AMFJ - BÆN

Here’s a pretty idiosyncratic release from Iceland. FALK released this album in December of ‘11, but the man behind AMFJ, Adalsteinn Jorundsson, has recently been sending some copies stateside, and you can order/listen on BandCamp as well (so much stuff going through BandCamp these days!). Strange Maine should have a few stateside physical copies on CD, and this packaging is really cool, with rich color and multiple panels of composite/superimposed photographs of the artist-in-motion that are very illustrative of the music.

My first impression of BÆN was how complimentary this album is to Arvo Zylo’s “333” record that I reviewed last year—both records feature their respective composers working alone in noise/industrial surroundings, and both composed their records within the confines of a single musical interface. In the case of AMFJ, Jorundsson works in a software package called Jeskola Buzz, which looks sort of like a freeware version of Reason. For those unfamiliar with the basic concept behind either of those bits of software, one makes sounds in virtual synth modules, which can then be combined in various configurations, run through one another or through effects, etc.

Though it’s a considerably more spacious environment than the RM1X sequencer that Zylo employed for his “333,” it’s still quite a self-imposed limitation compared to the resources most electronic musicians avail themselves of for any recording session. But under many conditions, I think these kinds of limitations can save folks a lot wasted energy spent in “paradox of choice” deliberations and keep the focus on creating the music itself. I remember reading a John McLaughlin quote about perfect freedom coming from perfect discipline, or something to that effect—though he was talking about keeping your chops in shape for improvisation, the concept translates into the world of composition/recording beautifully: pick a small palette of materials, learn to use them efficiently, almost unconsciously, and you’re ready for inspiration to strike.

AMFJ is often tagged as a power electronics/harsh industrial act. I definitely hear elements of those genres in this music, but BÆN definitely falls toward the more melodic/atmospheric end of the “harsh” continuum. Vocally, a couple of the tracks in the middle of the album (“Mammon” and “Retoria”) get into some really aggro vocal work, and Jorundsson sounds briefly like a 1000 year old tree struggling to stay upright in a punishing storm of percussion and metallic drones. But I think the best moments of the record show a lot of restraint—Lofun,” for example, dedicated to his fiance, features a ground-loop sounding hum interrupted by a curious percussion break which repeats multiple times. It’s a delicate piece that never rises above a mezzo piano, but it shows a lot of distinction in its poise. The opening track, “Utburdur Umskiptingur,” becomes loud and impenetrable, but it shows a lot of patience getting there, its sample of a child’s whine gradually layered with itself and effected in ways that emphasize the fundamental resonant points of the sample, like a shorter industrial-tinged take on Lucier’s “I Am Sitting in a Room.”

My favorite piece, though, is the album’s closer, “Husid Andar.” The longest track at almost 9 minutes, Jorundsson sings in a clear, clean voice, grasping at transcendence amid a dense clatter of fluctuating synths, metallic clanging, menacing machines and idling motors. I hear some awesome late-oughts Ulver vibes at moments: subtle vocal harmonies push through the din, trainlike rhythms rise and drown in acid reverb, and a long minute of silence hangs in the air at the end of the disc. There are some great ideas happening in this piece, and I hope that future AMFJ efforts continue to work with the epic potential in both harsh noise and near-silence.

—Scott Scholz

Boron - The Beige Album

Back when I first started writing for Killed in Cars, I heard a bit of the first Boron release on Field Hymns, “Decrresscenndo.” That album was a focused affair, loaded with squealing, throbbing, rumbling oscillations from a Moog iiip (press for the album calls that synth “the size of a room,” but isn’t that just a suitcase model?). With the addition of a few well-placed classical samples, the music concentrated on the extremes of Moogscapes, falling somewhere along the vibes of old tape-music from “serious” music circles but with a bit of 8-bit retrocool vibe mixed in.

On The Beige Album, Boron expands in many directions at once: vintage synth abuse remains at the nucleus of the project, but there are lots of synth tones from other eras at work in these pieces—I think I’m hearing a lot of Casio/Yamaha tones and percussion pads from the early 80s, if my memories of stretching my little arms to bang on the tiny blue drum pads of those old Yamaha department store machines serve me correctly. As before, samples get employed occasionally on this record, and field recordings seem to pop up, too: nocturnal outdoor/jungle sounds on “Moons Over My Panamax” and wind/fire sounds that occasionally dominate “Sunset Tunnel,” etc. Vocals and guitars have prominent roles in several pieces, as well. And guest musicians are featured on roughly half of the album, taking Boron’s sole member Dan Nelson in new directions.

