Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts

Monday, October 24, 2011

Record Club #6: Miles Davis

Miles Davis - Agharta (1976)


The latest Record Club discussion has now been posted. For this month's conversation, Jake Cole has selected Miles Davis' live album Agharta, from the climax of his fusion/experimental era. It's a great album and Jake has posted a wonderful and very informative piece about this music, its context and its qualities. Go read his post now and then join the discussion.

Monday, October 3, 2011

Record Club #6: Miles Davis on October 24

Miles Davis - Agharta (1976)


The sixth installment of the Inexhaustible Documents record club has now been announced. Jake Cole of Not Just Movies has chosen Miles Davis' live album Agharta, recorded in 1975 as one of the final statements of his infamous fusion era. Jake will be putting up a post discussing the album on Monday, October 24, so if you're interested in joining the conversation, just listen to the album before then and you can participate in what's sure to be another fun discussion.

If you'd like to promote the Record Club, you can display the banner below by pasting the code onto your own blog.


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Thursday, September 29, 2011

Record Club #5: Manic Street Preachers

Manic Street Preachers - The Holy Bible (1994)


The fifth discussion for the Record Club takes place today, and it is hosted by Jamie Uhler at the multi-author blog Wonders in the Dark. Jamie has picked the album The Holy Bible by the Manic Street Preachers, and he has written a fine introductory post as part of his long-running series "Getting People Over the Beatles." Now it's time to join the conversation in the comment section. I hope to see you there!

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Record Club # 5: Manic Street Preachers on September 29

Manic Street Preachers - The Holy Bible (1994)


The fifth installment of the Inexhaustible Documents record club has now been announced. Jamie Uhler, who writes for the multi-author blog Wonders in the Dark has selected the 1994 album The Holy Bible by Manic Street Preachers. The discussion will be taking place on September 29 as part of Jamie's Thursday music series at WITD, so if you'd like to participate, all you have to do is listen to the album before then and show up to read his thoughts and offer your own comments.

If you'd like to promote the Record Club, you can display the banner below by pasting the code onto your own blog.


<a href="http://wondersinthedark.wordpress.com/2011/08/31/getting-people-over-the-beatles-a-series-examining-the-greats-of-british-and-uk-pop-music-part-39/"><img src="http://i191.photobucket.com/albums/z43/sevenarts/music/recordclub5manic.jpg"></a>

Monday, August 29, 2011

Record Club #4: Drive-By Truckers

Drive-By Truckers - The Dirty South (2004)


The fourth discussion for the Inexhaustible Documents Record Club takes place today, over at Troy Olson's blog Elusive As Robert Denby. He's chosen the album The Dirty South by country/rockers the Drive-By Truckers. Troy has written an excellent introductory post, and in the coming days anyone who would like to join the conversation is welcome to comment with their own thoughts about the album. So head on over to Troy's blog for what's sure to be another great discussion.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Record Club #4: Drive-By Truckers on August 29

Drive-By Truckers - The Dirty South (2004)


The fourth installment of the Inexhaustible Documents record club has now been announced. Troy Olson of Elusive As Robert Denby has selected the 2004 album The Dirty South by Southern rock band Drive-By Truckers. The discussion will be taking place at his blog on August 29, so if you'd like to participate, all you have to do is listen to the album before then and show up to read his thoughts and offer your own comments.

If you'd like to promote the Record Club, you can display the banner below by pasting the code onto your own blog.


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Monday, July 25, 2011

Record Club #3: Sam Amidon

Sam Amidon - All Is Well (2007)


The third discussion for the Inexhaustible Documents Record Club takes place today, over at Carson Lund's blog Are the Hills Going To March Off?. The conversation this time revolves around the album All Is Well by modern folk singer Sam Amidon. Carson has started things off with a great lead post, and everyone who's heard the album is invited to join the discussion with their own thoughts. So head on over to Carson's place for what's sure to be another great discussion.

Friday, July 1, 2011

Record Club #3: Sam Amidon on July 25

Sam Amidon - All Is Well (2007)


The third installment of the Inexhaustible Documents Record Club has now been announced. Carson Lund of Are the Hills Going to March Off? has selected the 2007 album All Is Well by the indie/folk singer Sam Amidon. The discussion will be taking place at Carson's site on July 25, so if you're interested in participating, listen to the album a few times before then so you can join the comment section.

Previous installments of the record club are now listed in the sidebar of the Inexhaustible Documents site, and both albums selected so far have prompted lively and interesting discussions. As Carson says in his announcement, this album is likely to prompt a similarly impassioned response.

If you'd like to promote the Record Club, you can display the banner below by pasting the code onto your own blog.


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Monday, June 27, 2011

Record Club #2: Brand New


It's time for the second discussion of the Inexhaustible Documents Record Club, which hosts monthly music conversations about albums chosen by various club members. This month, Kevin J. Olson of Hugo Stiglitz Makes Movies has chosen Brand New's album The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me. He has now posted about the album over at his blog, and he invites anyone who's heard the album and would like to participate to join him in the comment section for a discussion of the album. The first Record Club post, about the Congos' Heart of the Congos, was a fun and lively discussion, and I expect that this will be, too. I'm going over to Kevin's place now, and I hope everyone will join us there.

Join the discussion at Hugo Stiglitz Makes Movies

Thursday, May 26, 2011

Record Club #2: Brand New on June 27

Brand New - The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me (2006)


Thank you to everyone who made the first Record Club discussion, on the Congos' reggae classic Heart of the Congos, a big success. It was a fun and interesting conversation and a fine start to this project.

Now it's time to announce the second pick for the club. Kevin Olson of the blog Hugo Stiglitz Makes Movies has chosen Brand New's album The Devil and God Are Raging Inside Me. Kevin will be posting about the album on June 27, so if you're interested in participating, listen to the album before then and show up at Kevin's blog on that date to join the conversation. In the meantime, Kevin has posted an announcement about the album, so check it out.

If you'd like to promote the Record Club, you can display the banner below by pasting the code onto your own blog.


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Monday, May 23, 2011

Record Club: The Congos - Heart of the Congos (1977)

The Congos - Heart of the Congos (1977)


The Congos was the reggae vocal trio of Cedric Myton, Ryodel Johnson, and Watty Burnett, and Heart of the Congos was their debut album, recorded and produced by the legendary Lee "Scratch" Perry at his Black Ark studio. The album is justifiably considered a classic of the genre, built on the gorgeous multi-layered vocal harmonies of the singers and some of Perry's very best production work. Perry was known for an energetic, eclectic sound (especially on his albums with his studio band the Upsetters) but on Heart of the Congos he sympathetically tailors his production to the much more low-key and spiritual vibes of the Congos. The production is still rich and remarkably detailed — one need only listen to the albums the Congos later made without Perry to hear how much depth he brought to these songs — but it never overwhelms the group's lovely vocals.

The first track, "Fisherman," immediately establishes the signature sound of this disc. The music slowly churns and skates along, with drums occasionally rolling and cresting like waves, while Cedric Myton's pure, high falsetto (the most distinctive sound of the group) glides above the guitar. Perry augments the stripped-down groove with chiming bells and percussive accents, along with an occasional piercing sound effect, but the emphasis remains on the vocals. The contrast between Myton's falsetto and the more moderate tenor of Johnson is the essential sound of the Congos, with Burnett's husky baritone periodically joining in for an even more dramatic contrast. Burnett was brought into the Congos by Perry for this session, and when his deep tones unexpectedly enter for a verse towards the end of this first song, the effect is startling, a sudden drop from Myton's high, soaring tones to this rich low-register drone.

On the second track, "Congoman," Perry's production is even more basic: a simple and repetitive drum figure provides a constant percussive base for the harmonies that the vocalists weave through and around this foundation. The music has hints of African chanting and tribal rhythms in both the vocals and the drums, and the effect is haunting and melancholy, suggesting dense jungles and mysterious darkness. The opening seconds of the song provide a perfect example of Perry's production genius: that simple beat kicks in immediately, and it will scarcely change over the course of the track's 6+ minutes, but a mere 20 seconds in the beat suddenly drops out and the vocals, sounding eerie and distant, introduce the song's lyrical and melodic theme before a dubby wash ushers the beat back in. Such little touches, like this slight variation from the song's solid foundation, are the mark of Perry's clever, detail-oriented production style.

There's a lot of variety on this album, even while it sticks close to the general territory of soulful, spiritual reggae with tastefully subtle production. "Children Crying" backs Johnson's lead vocals with a rich stew of backing vocals, a steady groove, and an odd moaning echo that sounds like a cow's cry. "The Wrong Thing" rides in on a wave of tinkling cymbals, with Myton vocalizing a few playful, wordless beeps right at the start. "Solid Foundation" (the final song on the original album, though the reissues have added at least 2 bonus tracks) is perhaps the best showcase for Myton's falsetto, with his clean high tones answered and overlapped with a chorus of backing vocals. The vocal interplay is very complex: the lead and the backing vocals engage in call-and-response sessions that bleed together until they're layered rather than answering one another.

Although I've picked out a few highlights so far, I could easily keep praising each song individually. The first two songs provide one of the best possible one-two opening salvos, but even more remarkable is that the album doesn't taper off after that. Heart of the Congos is the rare album where every song is a carefully polished gem in itself — the bouncy, deceptively cheery "La La Bam-Bam" (with its lyrics about Biblical betrayals) is probably the only song here that I don't absolutely adore, and even that's a pretty solid song.

Rather than continue to gush, though, one issue I'd like to raise is the album's lyrical content. The lyrics are almost exclusively spiritual and religious, expressions of the musicians' Christian-derived Rastafari faith. One aspect of the album that has often intrigued me is the fire-and-brimstone exultation of eternal punishment for the unfaithful, as expressed especially on the back-to-back songs "Can't Come In" and "Sodom and Gomorrow." Both songs are rooted in exclusionary religious fervor; there's a sense running through both songs that the faithful should celebrate the consignment of the unfaithful to eternal fire. It's the kind of regressive religious idea that has always troubled me, in any context, and it especially produces a lot of cognitive dissonance when it's coupled to an absolutely beautiful song like "Can't Come In," a song that despite its lyrical content I find strangely moving simply for the quality of the voices alone. I'm not saying this is a big problem or anything, by any means. I love this album, and the lyrics are the least significant component of this music in my opinion. It's just something I've often thought of regarding this album, and I wonder if anyone else had any thoughts about some of the lyrical themes.

Heart of the Congos is, to my taste, one of the greatest of all reggae albums. Lee Perry produced a handful of other classic front-to-back albums (by artists like Max Romeo, Junior Byles, the Heptones and Junior Murvin) but as good as those are, I'd argue that this recording's mix of subdued but distinctive production with the unparalleled voices of the Congos constitutes a peak of the genre. The album was not heralded in its time, unfortunately. Perry was in the midst of a dispute with Island Records that prevented a wide release, and the lackluster limited release the album did receive prompted the Congos to break with Perry for subsequent albums. It's a shame, because on their own the Congos never managed to make another statement as sparkling and powerful as this one, and it took many years for Heart of the Congos to be recognized as the masterpiece it is.

