ambient

Fairytales and Lullabies

brittany — Mon, 13 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Sol Skugga is someone I need to keep my eye on. Her third album, Fairytales and Lullabies, is a well-mixed collection of electronica, ambiance, and folk. Skugga wrote, mixed, and produced her own tracks. Clearly a collector of sound, her long list of instruments include vocals, piano, acoustic and electric guitars, "electronic drums in all shapes," ambient sounds, synthesizers, samplings of Nordic nature, and rhythm instrumentation. She effortlessly merges the traditional with the experimental, topping it off with magical elements. Be still, my beating heart.

The first two tracks on the album are delectable electronic songs. The third track "Burn Her" is a complete surprise; classical and Medieval sounding folk with rock elements was the last thing I was expecting to hear. Though it's completely unexpected, it is equally wonderful. "Letter To Myself" really made me want to waltz with David Bowie in a hallucinated ballroom while wearing a beautiful dress. "I Had My Share" is a folksy rock tune. I was happy that the album ended on a classical flavored note with possibly Skugga's best vocals of the entire lot.

It's cliche to say that every interesting female artist to have ever existed sounds like Tori Amos and/or Kate Bush; however, Skugga's vocals did remind me of them both. "I Wanna Know" reminded me of listening to Tori Amos' "Hey Jupiter" when I was sixteen. I also felt a Madonna vibe going on, especially in "Share Tonight" and "Sweet Lullaby", when her wavering vocals were backed by predominantly electronic sound (Confessions on a Dance Floor came to mind). In any case, Skugga’s vocals are both new and familiar, often taking a front seat in her songs.

On Fairytales and Lullabies, Sol Skugga has proven herself as a multi-talented, electronic musician, and modern day bard.

Written by: Jacquie Piasta, September 13th 2010

Zebra

admin — Sat, 19 Dec 2009 00:59:00 +0000

By Karl Blau

K Records

“When you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras,” admonishes the medical aphorism. There are some quiet percussive hoof beats in “Goodbye Little Song” and other tracks on Karl Blau's new twelve-song release, Zebra.

“Waiting for the Wind” opens with bells that sound like wind chimes and a relaxing vibe. The tempo picks up on “Dark Sedan Returns,” but returns to a righteous sedateness. These are tunes that I wouldn't mind falling asleep to—but in a good way.

The jazz on Zebra is not paint-peeling experimentalism, but strolls between the strangely soporific and strongly folkish. Masterful, evocative, with a kind baritone, the entire project seems somewhat pop-ambient, folk-ambivalent, and has a global flair; the African influence is evident. Karl Blau is a well-traveled musician. He has toured Japan twice, Europe last spring, and both coasts of the United States. He's currently touring with LAKE, but perhaps Africa is next.

“Black with white stripes or white with black stripes?” asks Blau's MySpace page. The alternating stripes mean that this is not a bad zebra to think of.

Written by: Erika Mikkalo, December 18th 2009

Fabric 47

admin — Thu, 08 Oct 2009 17:10:00 +0000

By Jay Haze

Fabric Records

For the thumping album Fabric 47, Jay Haze, the Pennsylvania-born and Berlin-based teamed up with the series of compilation albums produced by the legendary London nightclub of the same name. Haze is the quintessential renaissance man with experience in running multiple record labels and starting up the online electronic music magazine Textone in 2003, all while producing both collaborative and solo albums. His music has been described as psychedelic, but I didn’t get psychedelic so much as I did sultry and subtly climactic. For instance in “Mellow Dee” Haze (featuring Ricardo Villalobos) takes a melody that, when removed from its down tempo context, would seem almost creepy and ominous, but he turns out a track that slowly builds the musical equivalent of an orgasm. My favorite track is “An Hour to Fly” by Lil Dirty Ghetto Bastard, this kind of galloping tempo is definitely a personal favorite of mine, but when simple piano notes and a drum n’ bass beat are merged, Haze creates one of the most sensual tracks on the album.

Fabric 47 is much less lumbering than the last Fabric album to which I listened. It has natural transitions and is an exceedingly cohesive album with a much bouncier and more accessible recurring rhythm. It was most definitely more danceable, and less exhausting; it could just as easily be played at a low volume for more ambient sound than it could being pulsed through massive speakers in a club. I found it to draw much on creative transitions and other genres and less on heavy-handed electronic clichés.

