| April 14th, 2006 by Eric K (Permalink) Add Comments |
Wooden Wand – Harem of the Seadrum & the Witness Figg: This year, ‘weird’ became the new ‘cool’ with neo-folkers like Devendra Banhart, Espers, CocoRosie and Xiu Xiu sprouting up like nettles in a field of poppies. This eiree, hymnal solo release from James Toth (presumably recorded in the spare time between Wooden Wand and the Vanishing Voice’s triad of lps these last twelve months) out-weirds them all. ‘Haunting’ is an adjective that is spread about by journalists more liberally than polyunsaturates at a Wendy’s convention but there are few terms to better describe the unsettling ambience created by Toth’s primordial plucking and pagan-flecked lyricism. An elusive listen that will haunt the back corridors of your mind well into the new year.
Shining - In The Kingdom of Kitsch You Will Be a Monster: 65daysofstatic, Bell Orchestre, Thee Silver Mt Zion Memorial Orchestra, Explosions in the Sky and Amusement Parks on Fire have all recently provided accomplished paradigms of the instrumental Post-Rock genre but the thunderous art-jazz of this Norwegian collective left them all breathless and reaching for their cello-dampers. Opener Goretex Weather Report is a raging behemoth of wailing sax which eschews the (albeit equally commendable) cocktail wanderings of various Shiner’s work in Jaga Jazzist. Scandanavian artists seems to have a habit of producing records that are products of their environment, so where Jaga Jazzist recreate the Sim City-esque kaleidoscope of Oslo, Shining sculpt from the darker caves and fjords of the northern hinterland.
Supersilent – 7: Death-jazz sound explorers, Supersilent, continue to expertly blur the boundaries between jazz Improv and electronic composition with an ever-evolving primordial soup of treated instruments and concrete music that gradually creeps its way into the subconscious. A rich and ambitious record that, on repeated listens, preserves a warmth often absent with electronic manipulation. Comprising of virtuoso trumpeter Arve Henriksen, “audio virus” Helge Sten and a keyboard/drums duo that never talk to each other, Supersilent are among the most intriguing of a wealth of electronic artists that includes Porn Sword Tobacco, the Kallikak Family, Murcof, Deaf Centre, Autechre, and a host of others, ceaselessly crafting new sounds. Working on the principle that if you mix up all the colours of the rainbow all you get is brown, 7 (a dvd release) is mayhap a more stripped-back affair than previous excursions but that is not to say the collective don’t get to their atlas-like explorations eventually. So much so that, considering the improvisatory nature of their performing process much of the record feels like it’s terra incognita for most involved even as it’s created. This all makes for compulsive listening: like passing by a car accident you have to slow down and have a peak just to see if it’s all going to explode.
Why? - Elephant Eyelash: New EU regulations require me to include at least one hip-hop act in my list but with records as genre-crushingly brilliant as this I’m more than happy to oblige. Grime may have blown up in 2005 but hip-hop took yet more exciting twists in the US this year with uber-pioneering label Anticon churning out their sui generis artists like they’d been given the last rights. Acts like Alias, Odd Nosdam, cLOUDDEAD, DoseOne and Subtle, continue to divorce hip hop even further from its Bling-Bling origins and, indeed, Why?’s “indie-hop” is sometimes so removed from the traditional gun-waving machismo of gangster rap hip-hop that its label’s shelf reference at HMV is the only thing still tying it to the genre. An astutely self-aware release that deserves much greater attention than it’s got.
Afrirampo - Kore Ga Mayaku Da: Japan is currently a veritable smorgasbord of shouty/squeely punk rock bands with pre-literate (as far as I can tell!) vocals bursting with child-like wonder as if they’ve only just landed on the planet and someone forgot to switch off the machine from the Skittle’s advert. Reference points are easy enough – Boredoms, Melt-Banana, Acid Mothers Temple – but Afrirampo are much more than the sum of their co-conspirators. Stripping garage rock to it’s bare, visceral ribcage and unleashing a frantic, raucous cacophany, Oni and Pikachu channel an enthusiasm that is rarely witnessed in the self-conscious cynicism of Western rock. Refreshing and energising like the shower gel ads promise but without the stingy-eyes.
Korova – Just Like Peter Cook (CDS): Edinburgh three-piece Korova take their rock seriously. During the recording of latest single, Just Like Peter Cook, lead vocalist, Kikikorova (they’ve all adopted Ramone’s-esque band names), decided that since giving up smoking a couple of weeks previously his voice lacked that hoarse growl the track needed and so - for the sake of the art, you understand - he lit up. And a good thing too. The final version aired for the first time on Xfm earlier this month and went on to storm Vic Galloway’s Radio 1 Demo Derby, demolishing the competition with 98% of listener’s votes and staying on rotation the following week too. Not long out of short trousers (and one skirt), their youth is evidenced in the naive energy of the sound created, a driving post-grunge anthem with a chorus so killer it shouldn’t so much be issued with a government health warning as quarantined from the outset and isolated in a government laboratory in case of future outbreak. The obvious contemporary touchstones are clear: Pumpkins, Biffy Clyro, …Trail of Dead, and, though nothing too radical is done with their mentors’ formulas, it’s injected with enough punk spirit to raise the track head and windmilling shoulders above their peers. Independent music thrives on a strong community and the increasingly obsessive Korov-ites are becoming a lobby group to rival PETA in conviction, spreading the word of rock like meme-fire throughout the Scottish indie scene. More evidence is needed to show that these are kids capable of pushing beyond the boundaries formed by their predecessors but with songs this vital who cares about the future? www.korovarock.com; www.myspace/thekorovastate.
