noise

Grinderman 2

tina — Sun, 31 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

Being a female Nick Cave fan is perilous. I'd say that it's on par with being a female James Bond fan.

In both instances, women are depicted as vixens, victims, or passive receptors for sexually frustrated man-boys with clear objectives. In the case of James Bond, his objective has always been to triumph over various manifestations of Cold War-style evil in the name of God (or God's emissary, the Queen), gold, and glory. As a feminist, I know logically that Bond is misogynist tripe. Yet as an Anglophile and Cold War wonk, I simply cannot get enough of 007. Similarly, in the case of Nick Cave, his decades-long objective has been to triumph over the evil mediocrity of sub-par music in the name of God, girls, and (noisy) genius. As a feminist, I know logically that women are props in Cave's literate songs, propelling him along from one metaphor to the next. Yet as a discerning music fan with a penchant for the seedy and unseemly, I simply cannot get enough of him.

Aussie Cave started his music career in Melbourne as the front man for the Birthday Party. That group's badgering frenetic dissonance was difficult to sustain and they soon imploded under the weight. Before long, Cave launched Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, by far his most successful venture. Since The Bad Seeds, Cave has written books, screenplays, and scored a couple of searing Western films, including The Proposition and The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford. Now he's fronting yet another band, the frightening, reverently shambolic Grinderman.

The first eponymous Grinderman release came out in 2007. Comprised of eleven gloriously cacophonous songs that could dislodge fillings if played loudly enough, Grinderman was a tongue-in-cheek tribute to the insecurities of the aging male rock star—one that could easily be mistaken for sexist noise. Example: “No Pussy Blues,” which starts with a clacking typewriter and the words "My face is finished/My body's gone/And I can't help but think/Standing up here in all this applause/And gazing down at all the young and the beautiful/With their questioning eyes/That I must above all things love myself." It then leads into the tale of one man's desperate attempt to get the attention of one such beautiful young coquette.

Now there's the sequel: Grinderman 2. The deluxe edition comes with an illustrated sixty-page booklet, as well as a fold-out poster. The poster depicts the band looking blasé while dressed in plastic gladiator costumes and lounging about on what appears to be a high school cafeteria stage. We clearly see them here as elevated men who have grown weary of the unrealistic expectation that they be deities.

The men in these songs are fed up with what they perceive as lives wasted on empty pursuits (cited as “booze, drugs, husbands, wives, and making money” on “When My Baby Comes”), especially in light of the crazed chaos being created by the ubiquitous and wicked “they.” The women in these songs have no names. They are all “her,” or are spoken of in a possessive context: “my girl,” “my baby”—relevant only in relation to each song's male protagonist. We are never made aware of the women’s responses to the questions posed/actions taken by the men addressing them.

This album’s nine songs act as a different manifestation of the midlife crisis shown on the first album. Where Grinderman was all sweaty frustrated id, Grinderman 2 teeters back and forth between the realism of ego and the moralizing of super-ego. Here be monsters—noisy apocalyptic crypto-zoological monsters, like the Loch Ness Monster and the Abominable Snowman—as depicted to great tragicomic effect with the song “Worm Tamer.” From its snarling wolf on the cover and its songs about “Evil” and a “Heathen Child,” Grinderman 2 feels vicious, choked with a brutish fatalistic beauty.

Written by: M. Brianna Stallings, October 31st 2010

Newborn Slime/White Light Split

admin — Sun, 06 Jun 2010 00:00:00 +0000

By Castle Oldchair, Kid Primitive Family

Graymalkin Productions

According to the Musical Family Tree website, musician Kid Primitive was so “enchanted” by the album Newborn Slime, by Castle Oldchair, that he felt the need to “create a sister album for it.” So, here we have the two albums together, like peanut butter and jelly smashed at the bottom of your book bag. Could this be a match made in heaven? Or will this double album make you wish you had brought money for the lunch lady special?