Haze’s album is welcoming and versatile, a compilation that I imagine even people with rather narrow ideas of music would respond to. One can’t help but react to the throbbing sensual beats with, at the very least, a tap of a foot or the bob of one’s head. His sound could easily be compared to French house DJ Stéphane Pompougnac's Hotel Costes series which cleverly mixes tempos and genres in an inspired and refreshing way.

Without a doubt, in my future I see more Jay Haze. This compilation indicates an aptitude of what makes people move and a mastery of musical devices that make listeners yearn for more.

Written by: Erin K. Murphy, October 8th 2009

Rainwater Cassette Exchange

admin — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 23:25:00 +0000

By Deerhunter

Kranky

Deerhunter's latest album, Rainwater Cassette Exchange, is just five songs in fifteen minutes. Five songs perfectly placed and executed, there is nothing superfluous and nothing lacking. The five-piece group creates an experimental synthesis of noise pop, shoegaze and psych rock to produce an incredibly refreshing and complete masterpiece.

Rainwater Cassette Exchange is vivid, mesmerizing and transcendent. Ethereal vocals and fuzzy guitars coalesce with heart-pumping bass lines as they transport the listener to another world. The band draws on bells, slide guitars, organs, synths, theremins, and more to produce a disorienting and stunningly beautiful sound.

Ghostly echoes and ambient reverb are offset by dark lyrics charged with raw human struggle. When singer Bradford Cox asks, "Do you believe in love at first sight?" the response is taunting resignation: "Oh yes my son, I did before I died. And now it does me no good on the other side." The vocals are sweetly hypnotic, but they are also foreboding and tormented.

While it seems impossible to choose a favorite, "Disappearing Ink" is one of the best tracks on Rainwater Cassette Exchange. The song fearlessly drives the album with untiring guitar riffs, pulsating bass lines, slurring vocals and airy moans. Despite using disappearing ink, "the words still sting." The song leaves no room to escape the inevitability of pain and suffering. Thrashing drums finish the song with a naked moment of self-loathing, "What was I thinking? What was I thinking?"

Each song on this album cleverly develops complex themes of impermanence, mortality, futility and our susceptibility to life's merciless unpredictability. Cox gives us a taste of his own experience struggling with Marfan syndrome, a genetic disorder characterized by abnormally long limbs and a proneness to heart disease.

What's truly gripping about this album is that with each listen, there is something new. What at first sounds distorted and chaotic becomes deliberate and clear. What sounds encouraging and optimistic is fraught with conflict and distress. There is something in these carefully crafted songs, traversing the gamut of competing human thoughts and emotions, that is both disturbing and cathartic. The depth and complexity of each song make every listen better than the last.

Deerhunter has composed an album that intoxicates listeners as it gracefully navigates beyond contradictions. It is upbeat and drenched in anguish. It is confident and exposed. It is both deer and hunter.

Written by: Sofia Marin, September 28th 2009

Troubled, Shaken Etc.

admin — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 17:12:00 +0000

By Sian Alice Group

The Social Registry

British rock band Sian Alice Group’s latest effort can be categorized somewhere between prog rock, ambient folk, and experimental. Clocking in anywhere between two and eight minutes, their songs wind around and bump up against one another, creating a cohesive sophomore album. Troubled, Shaken Etc., in all its bewildering glory, is the followup to their critically acclaimed 59:59.

On "First Song - Angelina" and "Close to the Ground"—one of the album's most memorable tracks—Sian Ahern's haunting vocals carry the tune over lilting piano melodies and fading percussion. While never an imposing front woman, it’s clear—not just from the band’s chosen name—that Ahern is a force with which to be reckoned. What can I say? I like tough gals with delicate voices.

Even at only 1:55, “Longstrakt” is a memorable track, reminiscent of label mates Gang Gang Dance with its hypnotic, repetitive percussion. Want to be instantly transported into a psychedelic horror film? This is the song for you.

While the entire album shifts moods and structure repeatedly, it retains a cohesive quality. It fades as forgettable background music if you stop paying attention, but take it to a listening party with your super hip composer friends and impress them all with your ability to listen to the album tracks out of order.

Bands on The Social Registry label are often uninhibited by confusing rhythms, comfortable with unconventional songwriting and vocal abilities. Sian Alice Group is no exception, though it should be noted that their ethereal sounds may be more listenable than other musicians who keep the same professional ties. This is more fact than strength or weakness.