There’s a bit of every extreme in electronica represented on Beige: if you want subdued textures and environmental sounds, a little ominous but left at a low, exploratory volume, you’ll dig the “Moons Over…” track mentioned above. For something louder and more aggressive, try “Borong” a few tracks later, which itself segues into a more docile exposition of similar textures in “The Boroner’s Report.” The first few tracks on the album feel like close cousins of the “Decrresscenndo” music, while there are some more melodic ideas heading in the direction of projects like Giant Claw in tunes like “Tomato Upload” and “G-Rated Grope” (though this stuff is weirder and less heavily-arranged than the ‘Claw).

A few of my favorites here take the basic Boron sound into new dimensions: the almost operatic female vocals of “Glamour Science,” coupled with its waspy bass drones, remind me of early Residents mixed with early Zappa vocal writing in the best of ways, but with a more modern, self-aware feeling. “Mountain Dewd” starts with a retro-cheeziod synth drum/bass groove, which gets molested by some seriously reverbed-out psych guitar overdubs: think Acid Mothers Temple robbing a GameStop. And “Boron Squad” is a seriously bizarre surprise in the middle of the album, a full “song” evoking the spirit of Snakefinger crashing at an Occupy camp with beats, guitars, and hilarious f-bombing vocals. Mic Check!

As the album stretches in so many directions, one subtle-but-cool technique for establishing continuity across the seas of Beige is simply to re-use bits of sound in contrasting pairs of songs. For example, “Nonsensebeard” and “Clamburgler” both use a “Yeah Boron” sample; “Moons Over…” and “Sunset Tunnel” use similar nocturnal/outdoor sounds, and “Viking Ballet” re-uses a strange popping passage from “PongSong,” which I think is made by smacking a microphone running into an envelope filter. It’s a great way to introduce a little cohesion to such a multifarious batch of music. Altogether, this is a strong record that succeeds at almost every deviant style it tries, and I’m going to go back and explore the sophomore Boron release “Aria Statica” to get some more Boron in my speakers.

—Scott Scholz

Moulttrigger - Birds

There are so many fun ways to approach this cassette release from Centipede Farm. On the surface, this is a bizarre foray into heavily processed “avian arrangements,” wild electronic escapades made from a multitude of bird calls sourced from the old National Geographic Guide to Bird Sounds. The track titles are, ahem, nested in puns, with gems like “Undoing the Pigeon” and “Die Fledergrouse,”and perhaps the most entertaining part of all is that the man behind Moulttrigger is named Dave Wren. For reals.

Despite the lighthearted track titles, the music of “Birds” isn’t afraid of the dark. Certainly by the middle of the album, the novelty element of this production is gone, and one is left to the industrial rhythmic structures of “Whole Lotta Dove,” or mechanical, train-like dirges with counterpoint that sounds like motors and squeaking doors in “I’m Just Lookin’ for Some Thrush.” The harsh granular quality to much of the album’s textures feels deadly serious and many dustbaths away from its feathered origins.

Not every track is what I’d call “grainy” in texture, though. One of my favorites, “Sitta,” converts birds into very clean, crisp electronic beats and then attacks them with various filters. By the end, the sounds become almost human, sounding like a voice yelling “nook” or “no,” with really unsettling stereo imagery supplementing the weirdness. That, and the perpetual chiptune-march of the album’s closer, “Tern, Tern, Tern” are my favorites.

When I consider the intended utility behind birdsong collections, I think of the many folks who go “birding” and attempt to imitate bird calls precisely, listening to the calls carefully to memorize every detail. In the case of “Birds,” one works instead with music, heavy on rhythmic delineation, where gentle imitation evokes musical genres instead. One might peer into the edge of a Jamaican jungle, for example, blasting “Poorwill Revolt,” whose triple meter feel sometimes subtly nudges at dub, geese honking on the “ands.” Tight samples serve to bring out vaguely conventional percussion sounds in “Undoing the Pigeon,” too, creating a sort of lounge/exotica-ish backbeat with an insistent envelope-filtered kick drum of sorts.