Let me describe it this way: you know that guy at the party who everyone tries to avoid because he’s rolling on E, or has taken a fistful of psilocybin mushrooms, or both? You know the one: his eyes are like cartoon swirls and he will somehow manage to corner you and talk for two hours about mystical fortresses, tiger princesses, aliens, and bizarre Greek philosophies you’re pretty sure never existed? Put that guy in a room with a karaoke machine and two adolescent boys making farting noises with their armpits, and what you get is Newborn Slime/White Light.

I suppose you could call the album essentially a cappella, since there are really only two tracks with instruments. Some a cappella albums, like Björk’s Medúlla, are excellent. Newborn Slime/White Light sounds roughly like an Andre the Giant or Sloth from The Goonies flatulence celebration. There are a few passable attempts at beatboxing on tracks like "Thanks with an X," but generally those disintegrate rapidly into moaning, bleating, lip farting/raspberry making, and spoken word-esque vocals that sound like they are being squeezed out of a pinched balloon.

Nearly every track on the album is physically difficult to endure. Frankly, I’m fairly certain there were only two songs that kept the headphones in my ears throughout the whole experience: “Innerlewd” and “Outerlewd,” the only guitar tracks on the album. Both have some pleasant and even interestingly technical guitar picking, and effectively kept me hoping that there was light at the end of a very bleak tunnel.

“Innerlewd” and “Outerlewd” show that these guys do have some talent for writing interesting stuff. A quick peek at their respective MySpace pages also reveals that they are capable of creating listenable-even likable-music. Perhaps, however, these are simply fleeting moments of clarity in an otherwise viscous heap of unpleasant detritus that I would rather not have to wade through. For me, music has to be an experience that I enjoy or somehow get something out of. It can be painful, cathartic, or abrasive, as long as there is some link to some kind of worthwhile experience. I just can't seem to find that here, in a mountain of noises that sound essentially like "horny cats getting hit by cars" or the "annoying yet tortured ghost of Wallace Shawn" (those were actual notes I wrote in my notebook as I listened to the album for the first time). Unfortunately, I’m fairly certain a true appreciation of this album is only accessible through a large quantity of illicit substances, which is also the best argument against drug use I’ve ever heard.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, June 5th 2010

From A Basement On The Hill

admin — Sun, 09 May 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Elliott Smith

Kill Rock Stars

My indie cred—if you want to call it that—is this: I was at one of Elliott Smith’s last shows. At the Northwestern University A&O Ball in 2002, Smith attempted to open for Wilco, fumbling with his guitar, breaking a string, complaining that his hand fell asleep, and never really finishing a song before trudging off stage an hour later. My friends and I were so angry and disappointed. “Is he on drugs?” If only we’d known the truth. If only anyone had known what was to come. A year and a half later, Smith committed suicide by stabbing himself in the chest.

I love Elliott Smith's music. I’m a sad former college radio nerd who grew up at the height of his popularity. “Miss Misery” is undoubtedly one of my favorite songs, in part because I love any movie shot in Boston and featuring under-the-radar music. But after he died, I couldn’t bring myself to listen to From a Basement on the Hill. Tragically, I’m a pro at handling death in the short term, but posthumous releases sort of freak me out. What’s done is done, right? What does it mean if the artist isn’t here to be a part of the production or release of his or her work? Only recently did I pick up some posthumous 2Pac and feel good about it. A decade later, I apparently come around.

Kill Rock Stars, arbiter of northwestern indie cool, recently got the rights to the 2004 release from ANTI-. Anyone who got a first listen in, well, the past five years, knows that this album is beautiful but sad. Songs like “A Fond Farewell” are reminiscent of XO. Others dabble in noise rock with strange layers of buzzing and bird noises attached. The album, sort of like Smith’s life, feels like a celebration on a rainy day. You could try to be the happiest person in the world, attempting revelry with friends, but inevitably, there will be a dark cloud on the horizon. That’s just how some of us are made.

Such a large percentage of From a Basement on the Hill deals in morbid fare: goodbyes, being a fuck up, memories, drugs, feeling lost, trying to keep it together. I’m not the first to say that it all feels foreboding, even now that we know the end of the story.