On tour in the U.S. starting in September, their casual post-rock shows ought to be worth entrance fees, if not the token t-shirt.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, September 27th 2009

A Ways Away

admin — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 09:11:00 +0000

By Tara Jane O'Neil

K Records

I think I’m genetically predisposed to rock; it’s in my blood or something. I want things to be loud, sometimes fast, and always frantic. I like it when a bass line’s so fat you can feel it in your crotch. I like it when guitars rip through your eardrums. I especially like it when a drum beat is so loud you can mistake it for your own pulse. I want to hear something in the singer’s voice that essentially says, “I will sing these words as if my life depends on it.”

There are exceptions, of course, like when I listen to Elliott Smith, though it could be said the same rules apply—just in reverse. The quieter and more timid music is, the more crazed I feel. Tara Jane O’Neil’s fifth album is definitely in the “softer” category of music. It did not turn me into the crazed, emotional wreck I often become after the first chords of “Needle in the Hay,” but A Ways Away is pretty in its own distinct way.

I expect a lot of female singer-songwriters. Some might say that makes me sexist, but I just say it makes me demanding. I don’t want cliché, Lilith Fair-type, boyfriend-inspired angst, and I definitely don’t want watered down, Top 40 love ballads. I just want the music to be real and achingly beautiful. I want it to perfectly encapsulate something unique to the female experience, is that too much to ask?

TJO’s album has a quiet power that’s hard to describe. I, to this day, don’t know any of the lyrics on A Ways Away even after repeated listens, but each and every song on the record sounds like a lovesick lullaby for grownups. There are gentle, reverberating sounds everywhere, and shaky, childlike singing. If you close your eyes long enough while listening to “Dig In” or “Pearl into Sand,” you begin to think of first kisses, the electricity of love, and long, warm summers that were spent doing nothing in particular yet still managed to feel larger than life. I don’t know about you, but I’m of the opinion that that’s a major accomplishment for a timid little record.

Written by: Tina Vasquez, August 2nd 2009

Meridians

admin — Mon, 25 May 2009 00:55:00 +0000

By Valerie Mih

Meridians is a very “new age” title for an album. You may hear the word “meridians” all the time without knowing what it means, and when you look it up, you still don’t. You know it’s about circles and zeniths and acupuncture references to the body’s pathways to energy—but can you use it in a sentence?

When I worked at a record store (yes, a record store) in the '90s, we had an entire new age section. Vangelis, Yanni, John Tesh—there was a studied blandness to their music. New age fans were just as serious about blandness—serious about their wool socks, scented candles, and herbal tea music. So I didn’t expect to like Meridians—but I did.

Have I become the demographic of wool socks? Maybe I’m more open to this kind of music. I’m not dancing on tables to Lady Gaga (not every night anyway). I want to relax. I want to “de-stress.” I want candles and herbal teas.

Mih’s first note on the album is her body—she exhales and breathes life into the title song. This exhale lasts two seconds, but it sets the tone of emotional connection and presence throughout her work. I know, I know—how new age. Yet most new age music has a forced sense of completion, and the emotional complexity of a pod-person. It is one with the universe, end of story. But Mih’s breathing is not I-am-one-with-the-universe. Instead it is more I-am-a-woman-tired-at-the-end-of-her-day. Let-me-be-saved-by-my-music.

The experimental arrangements of Mih’s piano, vocals, keyboard, and accordion also add to the emotional depth, and reflect the not always beatific path to tranquility. Her voice is reminiscent of an English chorus in “Meridians,” “Flow,” and the end track, “Circular Dreaming.” The accordion and the bell sounds of keyboard add subtle tension to “Meridians.” However, the same bells are overdone in “Interwoven” where they take a melodramatic turn of suspense that would be at home in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

Mih’s experimental best is “Saturn’s Rings,” where I’m not sure if she is breathing again as music or if the keyboards are replicating the sound. The keyboard could also be evoking a computer as it runs a program—the sound of a computer breathing. Whichever the case, this interplay of sounds provide an interesting juxtaposition of music, nature and technology. The plaintive accordion of this song is one of the most memorable sections of this album.

Yet some of Mih’s works are less experimental and more direct. “Little One,” “Reflections” and “Sacred Sound” are impassioned selections with the piano as the only instrument. “Autumn” is also centered on the piano, but the repetitive chords get in the way of this song. Although they could be a statement about the cyclical nature of seasons, the repetition can be excessive. Yet it’s the dissonant chords at the end of “Autumn” that conversely provide closure.