I hope some people love this album as much as I do, and I look forward to hearing everyone's thoughts. I know some people have a negative perception of reggae, so if there's anyone like that here, did Heart of the Congos change your mind or merely confirm your distaste for the genre? Was anyone inspired to check out more reggae based on this? Or are there some other reggae fans here who probably already know and love this disc? Anyone is welcome to join the discussion, I look forward to hearing from you all!

Monday, April 25, 2011

Inexhaustible Documents: The Record Club

As the title says, I've started a new project, called Inexhaustible Documents, a Record Club organized among a number of bloggers who normally write primarily about film, but who also have some interest in music. If you remember the way the film club TOERIFC worked, the Record Club is going to work along similar lines. Each month, one member of the club will pick an album to recommend to everyone else. Over the subsequent few weeks, everyone will listen to the album, and then return to the site of the person who selected the album for a discussion about the music. The vibe should be relaxed and conversational, an online version of friends casually trading recommendations and commenting on them, and in that spirit the membership of the Record Club is appropriately fluid and open. There are already a number of active members (Jake Cole, Dennis Cozzalio, Marilyn Ferdinand, Carson Lund, Drew McIntosh, Kevin Olson, Troy Olson) who have committed to participating in the club, and a few others who may join in from time to time, but the monthly discussions will be open to anyone who's listened to that month's album and wishes to participate. Those who are interested in picking albums and hosting discussions will also be able to do so down the line.

Each month, there will be an announcement towards the beginning of the month in several places: here, at the new Inexhaustible Documents blog, and at that month's host blog. For the first month of the Club, I've selected the introductory album, and the discussion will be hosted here at Only the Cinema starting on May 23. Information on the selected album is below. There's also a small banner if you wish to promote the Record Club.



The first pick for the club is:

The Congos - Heart of the Congos (1977)


It's spring, a great season for listening to reggae, and this is one of the greatest reggae albums of all time.

If you're interested in participating in the club, take a listen (or, better yet, a few listens) to the Congos' debut — for the first time or the thousandth — and come back here on May 23 for a discussion of the album.

If you'd like to promote the Record Club, you can display the banner below by pasting the code onto your own blog.


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Wednesday, January 12, 2011

My 2010 In Culture, Part II: Music

Following up on my list celebrating my film-viewing in 2010, here is my music list for the year. Unlike with the film list, I actually did listen to enough new music this year that I feel I can provide a list of my favorites from among the 2010 releases I heard. The list is ranked in rough order of preference, though the only placement I'm one hundred percent sure about is the #1 pick. These are my 27 favorite albums of 2010, a weird number I arrived at only because I couldn't stand to trim any of these fine works.




1. Michael Pisaro & Taku Sugimoto | 2 Seconds/B Minor/Wave (Erstwhile)
I've heard a lot of great music this year, and a good portion of it has actually been from the lately very prolific composer Michael Pisaro, an exceptional artist with unique sensitivity and grace. (More on some of his other 2010 releases below.) But nothing else I've heard this year, or in several years in fact, quite matches this amazing album, a collaboration between Pisaro and the Japanese guitarist Taku Sugimoto, who quite independently of Pisaro has for some time now been exploring similar territory of restraint and space. Pisaro and Sugimoto, working separately within very vague guidelines about pitch and pulse, have crafted three pieces of sublime, shattering beauty. I find this album, frankly, overwhelming: it is so serenely poised, so evocative, simultaneously beautiful and unsettling, so coolly meditative and yet also deeply emotional in ways I find quite mysterious. It is difficult music to talk about, and trying to parse my feelings about these pieces has been a real challenge, but I will try anyway, because I believe this is a very important record and one that should be heard and discussed.

The first piece, "2 Seconds," is based around the idea of pulse, the exploration of slow, simple rhythms built from the clicking of woodblocks, the pinging of periodic electronic tones, and miscellaneous mechanical sounds. This steady pulse grounds the piece, as the musicians elaborate on this stable foundation in small ways, always returning to the simple, plodding rhythm at the core of the music. At times, the "beat" is provided by someone turning on a blender, or a wooden chair creaking beneath the musician, or a door slamming: the outside keeps creeping in, rubbing against the austerity and simplicity of the music. At one point, a watch beeps, blending in with Pisaro's pinging tones, a reminder of the centrality of time in this music, of time as the foundation of rhythm.

For "B Minor," the musicians agreed in advance on the key of the title and then devised complementary guitar pieces, with Sugimoto offering up lovely acoustic chords and Pisaro crafting a spacious quasi-melody out of high, clean electric guitar tones. This is simply gorgeous, some of Sugimoto's best guitar playing in years, recalling the delicate touch of his 1998 masterpiece Opposite. The overlaid guitars, despite having been conceived separately, seem to communicate with one another in subtle ways, offering contrasting interpretations of the same minimal, minor-key melodicism. The final track, "Wave," incorporates processed field recordings of the sea and the wind alongside low, humming drones, all of it suggesting the hiss of the ocean, the slow pulsating of a wave, the mind-clearing drone of nature. This is music of great beauty and mystery, music as achingly lovely as it is challenging and strange. [buy]

2. Swans | My Father Will Guide Me Up a Rope to the Sky (Young God)
This raging, roaring, overpowering album is the first studio recording in 14 years from this seminal post-punk outfit, who formed as grimy no-wave agitators in 1982 and broke up in 1997. Frontman Michael Gira has been far from inactive in the ensuing years, with solo albums, running his record label, and recording with the Angels of Light, but there's still something satisfying about this new reformation of his defining band. The album stomps and roars its way through this suite of dark, grand songs about the afterlife, spiritual yearning, and misanthropy, with Gira's deep — as in low, as in profound — voice issuing forth pronouncements as forcefully as the pulse of the music. Opener "No Words/No Thoughts" builds up a droning, surging sea of sound from repeated guitar patterns and chiming bells, while standout track "Jim" has touches of country twang winding around its slow, sinuous evocation of simmering rage. This is heavy music, intense and raw, an album that makes it seem like Gira's Swans had never left, so seamlessly does it pick up the band's trajectory from hectoring 80s noise-punks to late 90s art-rockers. [buy]

3. Terry Jennings/John Cage | Lost Daylight (Another Timbre)
This beguiling disc actually combines two very different works of modern composition. On the first five tracks of the CD, AMM pianist John Tilbury interprets five solo piano pieces by the little-known and seldom-recorded American composer Terry Jennings. These pieces are rich, beautiful melodic miniatures. Tilbury's delicate touch is familiar from his recordings of piano music by Morton Feldman and Cornelius Cardew, and he brings the same sensitivity, the same ineffably right timing, to this music. Jennings' pieces have some relation to the lengthy, minimalist Feldman compositions for which Tilbury is best known as an interpreter, but without the pulsing repetition. These pieces are lovely and accessible, with a depth and emotional warmth that make returning to them again and again an absolute pleasure.

The other half of this disc is taken up by a very different type of music, a 40-minute interpretation of John Cage's "Music For Piano," with Tilbury on piano and Sebastian Lexer using electronics to manipulate and process the piano sounds. Tilbury and Lexer developed a very inventive interpretation of this piece, using chance procedures to determine various aspects of their playing, and then further shuffling things by editing and rearranging the piece through chance as well. The result is as far from the quiet grace and fluidity of the Jennings pieces as it is possible to get. The music is still very spacious, with lengthy silences and near-silences, but here broken up by nerve-jarring bursts of noise. Tilbury's delicate touch, so crucial to his piano interpretations, is felt only in isolated moments, a solitary note hovering in the midst of a buzzing electronic tone, or occasionally in a ringing cluster of notes. More often, the piano is felt in loud wooden bangs, the reverberation of the strings inside, and other incidental noises, as the electronics process Tilbury's playing into a humming, occasionally piercing stew of electronic tones. Taken together with Tilbury's Jennings interpretations, this piece offers up a response to the delicate, unaltered piano melodies of those shorter pieces. The disc as a whole offers up a dichotomy between the unhurried, straightforward playing of the Jennings pieces and the wildly deconstructive erasure of the traditional piano vocabulary on the Cage piece. [buy]

4. Annette Krebs/Taku Unami | Motubachii (Erstwhile)
This is a remarkable duo meeting from two improvisers who are characterized by their unpredictability, their ability to challenge expectations and sidestep the usual conventions of improv language. This disc defies one to hear it as two people playing together in a room, even though that's apparently what it is — or rather, two people in multiple rooms. Krebs and Unami, mixing improvisations with recordings of various locations and sounds, have assembled a collage of sampled voices, field recordings, percussive crashes, bursts of electronic noise, shards of tape hiss and blurry rewinding, the occasional plucked guitar note, and so much more. The patchwork nature of the sounds used contributes to the sense of unpredictability, the impression that anything could happen. Voices whisper and chatter in different languages, loud crashes shatter the uneasy stillness, bits of guitar unexpectedly float up only to be drowned out by a reverberating bang, and a bassy drone briefly wells up and recedes. It's thoroughly original music, unlike anything else around. [buy]

5. Michael Pisaro | Ricefall(2) (Gravity Wave)
Michael Pisaro's collaboration with Taku Sugimoto, discussed above, was one of the most stunning albums I've heard in a long time, but it didn't come entirely out of nowhere. Pisaro has been a remarkably consistent composer whose work — often dealing with field recordings, sound/silence, and sustained tones — has seldom been less than impressive. He's had a very strong year, too, with a flood of releases of almost uniformly exceptional quality. In addition to the Sugimoto collaboration, four other albums by Pisaro appear on this list, all but one of them recorded with percussionist Greg Stuart, a frequent and sensitive interpreter of Pisaro's complex scores. Ricefall(2) is, as its title suggests, a score for rice falling on various surfaces, a simple concept turned into an occasion for a rigorous and sonically varied exploration of texture and density. The hour-long piece, performed by Stuart, consists of several distinct sections in which the rice is dropped onto various plastic and metal surfaces, producing cascades of pings and patters. The sound is engulfing and strangely beautiful, like a hail of metallic raindrops, all these harmonic overtones and little nuances of sound tucked away within the seemingly monolithic slabs of clattering, hissing noise. Listened to casually, the sound barely seems to be changing from one moment to the next, and yet within this dense drone is an inexhaustible level of detail and variety, constantly shifting and changing, revealing all the different subtle variations caused by the different interactions of the falling pellets as they collide with various solid surfaces. [buy]