If I didn’t know ahead of time that this whole record was made from manipulations of bird sounds, I don’t think I would’ve guessed. Interestingly, though, there seems to be something inherent to these sounds that animals still detect, even when the samples are tiny and the effects applied to them are dramatic. In my own unscientific study, I discovered that one out of two pug dogs in my care remain at attention whenever I listen to “Birds,” looking toward my listening room as though a bird might come flying out at any time:

While not my “usual thing,” I really dig the album, and I think you might, too. As many cassette releases go, the first run of “Birds” has already flown the coop come and gone, but you’re in luck: it’s back in print as a 2nd edition. Go to Centipede Farm, and you’ll be rocking your Walkman for a measly four bucks. And a bit of trivia: subsequent to the release of this recording, the Cornell Lab of Ornithology’s Macaulay Library (which has long housed the recordings used to make the National Geographic records used as samples in “Birds”) put its whole collection of animal sounds online. There are over 150,000 of them. See you in a few years, Mr. Wren!

—Scott Scholz

Arvo Zylo - 333

Our next DIY artist is Chicago’s Arvo Zylo, a genre-defying musician who is also the host of The Delirious Insomniac Freeform Radio show on WLUW, which airs from midnight to 4AM on Monday mornings (Facebook page for the show here). Zylo sent a copy of his “333” on CD (it’s also been available in a cassette edition), an incredibly deep record whose creation spanned six years. I’ve been digging into this recording for a few months—while it makes a powerful statement on first listening, it continues to reveal new secrets every time I put it on.

The story behind this album points to discipline through adversity: “333” was started in 2003, using only an RM1x sequencer while squatting in an abandoned house, and the piece continued to evolve until being mastered in 2009. As one might expect from the circumstances of its birth, it’s a dark, bleak outing, but it’s not a simple release of rage. This is detailed work, rich in nuanced layers of sound whose precise deployment points toward careful working and reworking of every element. Most records I hear that gravitate toward harsh noise/power electronics have a certain immediacy or even haste evident in their production, but the nature of “333” involves time and architecture.

For a recording created with a device that functions essentially as a step sequencer, this music is incredibly varied—you never get the vibe of someone simply pushing buttons to move between simple sequences. And these pieces use a huge dynamic range, from walls of noise to pensive, early-industrial textures. There isn’t a lot of pitch-driven content: sounds and textures are used rhythmically, articulated with filters and other onboard effects, which is another approach I don’t often associate with sequencers. But this recording feels like it had to be made, and it transcends its limited equipment resources as though the music couldn’t be stopped.

“333” is made of three long compositions. The first, “Quicksand Eggs of a Beaten Pathos,” is over 30 minutes, quite a ride on its own. “Quicksand” starts with a short bass-driven introduction before leaping headfirst into walls of sound. Power electronics textures dominate until we reach the 7-minute mark, where a midrange riff begins to take over. The interplay between evolving textures and riffs continues for much of the piece, punctuated with really harsh rhythms that propel the music forward. Around 18 minutes, the piece dissolves into near-silence, eventually coalescing into a really cool synth ostinato figure, turning on itself repeatedly, and this section gets extensively reworked with sections of pads and countermelodies that shift focus momentarily toward harmonic function. Some almost drum & bass-sounding rhythms bring up the energy toward the end, followed by some stuttering rhythmic stabs and heavily filtered synth blips. From drones to harsh noise, “Quicksand” integrates a number of compositional impulses into a powerful whole.

The other two pieces, “Deadbeat Deluxe” and “Plasthma,” are shorter, their combined length not quite reaching that of “Quicksand” alone. But these are complex pieces that travel across compositional approaches, too. “Deadbeat” uses some interesting, almost dub-like drops between rhythmic ideas, eventually melting into clusters of colliding note sequences driven by brutal quarter-note rhythms. “Plasthma’s” first half is perhaps the most texturally-driven section of the album, eventually giving way to some of the most harmonically-dominated writing on the record in its second half, which almost sounds like an early Residents recording at times. As other reviews of the album have noted, one can certainly hear a lot of early industrial, noise, and electronic music influences in “333,” but there is a certain compositional flair that combines and juxtaposes the musical sections in a more classical sense. I’m sometimes reminded of the most explosive trill/repeated-note moments in Nancarrow’s player piano studies, or “Systems Emerge”-era Flying Luttenbachers. These works all share an especially personal energy that is usually only possible when a composer is also the sole performer/programmer of their work.