But you don’t listen to think back in sadness. You listen to remember why you ever listened at all. Elliott Smith made incredible music during his short time on Earth. If you’re as silly as I was—to largely overlook this album for the last few years—go grab a copy and remember the good times with the floppy-haired guy with the acoustic guitar and mellow voice. And if you never discovered Smith while he was alive, you still have time. Take advantage.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, May 9th 2010

Daggers at the Moon

admin — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 09:00:00 +0000

By Hawnay Troof

I’m not sure whether Vice Cooler is insane, or a genius, or an insane genius. One thing is certain: Cooler is busy. He’s toured with Peaches (there is a video of them on his MySpace page doing a very naughty version of a certain Gwen Stefani song that won’t soon leave your memory), he also has written a book, and continues to contribute to magazines like Vice and Rolling Stone. His solo project, Hawnay Troof (he also is a member of the band xBxRx), is sort of a mash up of the Beastie Boys and mid-nineties Beck. He’s brattier and less laid-back than Beck, for sure, but less stripped down than the Beasties. There’s also an element of M.I.A. in there—I can hear “Bamboo Banga” in my head as I listen to “Body Armageddon” in particular.

He’s certainly got a “WTF” factor in his music—that little bit of “What the F#@k?!?” that definitely makes it interesting and keeps it in constant rotation in my CD player (yes, that’s right, I said CD player. Mid-nineties represent!). The guy is gutsy, after all—he starts his newest album with a repeated noise that sounds like someone saying “duh” over and over again on a skipping CD (and yes, I did have to check my disc player to make sure the disc wasn’t scratched).

The sound lasts more than a minute on repeat before other music kicks in. That’s something that other artists do for a hidden track—not for the first taste of a new album. I suppose much of the album isn’t really a “WTF” factor so much as a “F-it” factor… and not in a bad way. He’s an artist that knows what he likes, and doesn’t really care if the first minute of a new album is something that most of the listening public will probably skip over to get to the rest of the music. When the music does kick in, however, it is fantastic.

One of my favorites is “Said Once” which starts out sounding like an early Nine Inch Nails song and finishes like something off of Mellow Gold. The video is weirdly scary—I’ve never before been so creeped out by canned beans, popsicles, and cowboys. I’m disappointed, to say the least, that he wasn’t a part of the Peaches show that I recently witnessed at the TLA in Philadelphia, because I would absolutely have been singing along with his music just like I was with her music.

Do yourself a favor and check out his MySpace page, in particular. Like Peaches, he’s got some incredible music videos that MTV probably will never show, posted there—just be prepared for some serious “WTF” moments.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, January 31st 2010

Arminico Hewa

admin — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 09:13:00 +0000

By OOIOO

Thrill Jockey

When I was twenty, I flew off to Japan one spring with a stated mission “to be alone.” While this may sound more glamorous than it actually was, I did accomplish my goal. Unable to speak to anyone, wandering between cities and sights in dazed confusion, I was undeniably alone. It was either the best ten days of my life or the strangest—and really, it was probably both.

Japanese band OOIOO recreate the strangeness of that experience. Their all-female lineup, which has made space for the likes of Sean Lennon in the past, plays a mix of experimental and minimalist noise rock. Much like their counterpart band, The Boredoms, OOIOO vacillate between enjoyably listenable and disturbingly avant garde.

On Arminico Hewa, tracks range from under two minutes to over six. Songs like “Ironrun” and “Konjo” run together and sound like Japanese tribal chants—if such a thing exists outside of a Kabuki theater. “Polacca” could almost be mistaken for a rock song. For balance, tracks like “Ulda” bring to mind the shoegaze fuzz of My Bloody Valentine. MBV's Kevin Shields scored much of the music for Lost In Translation. It all comes together, no?