6. Pedestrian Deposit | East Fork/North Fork (Monorail Trespassing)
I last heard Pedestrian Deposit on 2004's appropriately named Volatile, an abrasive but carefully controlled noise assault. So I can't be sure if PD's Jon Borges has been slowly building towards the sound of East Fork/North Fork over the course of the releases I haven't heard in the intervening years, or if this brooding, quietly affecting album is really as much of a hard left turn as it seems to me. Whatever the case, it's a remarkable recording. Borges — joined here by collaborator Shannon Kennedy — has retained the churning intensity of his noisier work, but here he's channeled and restrained the explosiveness. Textural crackling and rustling underpins surprisingly melodic plucked string tones, while a foreboding drone slowly burbles into life, and hints of bowed cello blend into the eerie atmospherics. It's haunting, even delicate music, equally gloomy and beautiful, sinister and sweet. The overall restraint makes the moments when Borges gets noisier even more effective, like the brief stretch of gravelly noise on "Strife/Meridian," a tense burst that's more an implosion than an explosion. [buy]

7. Morton Feldman | Music for Piano and Strings Vol. 1 (Matchless)
An amazing audio-only DVD that collects new performances, by pianist John Tilbury with the Smith Quartet, of two of composer Morton Feldman's lengthy works for piano and strings. Tilbury is inextricably associated with Feldman; his box set of the composer's solo piano pieces is absolutely indispensable. He brings the same patience and careful touch to this pair of slow, mournful hour-and-a-half-long pieces. On "For John Cage," Tilbury is joined by violinist Darragh Morgan for an exquisite and slowly evolving duet, the piano and scraping, droning violin working through repetitive figures with subtle variations that introduce a sense of tension to the work. The music is uniformly quiet and fragile, but with an unsettling variability in the rhythms that subverts the meditative aspects of the music. On "Piano and String Quartet," the fuller instrumentation lends a more varied palette to the hushed string harmonies, while the piano unfurls one chiming arpeggio after another, unhurried and separated by long moments of silence and stasis. The piece is even more spacious than "For John Cage," more airy and open, and equally affecting. The recordings on this set are crisp and dry, capturing the chilly tone of the strings and the rich resonances of the piano. Decay is crucial to Feldman, and Tilbury's piano tones often hover in the air, slowly fading into silence, being absorbed by the drone of the strings. These are bound to be definitive recordings of these essential pieces. [buy]

8. Kevin Drumm | Necro Acoustic (Pica Disk)
A new Kevin Drumm album is always a reason to celebrate. A new five-disc box set from the alternately reclusive and prolific noise guitarist is something else altogether. This impressive set collects new and archival recordings, reissues of tapes and LPs, and other odds and ends, but it's not at all a haphazard grab bag of second-tier tracks. Rather, it's a potent demonstration of just how intense and focused Drumm is, just how consistent his work has been even as he's varied his style tremendously. This set collects new and previously unreleased recordings (the sizzling Lights Out and the disjunctive, jittery No Edit), a reissue of a noisy double cassette from a few years back (Malaise), a disc of archival recordings from all periods of his career (Decrepit, which includes Drumm's material from his great split LP with 2673), and a full disc devoted to a longer version of the organ drone from 2000's Comedy album. This wealth of material — much of which has more in common with Drumm's late 90s experimental guitar albums than the oppressive Sheer Hellish Miasma or any of his recent ambient/drone work — provides a valuable look into Drumm's vaults. Not all of the material here is top-notch, but much of it is, revealing the astonishing fact that in many cases, the music he hasn't released over the years has been nearly as strong as what he has. [buy]

9. Janelle Monáe | The Archandroid (Wondaland/Bad Boy)
Janelle Monáe's debut album is a dizzying sci-fi epic, an overstuffed concept album on which Monáe demonstrates a restlessly creative, genre-hopping, fun and free-spirited sensibility. The Archandroid encompasses soul, R&B, psych-rock, electro-funk, and hip-hop, but despite Monáe's lyrical references to schizophrenia and lunacy, the album itself never feels schizophrenic or disjointed. Monáe's expressive voice and eclectic, slightly goofy aesthetic tie everything together. The album is a delirious collage, perfectly balanced and varied enough that it never wears out its welcome. The overtures that introduce each of the album's two song suites recall Van Dyke Parks' orchestrations for the Beach Boys. On "Come Alive," Monáe appropriates the nervous bass pulse of the Violent Femmes for an edgy, anxious rocker. "Sir Greendown" and "Mushrooms & Roses" have a 60s psychedelic vibe, while the anthemic "Cold War" is propelled by a foundation of hard-driving drums. She's got genuine pop masterpieces in songs like "Faster" or the bouncy "Tightrope," which boasts a brisk, compact verse from OutKast's Big Boi. Whether Monáe is crooning on an R&B ballad, shouting and squealing like a rocker, or spitting out rapid-fire pseudo-raps, she's an engaging and powerful vocalist. She's also an utterly unique talent who's made one of the great pop/hip-hop/whatever albums of recent years. [buy]

10. Graham Lambkin/Jason Lescalleet | Air Supply (Erstwhile)
It's interesting that all three of this year's great releases on the Erstwhile label (including the Pisaro/Sugimoto and Krebs/Unami discs mentioned above) have focused, in different ways, on assemblage and construction rather than straight improvisation — these three releases have augmented improvisation with compositional strategies, with editing and re-arrangement, with the injection of pre-recorded sounds. Lambkin and Lescalleet follow up on 2008's The Breadwinner with the second part of a projected trilogy. It's typically mysterious music from this duo, who use field recordings and tape loops to craft unsettling aural landscapes. The album opens with "Because the Night" and "Layman's Lament," two tracks that juxtapose a textural drone with field recordings, layering sounds of wind and bird calls into the dense electronics. Then, on the suite of three shorter "temperature" tracks at the center of the album — "69°F," "68°F" and "67°F" — the duo explore rougher, more abrasive textures, occasionally exploiting the glitchy overload of sounds that seem to crackle and split apart as they increase in volume. The rough, harsh drones of these tracks are juxtaposed against various pebble-like rustling and clicking sounds, the sounds of the musicians preparing their tape recorders and machines, clicking computer mouses, bringing the studio into the music in the same way as they bring in the sounds of nature or the way that Lambkin's house seemed to provide the atmosphere to The Breadwinner. [buy]

11. Michael Pisaro | A Wave and Waves (Cathnor)
The title of A Wave and Waves provides the breakdown of what its two thirty-five minutes pieces aim to accomplish: the first piece, "A World Is an Integer," is inspired by the sound of a single wave, while the second piece, "A Haven of Serenity and Unreachable," is inspired by the sound of multiple waves cresting and crashing in succession. Each piece is intricately scored for multiple overdubbed percussion events, and the resulting sound is tremendous: dense, detailed, incredibly deep. On the first track, the individual sounds — piano, various bowed or scraped percussion instruments, the clatter of pebbles, the crackle of leaves, etc. — build up into a massive drone that is both monolithic and infinitely detailed. Within the overall drone, there is a wealth of detail. It's a remarkable aural metaphor for the way in which a wave in the ocean can be both a totality and an accumulation of particles and parts. It is also a fascinating listen, as the sound is constantly shifting in small ways even while the overall sensation of a wave of sound washing over you is maintained. On the second piece, the sounds emerge from silence with the periodic regularity of waves crashing on a beach, reaching crescendos of rich, crackling sound that then fade back into the quiet. It's nearly as beautiful as "A World Is an Integer," and demonstrates how complex Pisaro's thoughts about nature are: he doesn't just simplistically attempt to recreate natural sounds but instead writes compositions where his ideas about the natural world are expressed, eloquently and evocatively, through the structure and feel of the pieces. [buy]

12. Michael Pisaro | July Mountain (three versions) (Gravity Wave)
July Mountain contains three different takes on a single piece, for field recordings and percussion. The first of these was originally available as a limited edition standalone release early in 2010, and it remains a gorgeous work, with the subtle percussion of Greg Stuart underlying and blending with the layered nature recordings of Pisaro. The remarkable thing about this piece is that the percussion track flows subtly and smoothly into the field recordings, so that it's continually unclear whether any given noise is a recording or a percussion part. In this way, the piece is dealing with fundamental questions about music and intentionality, about arranging sound versus playing it back as found. Is that rumbling the noise of a train going by or the sound of a bass drum? Are those chimes part of a percussion kit or are they hanging in someone's backyard, blowing in the wind? This expanded disc partially answers those questions on the two subsequent tracks, by including both Stuart's percussion part as an "instrumental" version without the field recordings, and a third version with different recordings. This demystifies (but can't ruin) the composition's blending of instrumental and found sounds, and reveals how inventively Stuart uses his drum kit to evoke natural sounds and maintain that ambiguity of sound sources. The original recording is still the most potent realization of the idea — and reason enough to consider this an essential disc — while the other two tracks seem like supplementary materials enriching and commenting upon the piece. [buy]

13. Sun City Girls | Funeral Mariachi (Abduction)
This is the final album from the long-running avant-rock outfit Sun City Girls, completed by brothers Richard and Alan Bishop following the death of drummer Charles Goucher. It is a perfect farewell to this endlessly inventive, unpredictable band, a surprisingly calm and focused effort that's a tribute to their musical influences and a return to the ethnic/garage/psych fusion of their 1990 masterpiece Torch of the Mystics. The album is a loose homage to film composer Ennio Morricone, whose Western guitars and sweeping arrangements are married to the Girls' incorporation of faux-Arabic chants and psych rock feedback storms. The group offers up a faithful, mournful cover of Morricone's "Come Maddalena," but his spirit is arguably felt even more powerfully as the driving force, beneath wailing nonsense vocals, of "The Imam," which as its title suggests is Morricone by way of Abu Dhabi. The band also channels Syd Barrett's Pink Floyd, on "Holy Ground," a slow-burning rocker that sets the controls right for the heart of the sun. [buy]

14. Big Boi | Sir Lucious Left Foot... The Son of Chico Dusty (Purple Ribbon/Def Jam)
Remember when, back in 2003, Outkast's Big Boi and André 3000 released a double album of separate solo discs? Remember how everyone assumed that since André was the weird one that his disc would be the mind-blowing one? Remember how Big Boi's direct, sprawling, relentlessly fun Speakerboxxx then proceeded to blow away André's more uneven funk pastiche The Love Below? Now check out this new Big Boi solo disc, the first real new album to emerge from either Outkast MC since their 2006 soundtrack for Idlewild. Sir Lucious Left Foot is a near-perfect rap album, packed with soulful hooks and funky beats, overflowing with guest collaborators without ever sacrificing the coherent identity of the album as a whole. It's a whole album of highlights, more or less, from the raspy George Clinton guest spot on "Fo Yo Sorrows," to the moody crooning of "Hustle Blood," to the jittery energy of "Shine Blockas," to the fiery slow burn of "Tangerine," and so much more. It's all irresistibly fun and catchy, and Big Boi's verses are, as ever, marvels of creative phrasing. [buy]

15. Michael Pisaro | Black, White, Red, Green, Blue (Voyelles) (Winds Measure)
Yet another Michael Pisaro release in a year where he's been responsible for much of the best music I've heard. This one is a two-hour cassette, featuring a piece for guitar played by Barry Chabala. The choice of doing a cassette release is an interesting one, and Pisaro clearly chose a composition that would work well in the medium, taking advantage of the tape hiss and low fidelity to augment the guitar. On the A-side, Chabala plays "Black, White, Red, Green, Blue," a piece divided into several sections, in which reverberating electric guitar tones cascade out of the silence, cresting and then fading back into the hiss of the tape. It's simple, repetitive music, but the warm, rounded beauty of the sounds, and the consideration of the tape's baseline hum as a counterbalancing element, makes this a very enjoyable recording. The B-side of the tape is even better, however. "Voyelles" is Pisaro's augmentation of Chabala's A-side guitar recording with additional layers of sine tones and recordings of various forms of tape hiss. Pisaro uses different tapes and different playback systems to get various colorations of low-level noise, which blend with the natural hiss of the tape itself and provide a kind of noise floor for Chabala's guitar. The combination of the guitar's rich tone with the sizzling electric noise of Pisaro's overdubs makes for a fascinating contrast, as well as a consideration of what constitutes silence, as here the pauses between Chabala's notes are mostly filled with buzzing, humming crackles and static. (Unfortunately this very rare release is out-of-print already, though I've heard that there are plans to reissue "Voyelles" as a CD.)

16. Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross | The Social Network (Null)
This remarkably effective score for David Fincher's The Social Network, by Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross, is a moody, darkly insinuating work that is especially well-suited to Fincher's chiaroscuro late-night shots of college campuses and his methodical examinations of computer programming and business deals. But even when divorced from the film it scores, this is a compelling album, some of the best music that Reznor has made, establishing a gloomy, low-key atmosphere that's seething with tension but rarely allows the violent undercurrents of the music an outlet. When it does, as on the chugging industrial grind of "A Familiar Taste" — the track that most directly recalls Reznor's Nine Inch Nails — the hard edge is sharpened by the drifting drones and suppressed menace that characterize the rest of the album. [buy]

17. Joseph Hammer | I Love You, Please Love Me Too (Pan)
This hallucinatory sound collage, released only on vinyl, utilizes looped, processed vocal fragments and shards of radio-ready pop music to create a dreamy, hazy, drifting piece of audio nostalgia. Far from indulging in the shallow appropriation of too many sample-crazed plunderphonics artists, Hammer digs deeply into a few evocative snatches of sound, drawing out the emotion in these snippets of song through hypnotic repetition. Hammer was once a member of the legendary sound art collective Los Angeles Free Music Society, as well as his avant/noise band Solid Eye, and this lineage shows in both the playfulness and the assured aesthetic he brings to this album. The individual sounds that Hammer is appropriating are unavoidably dated to various eras — notably the periodic bursts of poppy punk that are churned up towards the end of the LP's first side — but the overall effect is timeless, transcendent, and indelible. [buy]

18. Kevin Parks/Joe Foster | Acts Have Consequences (self-released)
This double disc set represents the finest work so far from these two American improvisers living in South Korea. The guitar/electronics duo makes music that is patient without being slow, spacious without edging into silence, carefully balanced between delicacy and abrasion. At times, Parks' guitar disappears into the electronic drones, blending in with the grinding machine sounds and hissing static. At other times, tonal clusters of guitar notes float up from the depths, surrounded with barbed bits of noise and static that make any melodicism seem fragile, unstable, liable to collapse at any moment. It's very tense, taut music, wonderfully restrained but with a great deal of emotional turmoil suggested in its rattling undercurrents and electric wire hum. [buy]

19. Joanna Newsom | Have One On Me (Drag City)
Joanna Newsom's second album, Ys, was an exhilarating and fearlessly experimental work from an artist abruptly coming into her own, her wildly eccentric voice darting between the grandiose string arrangements of Van Dyke Parks with playful poetry. Her follow-up, Have One On Me, is both more and less ambitious. It's a sprawling triple album that's stylistically varied and exhausting, perhaps even impossible, to listen to in one sitting. And yet it also represents Newsom stepping back, if only slightly, from the adventurous vocalizations and disconcerting arrangements of Ys. Her voice has calmed down in the ensuing years; her squeals and squeaks and croaks, previously so integral to her persona, have been tamed by changes in her voice, and she comes across now as a much more approachable singer, like Joni Mitchell (an unavoidable reference here) with just a few touches of Björk. If Ys was a bold, exciting statement of avant-garde songwriting, Have One On Me is the work of a singer who's maturing and reaching back to her singer-songwriter roots without necessarily abandoning that experimentation or boldness.

Certainly, there's nothing staid about the lengthy title track's inventive structure, the way it slowly builds towards off-kilter but propulsive crescendos where her harp is augmented by whispery flute and galloping percussion. Newsom's sense of phrasing is as distinctive as ever, bouncing off the music rather than simply coasting along with it; she fits her voice into unexpected crannies in the music, singing against the rhythms, creating sublime tension between the music and her vocals. The album rewards such close, intimate listening, and demonstrates that even if Newsom doesn't always deliver precisely what one would want from her, she remains a fascinating, restless artist. [buy]

20. Seijiro Murayama/Éric La Casa | Supersedure (Hibari)
This is an odd one, part of the miniature trend for process-oriented sound art recordings that have been coming out of Japan in recent years. Murayama plays "snare drum and objects," while La Casa, a member of the French field recording/improv collective Afflux, is credited with "microphones and field recordings." This suggests that La Casa was responsible for recording Murayama, as well as layering in various field recordings that alternately blend with or offset the textures of the drum. The album is rough and disjunctive, contrasting sequences of hushed, low-volume textural improv against grinding, near-industrial sequences in which looped sirens or the chatter of a noisy street crash rudely against the drums. At one point, as Murayama builds a rattling, metallic cymbal drone, the hiss of steam and a background humming evokes a train station, so that the cymbal's reverberations become the sound of the train squeaking to a stop. These kinds of associations, suggestive but ephemeral, there and then gone again, keep burbling up through the music, as La Casa layers and processes multiple recordings of his collaborator or cuts in the sounds of vibrant urban life. [buy]

21. M. Holterbach/Julia Eckhardt | Do-Undo (In G Maze) (Helen Scarsdale)
A lovely drone album on which Manu Holterbach uses the viola recordings of Julia Eckhardt as a foundation for explorations of texture and pitch. On the first of two long tracks, Eckhardt's droning, processed viola tones are gently nudged with little pinpricks of sound: rustling clicks and crackles, the hum of crickets, the gentle whirr of the wind. The viola remains at the center of the music, its resonances and textures creating the overall melodic drone of the music, while the other sounds nestle into its curves, darting about the edges of the drone. On the second track, Holterbach buttresses the viola with sympathetic drones sourced from various electrical equipment: hums, buzzes and sizzling tones that are tweaked and processed to blend in with Eckhardt's droning strings. The music often drifts at the edge of consciousness, hypnotically pulsing, only to surge back into wavering sheets of sound. [buy]

22. Nachtmystium | Addicts: Black Meddle, part II (Century Media)
I loved Nachtmystium's last album, Assassins, and this follow-up is more of the same while further emphasizing the surprising melodicism of this black metal band. Frontman Blake Judd has called parts of this album "black metal disco," and while in actuality the band's occasionally dancey beats and synthy melodies recall industrial metal more than Saturday Night Fever, it's still a telling quote. Judd and his compatriots are consciously stretching beyond the narrow confines of black metal, even more than on Assassins, fusing the darkness and roaring anger of black metal with bits and pieces of psych rock trippiness, pop-metal bombast, ambient drone, and whatever else they can think of. It's occasionally goofy and silly — that comes with the territory when it comes to black metal — but the band's unrestrained enthusiasm and energy goes a long way. This is a rousing, even fun record that, by combining black metal's urgency and extreme sound palette with an obvious desire to experiment and blend genres, comes up with something totally fresh and exciting. [buy]

23. Of Montreal | False Priest (Polyvinyl)
Of Montreal have been on quite a roll in recent years. Starting with 2004's Satanic Panic in the Attic, this band, which once fit so comfortably amidst the 60s-nostalgic psych-pop of the Elephant 6 collective, has been steadily transforming into a hydra-headed pop/funk/soul oddity. What makes this band of oddballs so thrilling in this current incarnation (which has so far spawned five albums of fractured pop lunacy in six years) is their unpredictability. Songs like this album's opener, "I Feel Ya Strutter," might lead with an uptempo trot as frontman Kevin Barnes waxes ecstatic about how lucky he is in love, but that doesn't preclude multiple sudden left turns as the song bounces and winds along, sometimes slowing down for tossed-off neo-soul diversions or 60s pop callbacks, sometimes offering up new melodies and new backdrops for each line of a verse.

And the follow-up song, "Our Riotous Defects," is if anything even loonier and loopier, incorporating white-boy raps on the hilarious speak-sing verses: "I did everything I could to make you happy/ I participated in all your protests/ supported your stupid little blog/ bought a Bo-Flex/ wore colored contacts to match your dresses/ everything your eye caught I bought/ and still we fought/ like Ike and Tina in reverse." Blending a disco pulse with orchestral pop flourishes and Barnes' characteristically off-kilter, high-pitched vocals, the song eventually coalesces into a dense melodic drone for the unexpectedly lush coda. It's these kinds of sudden shifts and serpentine structures that make this record, like all Of Montreal's recent work, such an utter joy. [buy]

24. Taku Sugimoto | Musical Composition Series 1-2 (Kid Ailack)
Taku Sugimoto has for some time now been a fascinating figure in contemporary music, even as his music has often edged so far into minimalism that he risks seeming like he's stopped playing altogether. But his work has remained at least intriguing even in its extremes. This year he's released two new double-disc sets collecting music recorded over the past four years at the Tokyo concert series he runs, a total of four discs showcasing various aspects of Sugimoto's stripped-down aesthetics. It's a very self-conscious summation of where Sugimoto is at now, musically, and what ideas he's been exploring over the past few years. As usual, not everything hits home, but it's satisfying just to get such a comprehensive portrait of Sugimoto's compositions. The first volume is dominated by three lengthy and very minimal pieces composed for electronic sounds and household objects: extremely sparse, but "For Lightsabers," especially, with its carefully spaced bursts of sizzling noise, is a good example of Sugimoto's curiously affecting quietness. The second disc of this volume includes a pair of pieces that showcase Sugimoto's occasional collaborator Moe Kamura, whose whispery vocals add a very different element to Sugimoto's music. "Chair 2" is unsurprisingly spacious, interrupting the silence with bits of spoken word, solitary guitar plucks and brief, startling moments of melodic pop. The follow-up piece, "Modes of Thought," a highlight of these collections, follows through on that melancholy melodicism, as Kamura lows mournfully atop a tonal guitar accompaniment that is constantly threatening to melt into atonality.