Generalissimo: Originality is a myth: So said the Communists (and probably still do) but try telling Generalissimo that this is a bad thing. Following Picasso’s mantra, “A good artist borrows, a great artist steals” this quartet wear their influences on their sleeves despite never coming across as merely a reverential tribute to their heroes. Most of this comes from the ferocious vitality they manage to instill in their music. To create a man out of nothing would, apparently, require the equivalent energy of a thousand-megaton explosion and listening to the racket made by these four young men you can believe it. The band hail from music capital Liverpool, but this is no more than a mailing address for a group far removed from the shroomadelic scally-rock of fellow Liverpudlians the Coral or the Zutons. Theirs is a breed of rock n’ roll firmly rooted in the punk agression-meets-pop hook of mid-90s stalwarts Ash or pre-EMG Manics. It’s song-writing that means something but still sticks in your head after you’ve left the bravado-inducing confines of the venue hall. And the odd wandering ear of mainstream radio hasn’t been slow to pick up on this either. “My mate phoned me the next morning and told me.”, says lead vocalist, Chris Burgess, of his bands airing on Huw Stephens Radio 1 show. “I had no idea.” Well he may not be aware of it yet, but the buzz around this band is beginning to attract the dollar-hungry eyes of label scouts nationwide. Rough Trade: your time is running out. www.generalissimo.co.uk or http://www.myspace.com/generalissimomusic if their site is down.
Smile For The Cameraman – Snips: John Baillie Jnr, trading by the name of Smile for the Cameraman Honey, is a man with his head screwed on (and up!!). Self-proclaimed as a purveyor of “transcendent sinecore, glitch, mashup, breakbeat, polynesian pop, microwave sounds under the guise of a human behind a computer”, Baillie’s latest output, Snips!, is a fevered cut-up of everything that is popular music condensed into punk-short nuggets of frantic energy guaranteed to jiggy-fy anyone within earshot. Baillie’s mashups are a tardis. Looked at on paper they aren’t going to revolutionise music (more Q-Bert than Schubert) but step inside and it all opens up into a gigantic library of sounds and ideas far greater than the sum of its parts. Noone escapes the Baillie magnet: Snips! 3 sees a stammering Mclusky give way to the Knack’s classic, My Sharona, stalked by Bjork and the Rapture. Snips! 4 is opened similarly by the yelping athletics of the Blood Brothers before N.E.R.D. and Beyonce betray more mainstream sensibilities. The eagerness to cram so much into one sitting can, at times, be overwhelming but the results are, more often than not, remedied by bringing the rhythm back through Baillie’s immaculate beat-selection. Not without its reference points - there are echoes of the humour of mashup pioneers Negativland throughout and the use of computer game samples nods to the likes of the Advantage and Fingathing - Snips! is able to distinguish itself from the multitudes trying to accomplish similar things with an overarching frivolity and just a real sense of relentless fun. A marked departure from Smile…’s mesmerising and ethereal work, Space, soon to be released on Big! City! Sound! Records and even further removed from Baillie’s other ventures (drumming in Go Universe and grindcore outfit The Betatron of Good Will) this is further evidence of his ability, and courage, to turn his hand to whatever catches his eye (or rather, ear). Let’s hope he keeps up the search. www.gouniverse.com; www.myspace/smileforthecameramanhoney.
The Screaming Ineloquents - Live at Borderline, Charing Cross: Fuck, what is that noise?!! A growling hissing racket like the sleeping Cerberus of electronica Hell is piercing the ears of a crowd who are beginning to look decidedly worried. The venue is plunged into darkness as the anticipation builds and then the lights are up and a lady of oriental parentage (more Japanese misfits?) dressed like a cyber-punk extra from a Hello Kitty film is jumping and jerking around surrounded by what looks like the sideshows they thought were a bit too “out-there” at a Victorian freak show. This is the Screaming Ineloquents and the Borderline patrons are unsure how to react. Soon to release a self-funded ep, Idiolect, this troupe of multi-ethnic mavericks (the aforementioned frontwoman, known as Duck, a Belarussian lead guitarist and two Scots on percussion and keyboards/miscellany duties) make a sound that’s the bastard offspring of Deerhoof and Polysics with a sprinkling of Cramps-esque psychobilly. Raised on methamphetamines. In an Atari console. In 1986. It’s a performance likely to earn the group a loathing amongst lexicography circles as witnesses rush to invent new words to descibe how ear-gougingly wonderful it all is. The pounding bass-lines and frantic clicks and bleeps soon have the assembled masses attempting (mostly in vein) to cut some absurd shapes on the dancefloor and a new batch of devoted followers are converted to the cause. Information on the members themselves is scarce but e-mail “screamingineloquence ‘AT’ hotmail.com” for more information.
My Computer Has Aids – The Spice Girls Made Me Do It: What’s the difference between a computer and AIDS? One is the creation of an American government in a bid to destabilise African nations and wipe out blacks and homosexuals. The other is AIDS. I’ve found it so hard to get my head round this malfunctioning barage of cpu-warriors that words escape me. So I’ll do what any self-respecting music journalist does when he can’t think of anything to say and SHOUT A LOAD OF NONSENSE REALLY LOUD!! Thus, The Spice Girls Made Me Do It is a neurotic sound-collage unforgiving in its reluctance to pander to the common listener’s persistant appeals for catchy, digestible melody. Instead, an angry army of pacmen lobbying for the declassification of cherries bursts in and out of the punk-short snippets. The whole charade is over in four minutes so any attempts at an all-out ear assault can’t be sustained. MCHA arrives, seduces and leaves before you can work out whether you enjoyed it or not. I’d write something more coherent if only I could remember where I left my laptop (ooh, the sly dog!).
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