My partner’s brother—a twin in DNA only—recently returned from a conference in Osaka with pleasant things to say about his time abroad. While I’ve recently warmed to the idea of returning to the islands nation, I’d no doubt do better with some company this time. As demonstrated by the constantly shifting OOIOO lineup, comfort—or at least safety—comes in numbers.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, October 20th 2009

Rated O

admin — Wed, 14 Oct 2009 08:24:00 +0000

By Oneida

Jagjaguwar

Brooklyn’s noise rockers Oneida revel in not being able to be pinned down to a definition. They also are enormously motivated, as their newest offering, the triple album Rated O, can attest. While they have been classified as psych rock or krautrock, the influences on Rated O are wide ranging. The record gets started with a clear nod to Nigerian Disco Funk with “Brownout in Lagos,” and goes on to resemble the soundtrack to the soundtrack for a videogame from a dystopian future on “10:30 at the Oasis.”

The record captures Oneida’s hypnotic noisiness with plenty of loops, guitar hum, and feedback melodies. It also features bursts of vocals, though the function more as a layer of noise and atmosphere than singing, especially on “What’s Up Jackal” and “The Human Factor.” The band also reminds listeners they still know how to write a rock song on “I Will Haunt You.” Tracks on the album are long. About a third of them clock in at over ten minutes, and the epic feeling “Folk Wisdom” over 20, but it adds to the hypnotic nature, with one song displaying enough moods for an entire album, yet also carefully building on established melodies and themes.

Oneida certainly are not for the casual listener and Rated O’s triple album length requires commitment. However, the rewards for sticking around are great. Many bands set out to make multi-layered, atmospheric albums that show off their chops, but few succeed as well as Oneida.

Written by: Eleanor Whitney, October 14th 2009

Songs for Tuesdays

admin — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 23:43:00 +0000

By Summer Cats

Slumberland Records

As their name implies, Australia’s Summer Cats' new full length Songs for Tuesdays is full of catchy, sweet melodies that are reminiscent of beach weather. Thankfully, however, the Summer Cats are not too sweet for their own good and the record packs a pleasantly noisy punch and showcases occasional fuzzed-out feedback squeak.

With their chirpy vocal lines, crunchy rhythm guitars, melodies full of jangle, and pounding drums the Summer Cats recall the hey-day of 1990s indie pop. Outfits such as Talulah Gosh, Black Tambourine, and Henry’s Dress immediately come to mind, especially on tracks such as “Let’s Go!,” “Fulton Gurls,” “In June,” and “Paperweight.” It’s fitting, then, that Songs for Tuesdays is released on the newly revived Slumberland, which released similar bands in the 1990s.

Like many indie bands with similar tastes, the Summer Cats’ sound also reaches further back. Careful listeners can pick out references to sound and scene defining bands from Australia and New Zealand, such as The Go-Betweens and The Chills. The Summer Cats lyrics relish life’s simple pleasures, a tendency particularly evident on songs such as “Waking Up.” They also revel in the tendency of modern young people to travel, or dream of traveling, singing “I could be anywhere, anywhere but here,” on “St. Tropez.”

With a full sound that bounces and bubbles along and never looses energy, Songs for Tuesdays is a solid pop record and a pleasure to listen to. In addition, Summer Cats paid close attention to the album’s design. The cover is wallpapered with images of hand-painted birds. In an age of digital downloads, this is a record worth buying.

Written by: Eleanor Whitney, October 13th 2009

Rotting Slowly

admin — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 00:08:00 +0000

By The Curious Mystery

K Records

Their name, Curious Mystery says so much. Curious instrumentation crossed with a mysterious sound as they fearlessly cover the gamut—a grab bag of indie noise rock, folk, psychedelia, country, and blues. It all works whether it’s attributed to their experimentation of sounds, or that they are just an experimental bunch, a breath of fresh air in an arguably stale climate. Trying to describe their genre to potential fans is like reciting a Last.fm blogroll; they would certainly reign with the most listings.

The title of their debut album, Rotting Slowly, makes sense too. Upon first listen, you can picture the moldy deterioration of Seattle area homes amidst damp cold oblivion. You feel the frigid night air as it travels to the bone, yet the shock is so invigorating that you’re ultimately left pining for more.