The second of these double-disc sets continues the greater emphasis on guitar, and comparatively less emphasis on silence, that characterized that last piece on set 1. "Notes and Flageolets" is a gorgeous, chiming piece for five guitars, with passages of tonal guitar interspersed with the background hum of traffic noise. This is followed with a suite of 14 more guitar pieces with varying numbers of players, some pieces only a few seconds long, others lasting several minutes, some tonal and relatively active, others featuring just a few isolated notes amidst the silence. Like this project as a whole, it seems like a self-conscious summary of Sugimoto's approach to the guitar, working through the various moods and ideas he's explored with his primary instrument. The final disc is given over to two for-all-practical-purposes-identical 19-minute run-throughs of a piece with Sugimoto accompanied by a string quartet: droning and resonant, not bad but rather chilly and academic in comparison to the rest of the music on these sets. These four discs aren't the peak of Sugimoto's work — or even the peak of his more modest output in recent years — but they are yet another valuable addition to the ouevre of this confounding, maddening, thought-provoking, enthralling artist. [buy]

25. Dirty Projectors & Björk | Mount Wittenberg Orca (self-released)
This isn't quite the delirious avant-pop concoction one imagines upon seeing that Icelandic songstress Björk has collaborated with the dazzlingly complex rockers in Dirty Projectors. Björk's contributions are spaced out across this mini-album enough so that, for much of its length, it sounds like a rather typical, if somewhat more low-key than usual, Dirty Projectors disc. That's not such a bad thing, either. These gentle songs are dominated by strumming acoustic guitars and elaborate vocal harmonies between head Dirty Projector Dave Longstreth and vocalists Amber Coffman and Angel Deradoorian. The tunes mostly feel like stripped-down versions of the band's 2009 masterpiece Bitte Orca, although "stripped-down" is strictly relative here, and Longstreth's arrangements are as quirky as ever, as prone to detours and abrupt shifts in tone. When Björk does appear, her idiosyncratic voice is a perfect fit, cradled amidst the background harmonizing of Coffman and Deradoorian, who often provide a rhythmic component to augment the rarely used drums. In fact, Björk inhabits this sonic landscape so comfortably that one only wishes she showed up more often. As it is, it's a short and sweet little disc that leaves one wanting more. It's more of a tease than a fully developed statement, but what it has to offer is utterly charming. [buy]

26. Thomas Ankersmit | Live In Utrecht (Ash International)
Live In Utrecht is the first widely available solo release from saxophonist Thomas Ankersmit, following a string of rare and obscure discs. This is an impressive proper debut from the young Dutch musician, who processes his saxophone into near-unrecognizability on this 40-minute live set. The piece opens with a buzzy drone that suggests the tonality of the saxophone without ever quite sounding like a sax. Occasional blurts and squeaks within the shifting layers of sound betray the instrumental origins of this music, but for the most part the sax is obscured within the glitchy, slowly mutating waves. After the introductory drone, Ankersmit ventures into even more abstract territory, exploring high, glistening tones broken up by various spikes or layered with shimmering, wavery sheets of sound. This is complex, intricate music, and it's hard to believe that Ankersmit realized this so well in a live setting. [buy]

27. Yeasayer | Odd Blood (Secretly Canadian)
When I wrote up my list of the best music of the 2000s, I called Yeasayer's debut album All Hour Cymbals "an eclectic, offbeat sound that goes down surprisingly easy," flirting with "abrasive electro-pop" and "summery harmonies" in roughly equal measures. Their second album might be described similarly, though it rearranges the elements of the band's sound, skewing more towards sizzling electro-pop and downplaying some of the world music appropriations and organic pop that characterized All Hour Cymbals. This sophomore album is maybe not quite as joyously great as the first one, but it's a worthy successor nonetheless, bursting with straightahead bouncy melodies and loopy electronic flourishes that make these poppy delicacies that much more delicious. The album boasts an especially strong first half, but really it's all enjoyable: it's a consistent, infectious album that puts a lot of more mainstream pop efforts to shame. "Ambling Alp" is a clear standout, a relentlessly positive gem that sells its upbeat optimism by sheer force of its sugary electro melody. "Madder Red" takes a more meditative tone, with plaintive chanting atop a synthesized ebb-and-flow. "I Remember" sets its bittersweet, nostalgic lyrics against the swirling arpeggios of the music, which aurally suggests murmuring surf to accompany the song's memories of "making love on the sand." [buy]

Thursday, December 9, 2010

Thursday's Track: Two by Rollerball


In this new semi-regular series, I write about tracks that particularly move and impress me. Take a listen and join the conversation!

Portland, Oregon's Rollerball is one of the great and sadly neglected bands of recent years. This eclectic, unpredictable outfit doesn't get anywhere near the acclaim they deserve for their utterly unique sound, which blends avant-pop, free jazz, noisy electronics, prog rock, reggae and ethnic musics, even dashes of techno, into a surprisingly cohesive sound. They've released 13 albums since 1997 and have amassed quite an impressive, varied discography. Despite ranging all over the place from album to album and even song to song, they somehow always sound like Rollerball, no mean trick when one track might be a noisy free jazz blowout, the next a downtempo trip-hop ballad, the next a scratchy piece of improvised psych/folk. It's hard to sum up a band this diverse in one track, so I haven't even tried, instead picking two tracks that, while still not really encompassing the full breadth of this great band's oeuvre, do suggest their ability to shapeshift at will.

"Starling," off the 2003 album Real Hair, is one of the band's poppiest and most accessible songs, from one of their poppiest albums. It's a gorgeous piece of late-night pop, with dubby drums (there's an equally great remix of the song on 2004's Behind the Barber that amps up the dub elements) and a simple but sensuous female vocal that soars above the ska horns and tinkling piano. It's lush and otherworldly, like all of Rollerball's best avant-pop pieces, evocative of Julee Cruise's music for David Lynch but really existing in its own peculiar world. Rollerball's pop tendencies are laced with darkness and mystery; songs like this seem meant to be sung by witches, late at night, preferably in cemeteries, where this haunting music can drift out into the moonlight.

A somewhat different side of Rollerball is evident on "Osceola," from 2000's Bathing Music. The track opens with a scratchy violin accompanied by martial drums, slowly building momentum in a manner reminiscent of Rollerball's contemporaries in turn-of-the-millennium post-rock. But rather than mining simple loud/soft dynamics and building towards an expected explosion, Rollerball adds in jazzy horns to disrupt the solemn march, then transitions into a delicate ballad. The song is constructed modularly, though each section flows gracefully into the next so that the stylistic shifts seem natural rather than abrupt. Free jazz blowing builds out of the song form and then flows back into it, finally leading to the controlled cacophony of the climax.

These two songs are a fitting but incomplete introduction to Rollerball, one that omits the glitchy techno/blues of "Burning Light," the epic jazz grandeur of "Slits Arandas" (both from 2004's Behind the Barber), the supernatural incantations of Trail of the Butter Yeti, and the crotchety, fractured folk of Catholic Paws/Catholic Pause. This is a band well worth exploring in depth, and I hope this all-too-brief introduction will open a few more ears to Rollerball's singular sound.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Thursday's Track: David Sylvian "Small Metal Gods"


In this new semi-regular series, I write about tracks that particularly move and impress me. Take a listen and join the conversation!

On his 2003 album Blemish, one-time Japan vocalist David Sylvian collaborated with experimental musicians Derek Bailey and Christian Fennesz to create a stark, low-key accompaniment to his warm, florid vocals. His subsequent album, Manafon, released just last year, takes this approach even further, collaborating with a whole host of avant-garde musicians and improvisers to create a stripped-down, nearly bare sonic setting for Sylvian's voice. The lead-off track, "Small Metal Gods," opens with the spinning clatter of Otomo Yoshihide's record-less turntable and the hissing static of Toshimaru Nakamura's no-input mixing board, "empty" instruments that spit out abstract sheets of noise. These hesitant introductory scratches are soon joined by the spacious, reverberating notes of Burkhard Stangl's acoustic guitar and the quiet scrape of Michael Moser's cello, and then Sylvian's voice, over-ripe and thick with emotion as ever, pours into this unsettled, sizzling atmosphere. Sylvian's vocals — "it's the farthest place I've ever been/ it's a new frontier for me" are his first lines, suggesting his embrace of innovation here — are always front and center, with his collaborators filling in the niches and hollow spaces between his words. Their spare, minimalist accompaniment creates a powerful tension between foreground and background, as whenever Sylvian's voice drops out, it creates a sensation of profound absence, of negative space in which the music's scrape-and-sizzle minimalism only pricks lightly against the silence. This is music with a real sense of drama, even melodrama, akin to Scott Walker's art songs but without the bombast; Sylvian's music is resolutely dark and introspective.

Monday, November 1, 2010

The Conversations #20: Rock Concert Films


Jason Bellamy and I have completed another of our dialogues about films, this one focusing on the aesthetics of the rock n' roll concert film. We chose five concert films that we thought reflected the breadth of this genre: Woodstock, Gimme Shelter (the Rolling Stones), Stop Making Sense (Talking Heads), Rattle and Hum (U2) and Instrument (Fugazi). Our conversation touches on the experience and mythology of the rock concert and its cinematic representations, on aesthetics, on authenticity, on performance and acting. It's a fun conversation, so take a look at the link below and, as usual, comment. We always say that we like our exchanges to be only the start of the conversation.

Continue reading at The House Next Door

Thursday, October 28, 2010

Thursday's Track: Mount Eerie "Between Two Mysteries"


This is a trial run for a potential new series in which I upload a track I like and write about it. If people are interested, let me know in the comments and I'll keep the series going. I hope that this series will elicit some conversation about the songs and artists chosen. Although this site will still always be primarily about film, I also enjoy writing about music and haven't done enough of it lately. The first entry in the series is dedicated to one of the most important songwriters of the last decade or so, Phil Elverum of the Microphones and Mount Eerie.

"Between Two Mysteries" is a key track on Mount Eerie's bleak masterpiece Wind's Poem, an album inspired by black metal, by David Lynch's Twin Peaks, and by singer Phil Elverum's year of living in an isolated cabin in the Scandanavian wilds. This song makes the Twin Peaks influence explicit by cleverly interpolating snatches of the droning, eerie melody from Angelo Badalamenti's music for that series. This unsettling tune is juxtaposed against a propulsive guitar figure and hints of vibraphone accents, while Elverum's hushed vocals drift atop the dense, layered music. Elverum has always been interested in nature, in the elements, writing his psychological and emotional trials onto the harsh, cold expanse of an unblinking, uninterested natural world. His lyrics often suggest humanity's encounter with the incomprehensibility of the universe, which is why towering mountains, purifying flames and icy winds recur again and again in his imagery. Here he sings: "The town rests in the valley beneath twin peaks, buried in space/ What goes on up there in the night?" The lyrics turn around such ambiguous questions and such charged images; the "twin peaks" might be mountains dwarfing a settlement, or they might be a proper noun referring to Lynch's warped rural landscape.