Meridians may share aspects of new age music, but I wouldn’t call Valerie Mih new age. She could be an instrumental version of Enya or the Cocteau Twins. Where those artists used their voices to create a surreal auditory landscape, Mih uses her piano, keyboard and accordion. There could even be a classical parallel with the French composer Claude Debussy.

So, yes, not what I expected. Valerie Mih’s album reconnects the listener to the emotional experience of music and leaves you elevated. No blandness here. Except for those wool socks.

Written by: Andrea Dulanto, May 24th 2009

Over Air

admin — Sun, 10 May 2009 00:36:00 +0000

By Gregor Samsa

One can safely assume that any band that names itself after the main character in Franz Kafka's “The Metamorphosis” is going to be interesting, to say the least. It would not be safe to assume, however, that the music made by Gregor Samsa feels as overwhelmed and ugly as Kafka's evolving man-creature. On the contrary, their creation is a precise tranquil poetry, twinkling and shivering like streetlights on snow.

With eight current members and thirteen past contributors, this mega-group from Richmond, Virginia is bursting at the seams with folks ready to make a joyful noise. Although main man Champ Bennett sounds more like the mustachioed villain from a schlocky 1970s sports movie than the front man of an ethereal slowcore band, it is the group's combination of supple male and female harmonies (courtesy of Bennett and Nikki King), as well as the slow-and-steady snail's pace of their songs, that has led critics to compare Gregor Samsa to perennial indie favorites Low. Plus, how can anyone resist a band so nerdy-clever that they would name their 2003 release 27:36 and their 2006 album 55:12? I know I can't. For the mathematically-challenged who might not appreciate the humor, the title of the 2006 album is exactly twice as long time-wise as that of the 2003 album. A watered-down, but still charming, form of this clever humor is at work on this collection's third track, the pure lulling “Three.”

Multi-cultural references don't stop with the group name. The first track, “Ain Leuh,” is the name of a Moroccan village, while “Jeroen Van Aken” is titled after also the birth name of Dutch painter Hieronymus Bosch. It is also the longest track on Over Air, clocking in at just over nine minutes. Despite the length and the group's naturally rested pace, the song never feels that long. It's a personal favorite, thanks to both the art reference and to the chorus: “It seems the Devil's got a grip on me.” This seems oddly appropriate, given Bosch's infatuation with religious themes in his paintings. An alternative mix of “Du Meine Leise (that's “you, my gentle one” in German) is a questioning love song supported by a grinding undercurrent that seems menacing at first, but somehow manages to become uplifting.

Over Air was recorded in May 2008 for Dutch broadcasting organization VPRO and while a limited edition release (I received #340 out of 1500), it serves as a good introduction to Gregor Samsa's blend of classical styling and gentle ambient electronica. Six out of nine audio tracks were previously released on other recordings; most of them were culled from their 2007 album Rest, while “Young And Old”—the only song on Over Air with a crescendo—first appeared in 2006 on 55:12.

My only complaint about the album stems from technical problems. Over Air is an enhanced disc, but I found myself unable to access the video features on the copy I received.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, May 9th 2009

Fabric 40

admin — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 17:58:00 +0000

By Mark Farina

Fabric Records

Mark Farina, a San Francisco-based DJ, is a mainstay on the electronic scene. What began as an exploration of the house genre has now become Farina’s inimitable musical echo. The globetrotting performer is known for his genre versatility, but also his distinctive cocktail of Chicago urban, jazzy reverberation with San Francisco sound. While he’s also known for his down tempo grooves, Fabric 40 is nothing of the sort. Fabric is a series of compilation albums produced by the eponymous London nightclub, with the most recent mix by Chile’s Luciano.

I am sucker for anything that presents itself as a non-stop party, and Fabric 40, initially, is a generally bouncy invitation to dance, but I found a few of the transitions clumsy and forced. Farina’s compilation possessed a slightly anti-climactic feel to it, making it perfectly suitable for ambient music, but at times, I felt uninterested, or, unfortunately, like I had just tuned out 10 minutes of heaving drum n’ bass.

I grew weary about half-way through, and I wish that it better showcased the DJ’s versatility and musical creativity. Farina clearly didn’t strive for this compilation to be tuned out, but to excite the dancing shoes of his loyal fans. Regrettably, it fell short of his intent to keep the party bumpin’.