Listening to this album as a purely aesthetic experience is satisfying enough, but there is a larger concept behind this music that I think is worth exploring for a deeper context. As Zylo describes it, “To this day, and for at least 9 years, the artist has seen a series of numbers, “333,” on clocks or other various places constantly; nearly every day, to the degree that it has become a fixation.” In keeping with some of the magical resonance in the early industrial movement, the “333 current” seems to play a significant role in this recording. The Thelemic tradition associated 333 with the Crossing of the Abyss, essentially a process of confronting and (hopefully) transcending the Ego, and with the figure of Chronozon, essentially a “chaos god” of the Abyss itself, beyond good and evil (but usually pretty evil-looking!). The number gets associated with concepts like forgetfulness, lies, “breaks,” redemption, and the darkness/overwhelming potential of total revelation. Later chaos magic traditions have continued to associate the 333 current/Chronozon concept with the Ego, somewhat softening the drama of the encounter to more of an acknowledgement/release process rather than confrontation/transcendence, in rituals such as Peter Carroll’s “Mass of Chronozon.”One doesn’t need to be a believer or practitioner of such traditions to find their philosophies and archetypal implications interesting, and knowing a bit about them seems to illuminate this record nicely, with its ever-shifting shapes and conversations between melodic and textural ideas. You can find more information about “333,” as well as other projects involving Arvo Zylo, at http://www.nopartofit.com. 

—Scott Scholz

I’ve been listening to a pair of recent cassette releases from Crash Symbols for a few months, and I just remembered how quickly one must strive to turn out reviews when they pertain to small-run cassette releases—my favorite of these releases is already sold out on cassette. Apologies. I’m still going to review it, because it remains available digitally, because it’s very much worth hearing, and because the proceeds go to charity. I don’t think I could have reviewed these any quicker, as my relationship with both of these recordings evolved through repeated listening. And I’ve been thinking a lot about cassette distribution in general—stay tuned for a little prognostication following these reviews…

Ender Belongs to Me - Memory

I hadn’t heard of this project before receiving this for review, and I’m glad to have checked this out. Ender Belongs to Me is apparently a duo, according to their press info, and they mostly focus on electronic pop drying itself off from a bout of melancholy. All of the tracks feature danceable arrangements, especially in terms of percussion programming, though the tempos stay a little short of high-energy dance music, and there is an extremely introverted vibe that indicates dancing alone might be more appropriate. Or moving your legs under the table. Go for it—no one will know.

The introversion is the real strength of this EP, in my estimation. So much music incorporating the kinds of percussion and synth sounds found on this recording carries a sort of timbral demand to join some kind of anthemic party. But this music is enjoyable while keeping to itself, making no demands that you match its mood. It’s conversational rather than manipulative. Sonically, many sections reminded me of the Nihiti full-length I recently reviewed, minus occasional full-on intimations of gloom. While there are glimpses of sadness that surface in these tracks, and minor keys are the order of the day, the textures are gentle, the songs evolve carefully, and you get the feeling that the redemption these songs work toward isn’t far away. 

In terms of orchestration, I really like the way piano sounds are blended into synth textures in many songs, such as the album closer, “teddymuffin,” where envelope-filtered synth tones move around a pedal-point piano in the first section, shifting to half-note piano chords with piano/synth melodies treading lightly above. The mixture of male/female combo vocals on the track work very well, too, creating melodies that transcend gender considerations. And the artwork fits nicely with the project, an abstract palette of blues and golds fractured by a diamond matrix. This one, I’m happy to report, should still be available from Crash Symbols here.

Power Animal - Exorcism

As I’ve mentioned a few times before on my blog, I was a huge fan of Power Animal’s 2010 debut, People Songs, which remains available via Bandcamp. For the last decade, I’ve followed a lot of Philadelphia-based bands with an appreciation for the unique sense of fun and joy that Philly’s fine citizens seem to impart in many genre-bending projects. To my ears, People Songs sounded like a continuation of the fun that Need New Body had been spreading in the first half of the ’00s, making deconstructed/reconstructed pop that simultaneously celebrated weirdness and togetherness. In particular, I adored the song “Copernicus,” which I still return to frequently for a pick-me-up from its repeated phrase: “Love is alive and well.”

I was very excited to hear the new Exorcism EP, and Crash Symbols was kind enough to send me a copy for review. To be honest, it’s taken me a while to warm up to it, because I had particular expectations in terms of orchestration: People Songs was a very organic record, full of live instruments, and Exorcism is much more sample-based. Both recordings started as “bedroom” demos made by Mr. Power Animal himself, Keith Hampson, but the circumstances of their completion differ significantly. People Songs was taken to Denton, TX, and its songs were converted into ambitious full-band affairs courtesy of collaboration with Sleep Whale, while the music of Exorcism remains in a sort of sample-based state that I guess I imagined would go through a similar “workshopping” process.