This four piece band includes Shana Cleveland and Nicolas Gonzales on vocals and guitar, along with Bradford Button on bass and Faustine B. Hudson on percussion. It’s the booming percussion and sedate vocals that drive the idiosyncrasies in their overall sound. The band does happen to call Seattle their home and you hear the influence of fuzzy guitar garage rock with languid apathetic vocals. But what makes it all compelling is their intoxicating love of roots music with an added country twang peppered with an array of homemade instruments.

The song structures are chaotic, heavy and rival label-mate Deerhoof with obscure time changes. Shared vocal duties between Cleveland and Gonzales are countered with bluesy instrumentals, all delightfully erratic and somewhat out of tune. “Dragon’s Crotch” and “Nicaragua” both automatically earn kudos for creatively awesome song titles, but also propitiously envelop these complex sonic textures with the help of an autoharp and a bluesy slide guitar. “It’s Tough” begins with a poppy blues riff, then jumps ship and evolves into an alluring almost cinematic chant. Cleveland’s coughing just out of the mic’s reach is an endearing addition to the organic edginess. “Black Sand” displays her inner Cat Power: beautifully brooding, stormy and tempestuous. The jam session between Hudson and Cleveland is a tousled impromptu alliance emulating the Memphis soul/rock grooves effortless honed by Steve Cropper and Al Jackson Jr. The beginning of “Outta California” makes you want to jump in your car and head up the interstate at suicidal speeds; it then shifts gears unexpectedly with slow slide guitars and longing, impervious vocality.

All in all, _Rotting Slowly _leaves you in a haze as you decipher the eccentric song structures with a mishmash of influential genres. Through the dismal landscape, Cleveland and Hudson take command of this outfit as their ingenious styling effortlessly support and drive the other. One can only wonder just how many more genres they can effortlessly weave into their aforementioned grab bag.

Written by: Cat Veit, July 5th 2009

Watersports

admin — Sun, 10 May 2009 10:46:00 +0000

By Mi Ami

Touch and Go

From the opening chord of Mi Ami’s Watersports, the “weird for weird’s sake” noise music is an overwhelming auditory experience. Initially it comes across as some sort of “Oh God, this sounds like stereotypical angry girl band music,” then it evolves into something more in line of tight-pants hipster music. You’ll walk away with a headache, but with a speedy rhythm in your step. This is especially obvious after “Pressure,” which, literally, pressures your eardrums into submission.

Don’t expect to find anything new here, or any sort of modern twist to what has become a very calculated formula—nasty punk rock chord changes and androgynous high-pitched vocals. Former Black Eyes members Daniel Martin-McCormick and drummer Jacob Long are featured in Mi Ami to develop a chaotic but rhythmically intense sound that is most significantly heard in “Echononecho” and “White Wife,” but the mixing and bizarre nature of Mi Ami takes away from what might have otherwise been a brilliant melding of sound.

The repetitive rolling and shrill feedback of the oddball punkfests circa the first half of this decade over-influenced the group: it’s obvious that !!! (Chk Chk Chk) and Black Dice, with some early Yeah Yeah Yeahs and the Kinks, dominated the band’s creative process. In fact, my favorite stanza from the album is in “New Guitar” where the only words I could discern were “this is just like the last one.” All I could think was “the last one ended at some point?”

The entire 43.5 minutes of the album felt more like one long jam session of atonal screaming rather than a song compilation. Huzzah for discordant disco shriekage right? Although...if you find yourself in a gym where all you have to listen to is Natasha Bedingfield’s “Pocketful of Sunshine” and Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” as I often do, the clangy punk rock really gets you riding that elliptical like a madwoman—if only I could get away!

Written by: Nic Strahl, May 10th 2009

Offend Maggie

admin — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 00:29:00 +0000

By Deerhoof

Kill Rock Stars

Some people find Deerhoof unlistenable, with sometimes manic, screeching vocals over strange instrumentation. Some critics think they're twee, and some think they’re the best of noise rock. Most cannot slap a genre label on this expectation-bending band. There is occasional yelling and human-made sound effects, "Beep beep!" You have no idea where the songs will go, or when they will end. The lyrics may not sound like English, and while they are, it is not guaranteed that they will make sense.