Written by: Erin K. Murphy, July 28th 2008

Canon / Verses

admin — Mon, 29 Oct 2007 11:47:00 +0000

By Ani DiFranco

Righteous Babe Records, Seven Stories Press

Being an Ani DiFranco fan has been a part of pretty much every feminist’s rite of passage since she came on the scene in the early ‘90s with the release of her self-titled album. Now seventeen years, two DVDs, and nearly thirty albums (including remixes, tributes, and live discs) later, DiFranco has simultaneously released a retrospective double-CD and book of poetry that show just how much she has grown personally, politically, and artistically. Both are an inspiration to all of us as we make our way through our own lifelong journeys.

One thing DiFranco has always been good at is creating songs that resonate deeply with girls and women. We listen to her because we can identify with where she’s been or where she’s at now, and because she gives us a little hope that we, too, can navigate life’s difficulties with the grace that DiFranco writes about in her songs and poems.

Canon is a collection of thirty-six songs that were chosen by DiFranco herself as best works, which, even as a double-disc set, is nowhere near comprehensive considering the multitude of tunes she has to choose from. A bonus for fans is the inclusion of re-imagined and re-recorded versions of old favorites “Napoleon,” “Shameless,” “Your Next Bold Move,” “Both Hands,” and “Overlap.” Inevitably there will be complaints of the omission of this song or that song (indeed, entire albums are absent), but the truth is that new fans and diehards alike can easily and satisfactorily kick back with this sampling. The album shows the breadth not only of DiFranco’s work, but also the influence of musicians she’s played with along the way (e.g., Sara Lee, Andy Stochansky, Julie Wolf, Todd Sickafoose).

Always introspective, DiFranco’s somewhat chronological (though heavily pulling from more recent albums) musical selections reflect the long and difficult road that every woman has to pave for herself. At times the road is fun and easy, but it’s also fraught with challenges that may be anticipated, precipitous, or elusive. This is reflected lyrically, as well as in the shifts in instrumentation, style, and genre.

In recent years, DiFranco has pushed herself as a musician, venturing away from the ‘folk rock’ label that she had been branded with early on in her career, and moving toward a more eclectic blend of ambient, jazz, and blues. Her classic storytelling style is more self-aware and less dogmatic, which indicates that she’s settled into herself – something else I find immensely appealing about this work.

Verses gives an even wider peek into DiFranco’s artistic process. The book features several previously unpublished poetic works and showcases, for the first time, over twenty paintings and drawings - some abstract and others more straightforward. This was a risk on DiFranco’s part, but one that pays off as they compliment the written words that appear alongside them in this collection. The only downside of Verses is the somewhat awkward “conversation” between DiFranco and mentor Sekou Sundiata, a professor of literature at The New School in New York City, which seems to consist of re-configured emails between the two because of its disjointedness and lack of clarity regarding its relevance to the rest of the book. Perhaps this should be revisited in future printings.

I think I better understand now themes in DiFranco's work that eluded me when some of these albums were released: meaningful lessons about the struggle to maintain (and let go of) love relationships, the chore of unlearning inherited family dynamics, the development of personal strength (and forgiving ourselves for our weakness), learning by making a lifetime of mistakes, and the complexity of it all amidst a bitterly polarized and oppressive political world. DiFranco is holding onto personal responsibility in a way that only comes from the wisdom of lived experience, failed idealism, and continuing to pick oneself up after being knocked down again and again. This is certainly a pinnacle point in DiFranco’s career, and what she does next is anyone’s guess. She just wants us to know that she’s not done. We want her to know that we’re not done either.

Written by: Mandy Van Deven, October 29th 2007

Shades of a Vast Moment

admin — Sat, 30 Dec 2006 13:26:00 +0000

By Void’s Anatomy

Studio Midaltern

The album is a melodic tale of sorrow, a search for meaning within the circle of life. It is mixture of ambient, lounge-y, jazzy tunes, which flow like a stream of water from beginning to end. The first song, “Inner Out,” could be the music score for an off-Broadway play. It lends itself to abstract visual interpretations, casting shadows moving through sound. The dark and eerie voices are akin to Sinead O’Connor’s lamenting voice. With lines such as “life sleeps with agony, and ashes came right through the dead part of you” the songs are solemn contemplations. Shades of a Vast Moment needs complete attention in order to catch all the subtleties within the lyrics and the music. I’d recommend putting your feet up and listening to it with a nice glass of port or, for those not partaking in alcohol, a thai tea perhaps.

Written by: Dianne Bowen, December 30th 2006