did a cover of Status Quo’s “Pictures of Matchstick Men” that Nathaniel atIGIFdescribed as the fuzziest thing ever. It made mommy tear up.
Alright, until next time…
Oh, and if you’re in the area and feel you fit the description of… what did I call it? “Engaging cosmic riffage with a hint of colloquial charm,” I think. Yeah, so if that’s you, feel free to shoot me a submission atkb@thedecibeltolls.com. No Grizzly Bear weenie shit, though.