This song, a delicate gem positioned amidst the at-times blistering assault of Wind's Poem as a whole, evokes sonically as well as lyrically that fragile beacon of civilization nestled within the chilly wilderness. Other songs on this album use waves of ferocious guitar distortion to evoke the roar and rage of the wind, buffeting Elverum's murmuring voice until he seems lost and afraid. "Between Two Mysteries" suggests a shelter from the storm, a respite from nature's awe-inspiring fearsomeness, even if that foreboding hum underpinning everything hints at darker ideas. For this reason, the song works best in the context of Wind's Poem as a whole, and I'd recommend that anyone who likes this song should certainly check out the full album. But even in isolation, this is a remarkable example of Elverum's rich, allusive, deeply affecting songwriting.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

The Best Albums of the 2000s: #50-1

50. Devendra Banhart | Niño Rojo
(Young God, 2004)
Banhart's second 2004 album, after Rejoicing in the Hands, finds the psych-folk tunesmith in a much bouncier, more playful mood, as he tries to imagine what's on the mind of a monkey, visits "greaseball heaven," grows some new smells, and urges a departing friend to eat him for breakfast. His goofy wordplay and cracked acoustic arrangements are in top form here, on his best and most fun album.

49. Kevin Drumm | Sheer Hellish Miasma
(Mego, 2002)
The album that made Drumm a legend is every bit as awe-inspiring and demanding as its reputation. It's a mammoth tower of layered noise designed not so much to shatter eardrums as to smother them. These sheets of sizzling electronic noise produce a heavy, oppressive vibe that's impossible to escape from — if one even wants to.

48. Michael Pisaro | Harmony Series 11-16
(Edition Wandelweiser, 2007)
Composer Michael Pisaro has a perfect grasp of the balance between sound and silence, between playing and listening. His Harmony Series represents his translations of poetry into text scores to be played as music, and the selections from this series on this beautiful disc are the best example of the composer's quiet profundity, his evocation of transcendent, meditative states. Electronic sine tones fade in and out, as various performers — including frequent collaborator Greg Stuart, whose rubbed and scraped percussion instruments are a natural fit for Pisaro's wavery drones — interpret these fragile and mysterious pieces of music. Yuko Zama has summed up the appeal of Pisaro much better, much more eloquently, and much more in depth, than I ever could.

47. Jeph Jerman | The Second Attention
(Anomalous, 2000)
Probably the best of Jeph Jerman's improvisations with natural objects — pine cones, branches, water, rocks, seashells, feathers, seed pods — all "played" without amplification. The intimate, quiet sound of this half-hour piece puts the emphasis on the tiny sounds Jerman coaxes from these simple objects, and the interactions between them. The sounds are minuscule, microscopic, suggesting an unseen world beneath the notice of most people in the ordinary course of life: watery gurgles, gentle porcelain clinking, glass-like tones that evoke a vibraphone, the rattling of seeds within a pod, the mouse-squeak of two tiny objects' smooth surfaces rubbing together.

46. Kaffe Matthews/Andrea Neumann/Sachiko M | In Case of Fire Take the Stairs
(IMFJ, 2003)
This trio recording covers such a tremendous range — from delicate, near-silent whispers of sound to an abrasive, rumbling alien landscape — that it's easy to forget just how simple and abstracted these women's instruments are. Matthews uses a laptop for minimal live sound processing, Neumann plays with the deconstructed interior of a piano, removed from its original context, and Sachiko inserts ethereal sine tones into the proceedings. The resulting improvisation builds slowly from an aerated silence, with occasional clicks and whirrs, into a dense cloud that "drifts along on pulsating rhythms of sine waves and computer tones, with the periodic bristling analog rumble of Neumann’s alien-sounding piano adding a much needed organic element to the proceedings." The album covers a large emotional range too, from the chilly abstraction of the opening minutes to the "menace and edginess" of the later, denser movements.

45. Bastard Noise | Mutant
(Manufracture, 2002)
Bastard Noise has had as many different sounds as they've had members, ranging from grungy full-on noise, to power electronics broken up by guttural screams, to the more spacey drone that increasingly took over the band under John Wiese's influence. Here, the band is stripped-down, as it often is, to the duo line-up of Wiese and Eric Wood (on vocals and homemade electronics). Mutant is one of their most bracing releases. Wood's hair-raising vocals emerge, a monster slowly revealing itself, from a fog of sine tones and harsh, high squeals. The occasional understandable phrase in Wood's growls reveals a distopian, apocalyptic theme — a Soylent Green-esque future world — and the music is appropriately bleak and alien in response.

44. The Fiery Furnaces | Blueberry Boat
(Rough Trade, 2004)
The Fiery Furnaces' second album is overflowing with enough ideas to sustain a lesser band for an entire career. But this sibling-led band, mostly the brainchild of multi-instrumentalist Matt Friedberger and his sister Eleanor, who handles most of the vocals, isn't afraid of running out of ideas, so they simply stuff everything they've got into this wild, careening miracle of an album. The songs are mostly epic, but they never settle into any one mode for long, so each nine-minute suite feels like five or six shorter songs jammed together, with stop-on-a-dime transitions between Faust-like motorik jamming, bluesy riffing, nursery rhyme balladry, towers of organ overload, tinkling piano runs, proggish flights of fancy, and whatever else the band feels like attempting. It's dizzying and frequently exhausting, but the Friedbergers' whiplash stylistic shifts never quite overshadow their clever songwriting, their playfulness, or their sheer musical virtuosity. It's a masterful, bafflingly ambitious album.

43. Nachtmystium | Assassins: Black Meddle, pt. 1
(Century Media, 2008)
Just how unconventional a black metal band Nachtmystium has become is evidenced by the number of Pink Floyd references embedded in their fourth album. Though Assassins is heavy and intense, it's also an extraordinarily polished and eclectic album, blending psych-rock, grandiose melodicism and jammy sections (even including some sax interludes) into the band's metal palette. It's an ambitious attempt to retain the dark atmosphere of black metal while acquiring a sense of musicality and dynamics all too often absent from the genre.

42. Afflux | Bouquetot/Paris/Port-Jerome
(Ground Fault, 2002)
The field recording trio of Afflux take a very unique approach to improvised music: they find a location, fill it with complex recording equipment (including amplified steel strings subject to infinitesimal vibrations) and record their interactions with this equipment and with the natural or man-made sounds all around them. The results are mysterious and beautiful, subtly shaping the sounds of wind, water and traffic noise into spacious soundscapes populated with rumbles, rustling, crackles and even fragments of processed human voices.

41. At the Drive-In | Relationship of Command
(Grand Royal, 2000)
The final album from these hardcore masters is also their best, with one blistering, exciting song after another. From the opening barrage of "Arcarsenal" to the mournful, spacey closer "Non-Zero Possibility," this is an absolutely shattering album, all spiky shards of guitars, relentlessly pounding drums, the howling vocals of Cedric Bixler-Zavala, and a surprising melodicism beneath the surging surface of these punk anthems.

40. Lift To Experience | The Texas-Jerusalem Crossroads
(Bella Union, 2001)
It's got to be the weirdest rock concept album ever: God tells a trio of Texans that Texas, not Israel, is the true promised land, and they've been chosen as messengers to deliver this prophecy. The resulting double album follows through on this concept, combining religious ecstasy with a nearly equal patriotic/nationalistic fervor. And it couches these sentiments in some of the most thunderous, exultant, downright moving rock music, as frontman Josh Pearson's sweet, Jeff Buckley-esque voice soars above the din conjured up by his bandmates, climaxing in the slowly unfurling feedback of "The Ground So Soft," with a fragile a capella hymn at its center, the calm eye of this reverent storm.

39. The Avalanches | Since I Left You
(XL, 2001)
Yeah, this album is pure pleasure. Assembled from thousands of sampled fragments of pop culture detritus, Since I Left You mashes together any genre you could imagine, and a few that haven't been invented yet, to create this delirious journey through an idealized pop landscape alive with strange hybrid creatures. It's quite a trip.

38. various artists | AMPLIFY 2002: balance
(Erstwhile, 2003)
This box set (seven CDs and a DVD) documents an Erstwhile Records festival in Tokyo, collecting the best of the festival's sets along with several related shows, a full studio album by Toshimaru Nakamura and Günter Müller, and Jonas Leddington's essential documentary about the event. Although there are better recordings of many of these improvisers, there are no better documents that capture the musical, intellectual and interpersonal context of this international music. Over the course of these discs, the players gather in various duos and trios, some of them familiar combos that have previously released albums together, and some new assemblies of musicians who have never played together before. This spirit of meeting and interacting is at the heart of this form of collective improvisation, and rarely is it so apparent as it is in this box.

37. Wire | Read & Burn 01-03
(Pinkflag, 2002/2007)
Wire made both an instant classic punk platter (their debut Pink Flag) and an iconic post-punk monument (154), before turning to equally appealing moody synth-pop (A Bell Is a Cup Until It Is Struck). Who would've guessed that they'd reinvent themselves yet again in the new millennium, turning in a pair of economical EPs that essentially melt all the band's previous phases together with an industrial-noise edge. The first EP is punkier and spikier, while the second hits the industrial angle harder, climaxing with a gorgeous callback to the band's synth-pop days. In 2007, they returned yet again with a third and equally effective installment in the series, stretching out languidly, with bursts of punk energy cutting through the gloss.

36. Jackie-O Motherfucker | Fig. 5
(Road Cone, 2000)
America's folk and roots heritage as seen through the slightly fractured mirror of a large ensemble from Portland, Oregon. A slave ballad gets re-imagined as a sing-along dirge, the constituent parts of "Amazing Grace" are pulled apart into a free jazz skronkfest, and the whole band is churned up into an electronic haze. Ragged, rootsy, and occasionally even rocking, this is the album that established JOMF as the prime purveyors of a certain skewed perspective on this country's rich musical history.

35. Animal Collective | Here Comes the Indian
(Paw Tracks, 2003)
This is Animal Collective at the crux of their transition from outsider experimenters to wider acclaim and broader appeal. Their first album actually released under the name Animal Collective, it crystallized the ragged experiments of their earlier work into a series of fluid Krautrock-inspired jams, making room for the Caribbean/punk mash-up of "Slippi" and the near-religious ecstatic chanting of "Hey Light" alike.