While I still prefer the orchestrational creativity of People Songs, I continued listening to Exorcism, trying to approach it on its own merits instead of hoping it would compete with, say, Whales and Cops. And it grew on me tremendously. Hampson’s enthusiasm and steady optimism remain fully intact, and his melodic sensibility is no less powerful. It just reminds me how significant the role of timbre has become in modern music—it can be just as important as melody, harmony, and rhythm to the reception of a given piece of music. Ordinarily, I don’t listen to much music that works with the kinds of textures on “Exorcism” compared to the more acoustic instrument emphasis of “People Songs.” But the music was there when I worked through my own feelings about the kinds of sample-edited juxtapositions that predominate here, and now I really like the record.

Considering how sample-based the original recordings already are, it’s interesting to note that this EP is  supplemented by remixes on the B side of the cassette, recontextualizing the framework of the songs and even further deconstructing their many samples. Most of them are gentle with the songforms themselves, bringing out different percussion textures rather than obliterating the original melodies, so considered together, they form an alternative look at the album rather than heavy-handed deconstructions.

Sadly, the physical version of “Exorcism” on cassette has already sold out, but you can still get it digitally here.

The future of cassettes—is the end near?

While researching Power Animal in general, I came upon this recent interview with Hampson that includes some interesting details about the process of building “Exorcism.” Many of the samples he works with in its songs were made by playing cassettes through a talking book machine. These machines can play conventional cassettes, but the audio formatting of the tapes intended to work with them is 4-track mono at 15/16 ips, rather than the 2-track stereo 1 7/8 ips of commercial cassettes. As a result, you can get ultra slowed-down and backwards audio effects out of these players if you put a commercial cassette in them, and you can drop the results into a sampler for further use.

This is tremendously interesting to me, because I work at a talking book library. The reason for these specialized-format cassettes has to do with protecting copyright—audio versions of many books are made by the National Library Service (NLS), a division of the Library of Congress, to be used by visually and physically handicapped people around the United States. In order to protect the copyright of the books, they were made into specialized format cassettes so that they can’t be used on a regular cassette player.

Much has already been written about “cassette culture,” and I’m not going to get into it here other than to say that I share an adoration for the humble format, and I treasure its significant role in reducing the grip major labels had on the distribution of all music back when vinyl was the dominant format. But I may have some news of interest to the many labels, artists, and fans who are participating in the current revival of cassettes: the end may be near.

When commercial cassettes declined in popularity, NLS continued to make books on cassette for its collections around the country, and the millions of cassettes they use were enough to keep some cassette manufacturing and duplicating places in business. But talking book libraries are transitioning to a new flash memory-based format right now. No books have been produced on cassette for several years, but magazines have continued to circulate on cassette, still requiring a lot of cassettes to be made.

That is likely to change within a year—there is currently an rfp being offered for companies to produce magazines in the new digital format. Once that happens, NLS will no longer have a need for cassettes, and the already-diminished number of sources for blank cassettes and duplication (which NLS was already monitoring in 2005) will probably disappear very quickly. So if you’re a tape label, or a fan of tape labels, my advice is to make 2012 your best year ever. If you’re relying on new cassettes and professional duplication, I wouldn’t delay your projects. Get those tapes out this year, or you may find yourself trolling thrift stores for tapes and boxes in the near future.

—Scott Scholz

This is my annual Summer Mix. I went a little bit more “DJ” this time around, building a few original productions to aid in transitions, and adding in annoying watermarks here and there. Also, the Shabazz track is a micromix of my favorite moments from their Live at KEXP EP. Enjoy.

1. Shabazz Palaces - A Replica of a Copy of a Knock-Off

2. Dj Liliocox Feat Dj EDyFoOx - Acredita 2o12 # Locura Produções V.1 #

3. Le1f - Wut (Prod. by 5kinAndBone5)

4. Araabmuzik - Lost In A Maze

5. Kingdom - Bust Broke

6. Hudson Mohawke - Allhot (Feat. Nadsroic)

7. Traxman - Rock You

8. Tom Ze - A Felicidade

9. Rustie - Hover Traps

10. PPP - Luv Affair (Feat. Coultrain)

11. Dj EDiiFOx - Tatiana Paris 2ªVersão[2010].wmv

12. French Montana - Shot Caller/ Lords of the Underground - Funky Child

13. Prince - The Ballad of Dorothy Parker

14. Dj edifox - Outro Mundo

15. Jorge Ben - Jorge De Capadocia

16. Kitty Pryde - Aw Shawty 2:: THE SHREKONING!!!!!!!!!

17. Jam City - Strawberries

http://soundcloud.com/alex-tedesco/summer-mix-2012-5