34. Jim O'Rourke | Insignificance
(Drag City, 2001)
Marrying Jim O'Rourke's sardonic vocals to a muscular rock structure, with O'Rourke's Faheyesque guitar lines often floating amidst the crunchy riffs. And his vocals are as good as they've ever been, the buttery appeal of his voice disguising the fact that these are deeply misanthropic songs, nasty-minded kiss-offs to the whole human race, delivered with just a hint of a smile to cut the implicit malice.

33. Of Montreal | Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer
(Polyvinyl, 2007)
Kevin Barnes' absolutely brilliant concept album about his strained relationship with his wife and, apparently, his transformation into a black transsexual alter-ego named Georgie Fruit. Ludicrous prog concepts aside, the album is a stunner, ranging freely from the sugary indie-pop for which the band first became known, to Krautrock stompers, faux-soul, dark synth-driven glam rock, pulsing disco beats, and moments of willfully odd avant prog, like the piercing falsetto that cuts through "Gronlandic Edit" like a knife. The album sprawls out far and wide, housing Barnes' heartbreak and struggle to remake his life in irresistible pop melodies and labyrinthine structures. Rarely have drug addiction and depression ever sounded so appealing.

32. Biota | Invisible Map
(ReR, 2001)
Biota is an unusual musical/visual collective (the visual arts branch has taken the name Mnemonists, once an overarching moniker for the entire collective) whose music is more or less impossible to categorize. Their music obliquely refers to art-rock, Eastern European ethnic music, jazz, electronic music, and in recent years, with the addition of occasional guest vocalists, avant-pop. Invisible Map gathers all these tendencies together into one of the band's best albums, a collection of their heavily processed, studio-assembled constructions, where every instrument, every individual part, seems to have been passed through some kind of manipulation and post-processing, creating a blurry, soupy atmosphere where fragments of rubbery guitar, shuffling backwards-masked drums and echoey piano, along with numerous untraceable instrumental textures, add up to a constantly shifting, layered whole. Canadian singer Genevieve Heistek is the guest vocalist this time around, singing on a handful of art-pop gems scattered across the record, and her sporadic appearance singing these offbeat melodies is only one of the welcome surprises this band is able to consistently offer up.

31. Ernst Reijseger/Mola Sylla/Voches de Sardinia | Requiem for a Dying Planet
(Winter & Winter, 2006)
An unlikely combo: Dutch cellist Ernst Reijseger, Senegalese singer Mola Sylla, and a Sardinian religious choir, all tossed together to record the soundtracks to two recent Werner Herzog documentaries. The results, as heard in The Wild Blue Yonder and The White Diamond, as well as this album combining both soundtracks, are stunning. The music has a vaguely spiritual sound, and a hot/cold tension at its core, as the voices of Sylla and the choir soar in lush, complex harmonies above the chilly cello drones of Reijseger. It's darkly beautiful, apocalyptic music, a perfect accompaniment to a Herzog film but also a wonderful listen on its own merits.

30. Earth | The Bees Made Honey in the Lion's Skull
(Southern Lord, 2008)
A slow-moving but always insistent crawl through metal textures, stretched out into languid jams where there's plenty of space between each reverberating riff. It's metal made somehow peaceful, relaxed, pastoral, with a delicacy and beauty in the playing that marks this out as more of an instrumental rock album despite the abstracted metal signifiers.

29. Primal Scream | XTRMNTR
(Creation, 2000)
The band that once crafted the ultimate trippy acid rock disc Screamadelica got in touch with millennial angst circa 2000 and unleashed this fiery, explosive slap in the face, twisting their electronic touches into darker, industrial-metal territory. It's aggressive, ugly, pissed off and often purposefully messy (the profanity-laced rap of "Pills"), but there's no question that some edgily beautiful music ultimately emerges, exhausted and assaulted, from the maelstrom.

28. Scott Walker | The Drift
(4AD, 2006)
As intense and epic as music gets. Listening to this dark, tumultuous music, it's hard to believe Scott Walker was ever a top-charting pop singer. Walker's voice, so bold and scarily beautiful, so forceful, soars atop arrangements which are by turns skeletal and unbearably dense. The music ranges from scattered string hits to a foreboding electronic sizzle to movements of pounding intensity with overloaded drums beating against the hard purity of Walker's voice. It is supremely discomfiting music, dealing with ugly and frightening emotions that are reflected equally in every poetic word and every twist and turn of the audacious arrangements.

27. Fugazi | The Argument
(Dischord, 2001)
It has turned out to be the DC hardcore legends' last album together, and The Argument stands up as a fitting final statement from a group that had been consistently evolving from their conception, simultaneously spinning out their sharply focused punk drive into earnest melodicism and edgy experimentation. This final record distills their sound into their most melodic framework yet, without forsaking the dense textures and unrelenting energy that have always made them such a formidable rock band.

26. Otomo Yoshihide's New Jazz Orchestra | ONJO
(Doubtmusic, 2005)
Otomo's various jazz outfits haven't exactly reinvented jazz, as if anyone could at this late date, but ONJO is certainly the freshest and most vibrant example of this talented ensemble's idiosyncratic take on the genre. Otomo's rearrangements of jazz standards, pop tunes, and an epic take on Jim O'Rourke's "Eureka" (which is itself becoming something of a standard for the group) incorporate touches of electronic sound, noisy interjections from his turntables, hints that he's more than just a typical jazz bandleader. Surprisingly little conventional jazz here, as the album leans more towards avant-pop with guest vocalists, and off-kilter sound collages that recall Otomo's early 90s band Ground-Zero. It's probably the most complete and compelling fusion possible between jazz and more "out" modern musics.

25. Philip Jeck | Stoke
(Touch, 2002)
Philip Jeck composes symphonies from discarded elements: an orchestra's worth of turntables playing warped, broken, damaged, and intentionally "prepared" records on which the imperfections and distortions in the sound create soulful, mysterious loops that only hint at their origins. This album is Jeck's most complete statement, as he moves away from the lengthy compositions of his earlier work to a more focused approach, developing a single idea in more depth on each shorter piece here. This pays off most potently on "Pax," several minutes of warped, slowed-down underwater vocals, gurgling unintelligible syllables through the fog of time and decay.

24. The Mountain Goats | The Coroner's Gambit
(Absolutely Kosher, 2000)
Probably John Darnielle's strongest single album, poised right at the brink of his transition from extreme lo-fi basement recorder to slightly more polished rocker. The songs here are still (mostly) recorded into a boombox, with occasional ornamentations of strings and other voices to buttress Darnielle's shaky acoustic guitar and even shakier voice. And his songs — aching, funny, suggestive of rich narratives between the lines — are as good as they've ever been, particularly the unforgettable emotional powerhouse "There Will Be No Divorce," its title a totem against the seemingly inevitable collapse of a relationship as fragile and sad as Darnielle's mournful singing.

23. Mouse On Mars | Radical Connector
(Thrill Jockey, 2004)
Mouse On Mars' "pop" album, with vocals (by Niobe and the band's live drummer, Dodo NKishi) on every track. It's an irresistible confection on which the duo of Andi Toma and Jan St. Werner prove that accessibility need not come at the expense of adventurousness; their pop melodies are structured around typically jittery beats. The whole album is a joy, but the single "Wipe That Sound," with its chopped-up vocal fragments tripping all over themselves amidst an equally indirect groove, is a clear highlight.

22. Xinlisupreme | Tomorrow Never Comes
(Fat Cat, 2002)
Back when this album first came out, I described it like so: "Imagine this: a marching band on a crowded city street in the middle of a construction zone. Drills, concrete shattering, car horns, people yelling and talking, and, somewhere in the background, the sounds of the horns struggling to be heard above the din, sometimes rising up from the chaos, sometimes being pushed back under. That is the sound of Xinlisupreme’s unbelievable debut, the sound of chaos at war with order. This Japanese noise outfit has contained the force of that war for its own devious purposes, pitting passages of delicate beauty against the most crazed onslaughts this side of Merzbow." It all still applies.

21. AMM | Fine
(Matchless, 2001)
The last proper release from the long-running trio lineup of AMM (Keith Rowe, Eddie Prévost and John Tilbury) finds the band at the logical extreme of their patiently developed aesthetic. The static hush of this music is profound, building only slowly towards the edgier sections where some more forceful sound — a burst of feedback from Rowe's tabletop guitar and electronics, the abrasive scrape of metal on metal emanating from Prévost's drum kit — emerges from the stillness.

20. Richard Youngs | Autumn Response
(Jagjaguwar, 2007)
A remarkable album of folk-pop characterized by an intriguing conceptual gimmick: all of the vocals are double-tracked from two different performances, so that Youngs' gentle voice at times seems to be harmonizing with itself, while at other times the two singers echo one another, overlapping and diverging from one moment to the next. The effect is mesmerizing, as these simple folk tunes are complicated by the ways in which Youngs' two voices drift together and apart atop the jangle of his guitar strumming. It's haunting and strange in precisely the kind of way that makes one want to dig into its intricacies, exploring its divergences and convergences, the moments when Youngs' guitar sometimes seems to get stuck in digital loops, the ghostly murmur that bathes some of these songs in an otherworldly aura.

19. Graham Lambkin/Jason Lescalleet | The Breadwinner
(Erstwhile, 2008)
Using field recordings, tape loops and cheap keyboards, these two utterly unique musicians have created an eerie, mind-warping masterpiece. The album's cover art is a nod to avant composer Robert Ashley, an appropriate reference point for what sound like recordings of haunted rooms, full of mysterious creakings and tiny noises magnified by the imagination, with sinister organ drones floating through the echoey spaces, droning melodies propelled by phantom fingers. It's creepy and yet somehow sensuous, a sound bath that encourages deep immersion in its hidden sonic eddies and potentially deadly whirpools of noise.

18. Can't | New Secret
(RRR, 2005)
Jessica Rylan's intimate, quirky explorations of synthesizer and voice are at a peak on this picture LP, as she feeds her vocals into homemade synth circuits, using her singing to modulate and drive the electronic sounds, which as a result are tweaked with every syllable, dancing around her voice in subtle fluctuations or spitting out chunky bursts of noise and abrupt gasping screams. Beautiful, awkward, unsettling, mysterious. Kind of like Jessica herself.

17. Birchville Cat Motel | Beautiful Speck Triumph
(Last Visible Dog, 2004)
The title of this remarkable album goes some way toward evoking its strange, radiant, detailed beauty, the majesty of these epic ambient compositions created by New Zealand musician Campbell Kneale and a long list of collaborators. In a general sense, this is drone music, but that term doesn't do much justice to the depth and complexity of Kneale's soundscapes, packed as they are with rattling percussion, hints of piano and moaning strings, the processed crackle of a campfire, ethereal organ tones, melodies that seem to hover in the air like a low fog. This music is, in its gentle way, thrilling. It is by turns destabilizing, seductive and disarmingly warm and accessible.

16. Tetuzi Akiyama | Relator
(Slub, 2001)
Tetuzi Akiyama's first album of solo guitar was a defining landmark for Japanese improvisation in the new millennium. It's spacious music, defined by its caesurae, its openness and quietness. Akiyama deconstructs the acoustic guitar into a set of only vaguely guitar-like noises — scrapes, twangs, the percussive slap of a hand on wood, the drone generated by running some object along a string. And yet, though Akiyama's vocabulary with the guitar is abstract, his music retains a distant but tangible connection to the blues that initially inspired him to pick up the instrument. Relator is a phenomenal record because of how thoroughly it recontextualizes the blues in relation to millennial Japanese experimental music, aerating the blues with silence and space.

15. Dirty Projectors | Bitte Orca
(Domino, 2009)
With their most recent album, Dave Longstreth's Dirty Projectors have achieved some kind of apex of weird, fractured music where genre ceases to matter. These songs are indescribable, constantly spiraling out into new places, blending prog bombast, folky strumming, orchestral arrangements, soul and R&B. Longstreth's high voice croons and preens above spastic guitars, hints of riffs threatening like storm clouds and never quite coming together, drums falling all over themselves like the awkward kid who's late to the party, strings slicing in sporadically, cutting through the constantly assembling and disassembling song structures. And throughout the album, the voices of bandmates Amber Coffman and Angel Deradoorian drift sweetly through the jagged, complex structures Longstreth erects around them — and when, at the album's center, the two singers step forward for a pair of disarmingly straightforward, irresistible soul and pop tunes, the contrast pays off beautifully.

14. Ghostface Killah | Supreme Clientele
(Razor, 2000)
In the seemingly endless stream of Wu Tang Clan-related releases from various members and associates, Ghostface's offerings have always stood out for their consistency, their endless invention, their wit and stylishness, and above all their infectious sense of fun. There's real joy in Ghostface's agile raps, a playfulness evident at the end of "One," when the rapper and his buddies laugh and riff off of a recurring vocal sample, building their own improvised jokes around it. The album is sprawling and varied, all anchored by the characteristically gritty Wu-Tang production, while Ghostface and a crowd of guest stars trade verses about childhood, friendship, love, crime, drugs, music and escape: urban life in all its guises.

13. Joanna Newsom | Ys
(Drag City, 2006)
After a debut album of eccentric Dylanesque folk tunes, accompanying her own warbling voice on harp, Joanna Newsom took an extreme left turn for her second album. She brought in orchestral pop legend Van Dyke Parks to weave his string arrangements into a suite of five lengthy songs, each of them structurally complex and lyrically evocative. Newsom's voice skips, squeals and croons through the delicate tinkling of her harp and the sticky sweet backdrops provided by Parks, and the songs develop unpredictably, building to crescendos of nearly overwhelming emotional intensity at times. Newsom's storytelling is sharp, too; "Monkey and Bear" is a surprisingly affecting fable about power, gender, unfulfilled dreams and exploitation, disguised as a nursery rhyme.

12. Keith Rowe/Burkhard Beins | ErstLive 001
(Erstwhile, 2004)
An artifact of an implicitly politicized improv performance, in which tabletop guitarist Rowe discovers a fragment of an R&B tune on shortwave radio and uses it as a foundation for an oblique political commentary on the Bush years. The music is appropriately aggressive and frenzied, shaping up as an all-out sonic war between the waves of Rowe's feedback and static and the percussion of Beins, who here deploys metal chains and cymbals with equal ferocity.

11. Coil | Musick To Play in the Dark Vol. 2
(Threshold House, 2000)
The two volumes of Musick To Play in the Dark (the first released just before the new millennium took hold) heralded Coil's transformation from restlessly experimental industrial pioneers who had, of late, been given over to lengthy drug-induced drones, into purveyors of moody electronic ballads, packed with swooning synths, haunting atmospheres, and of course the emotive if somewhat standoffish vocals of John Balance. This second volume is one of their finest achievements, from the sequenced melodies of "Tiny Golden Books," to the hissing steam "beats" of "Ether," to the oddball electro-pop of "Paranoid Inlay," to the creepy wordless murmurings of "Batwings (A Limnal Hymn)."

10. Mount Eerie | Wind's Poem
(P.W. Elverum & Sun, 2009)
Phil Elverum's post-Microphones project hasn't been very high-profile, especially considering the acclaim heaped on his former band and the fact that, regardless of name, both "bands" are essentially just solo projects with rotating guests. In a perfect world Wind's Poem would bring Elverum back into the spotlight, as it's the best album he's recorded since The Glow, Pt. 2. Elverum has fully absorbed the black metal influences that have fascinated him in recent years, incorporating that aura of creeping dread and the occasional more obvious hint of a blast-beat into his distinctive palette. The result is appropriately chilly and darkly beautiful, a face-to-face confrontation with mortality set in a remote wintery mountain area: referencing both Elverum's six-month retreat into the wilds of Norway, and David Lynch's Twin Peaks, particularly the theme music of Angelo Badalamenti, which worms its way into the melodies of a few tunes here. It's cold, angry music, forbidding and often stormily dense, but not without passages of earthy beauty and grace, and always with Elverum's wavery, very human voice struggling against the howling wind, enacting a conversation with the forces of nature.

9. Animal Collective | Strawberry Jam
(Domino, 2007)
Much has been made of Animal Collective's supposed turn towards the mainstream, but the fact is they're still as fun as ever, still utterly original, still bursting with exuberance. This album is their most tightly focused yet, perhaps sacrificing a smidgen of the raw energy of their earlier discs and replacing it with an unrelenting momentum and pop sense. And it has the best one-two punch in their catalog, and one of the best in 2000s music: the transition from the pulsing "For Reverend Green," punctuated by Avey Tare's excited screams and growls, to the summery beauty of "Fireworks," which powerfully evokes the simple experience of hanging out in the outdoors, enjoying the company of friends and family. These domestic themes resonate through the group's later albums, but they're most eloquently expressed here, on the album that, at least so far, stands out as their masterpiece.

8. Kevin Drumm | Land of Lurches
(Hanson, 2003)
Every once in a while, I forget why I enjoy noise music, or grow tired of the genre's excesses, thinking my tastes are starting to turn back to more conventional music. Whenever this happens, I need only put on Land of Lurches to be reminded of all that is great about noise. Kevin Drumm's follow-up to his monumental Sheer Hellish Miasma is, like its predecessor, raw and energetic, with a real sense of dynamics and narrative. Drumm's noise is dense and, even in its most blistering moments, surprisingly nuanced. There are three untitled tracks, and each stretches across a broad swath of noisy territory: the escalating dread and constant change of the first track; the chopped-up vocal samples hopping from speaker to speaker on the second; the spacey slow burn of the final track.

7. Greg Kelley | I Don't Want to Live Forever
(Little Enjoyer, 2005)
Using just a spring drum and his signature trumpet, and a fairly small repertoire of repeated sounds, Greg Kelley creates this odd, impenetrably abstract piece that balances between minimalist composition and noise. Small sounds — a metallic clamor, a hissing intake of breath, a fluttery drone, a clear trumpet tone distorted by static, various clicks and clacks — are repeated ritualistically, arranged into a slow march, as Kelley cycles through these tiny recordings, engaging them in a stop-start tug-of-war between noise and silence.

6. The Fire Show | Saint the Fire Show
(Perishable, 2002)
On their third and final album, the Fire Show demonstrate that there is still, after all, some unexplored territory left within the confines of rock music. This devastating statement — so perfect, so conclusive, that the band apparently decided they'd said it all with this disc and promptly broke up — starts from a foundation in post-punk's spikiness but sets off boldly from that home base. On the first track, singer M. Resplendent croons achingly above the sparse, scattered bits and pieces of a song struggling to form beneath his voice. Elsewhere, the band conjures up the sound of a radio playing beneath the sea, or forges extracts of static into muscular riffs, while Resplendent free-associates streams of evocative but ultimately nonsensical wordplay.

5. Keith Rowe/John Tilbury | Duos For Doris
(Erstwhile, 2003)
Keith Rowe and John Tilbury had spent several decades as two-thirds of free improv pioneers AMM when they recorded this remarkable double-disc set, but somehow playing together as a duo, outside the familiar context of their longtime group, introduced something new and challenging into their musical relationship, something hard to define. Certainly, the music here isn't so different from the music of AMM: Tilbury's fragile, perfectly placed piano notes hovering within the haze generated by Rowe's guitar and electronics. It's beautiful, sparse and emotional music, with an intensity that bests even the formidable back catalog that the duo had produced in AMM.

4. Coil | Black Antlers
(Threshold House, 2004)
The best representation of Coil's later-years turn to moody, dramatic electro-industrial pop, in which the British industrial pioneers harness their hard-edged synths to the increasingly mournful melodicism and sex-and-death-obsessed lyrics of John Balance, now eerily prescient following his untimely death. On this album, Balance fantasizes about having sex with Sun Ra, to appropriately cosmic accompaniment, crafts odes to Parisian street-dwellers, and reworks both his own band's back catalogue and an English folk ballad by way of fellow Brit industrial types Current 93.

3. The Microphones | The Glow, Pt. 2
(K, 2001)
Phil Elverum's lo-fi epic is an album that demands to be lived with, to linger and expand over time. Its songs are at once intimate and expansive, suggesting the domestic and the universal alike in Elverum's elusive lyrics and the intense crunch of his densely packed music. The peak, of course, is "The Moon," a song of the most awesome mystery and beauty, but it's the album's cumulative impact that makes it such an enduring classic.

2. Boredoms | Vision Creation Newsun
(Birdman, 2001)
With this album, the Boredoms completed their transformation from a Japanese noise-punk outfit into the essential purveyors of the drum. The album pulses with an undercurrent of layered rhythms, as transcendent melodies, and the howls and chants of Eye Yamatsuka, soar atop the framework of their pounding, skittering drums. The album takes the band's love of Krautrock's hypnotic forward momentum and channels it to create music so dense and beautiful and affecting that it's overpowering.

1. Sachiko M/Toshimaru Nakamura/Otomo Yoshihide | Good Morning Good Night
(Erstwhile, 2004)
The greatest recording from these three musicians who, together and apart, in all manner of groupings, have in recent years studied the infinite variations of high-register tones, clicks and sputters, shaping minimal materials into a sparse music hovering on the edges of audibility and comprehension. When it first came out, I wrote, "There's something actually — paradoxically — warm and emotional in these abstract sounds, something that touches deep nerves and primal reactions in totally unexpected ways. It's... sparse music of an exceptional physicality, simple music that seems complex and complicated: full of contradictions and possessed of an odd, untouchable, indefinable something."


The other entries in this list can be found here:
200-151 | 150-101 | 100-51 | 50-1