On Offend Maggie, Deerhoof are in their typical bizarre, hyperactive form. The production quality is through the roof, making this album perhaps more accessible than their earlier releases, though the madness of their style is retained. “Fresh Born” is a series of words associated with baby animals, repeated. "Basket Ball Get Your Groove Back" also has a repetitive chorus of, "Rebound! Rebound!" "This Is God Speaking," which can hardly be classified as a song, is a series of distorted, Charlie Brown adult-type sounds with some clanky piano notes covering the incomprehensible groans. Only one of the fourteen songs clocks in over four minutes, and the album artwork—a cover image of a faceless man wearing headphones, parallel black and white lines inside—is disturbing and wonderful.

Yet some of the tracks here are almost ballads, melodic at times, consistently beautiful if consistently weird. Opener "The Tears of Music and Love" lives somewhere in between avant-garde awkwardness and loving harmonies. "Purple Past" sounds like it could be found on any number of other indie rock records, save the stylings of Deerhoof's signature vocalist, Satomi Matsuzaki. "Family Of Others" is reminiscent of Animal Collective with its woodsy appeal and quick switches between crooning and staccato onomatopoeia. The title track is perhaps the most appealing song and even amid its goofy lyrics of "Ring ring! I hang up!" it remains almost quaint, switching between something lyre-like tinkling and heavy electric guitar.

If you suffer from migraines, hate strobe lights, and think noise rock is for annoying hipsters, you will likely hate Deerhoof. Offend Maggie is nevertheless their most enjoyable record to date, and it is some of the most approachable noise pop on the scene.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, January 1st 2009

Tickley Feather

admin — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 15:07:00 +0000

By Tickley Feather

Paw Tracks

Do you wish Animal Collective had a female member? We’re not there yet, but since Tickley Feather (nee Annie Sachs) has been opening for the band and their sometimes solo, acclaimed drummer Panda Bear recently, we may be closer to collaboration that anyone realizes.

I’ll be the first to admit that noise rock can seem insanely unlistenable if you’re used to the uncomplicated ditties mainstream radio often provides, but with a woman like Sachs, you get a lot of substance. Her first release, out on Paw Tracks (the label run by the aforementioned Collective), emphasizes her four-track love and whispery, strange vocals that can be soothing or awkward, depending on your mood. The Philadelphia-based musician has already garnered quite a bit of praise from the indie crowd, happy for a new heroine with airy vocals and minimalist instrumental tendencies. Following up collaborations on several split EPs, one critic noted that on her new album, she “sounds like she’s singing in the shower,” due to her low production quality, but again, this is endearing.

Tickley Feather does experimental folk justice, and we can use a few more ladies laying down these kind of spacey, woodsy tracks. And while you don’t need one, another reason to love her debut album: interludes between songs of a baby (hers—shout out to a single mom!) saying completely random phrases.

My best suggestion is sampling a sound like Tickley Feather’s in concert. If you enjoy the atmosphere, the people, and loopy performance style, you’ll love her album work. If not, stick to less incomprehensible freak folk or just avoid it altogether.

Written by: Brittany Shoot, March 25th 2008

Summary

admin — Fri, 06 Jul 2007 01:55:00 +0000

By BARR

5 Rue Christine

I can’t listen to this record without thinking the word "self-indulgent." Imagine you are in a room with a piano, a bass guitar, a microphone and your thoughts. Nothing is written down. In fact, the lyrics and instruments stream out in paragraphs. You talk about your life, friends, family, text message conversations. You sometimes sing, but the rest is basically spoken word.

This about sums up Barr's (Brendan Fowler and Corey Dieckman) new release, Summary. What’s important about this album is the lyrics. Fowler pushes the boundaries of what you can include in a song, but still keeps the songs relatively short. However, Barr pushes this stream-of-consciousness over a bland background of noise. While I appreciate the stripped down sound, it’s hard to pay attention to a mind-bending lyric if I only hear the same note being played over and over again. Maybe I just don’t understand the appeal, but this was a hard album to finish once. The best part? The second song is “The Song is The Single," and the lyrics tell all: “The song is the single and the single sucks/it never sounded good/it always sounded bad.” I can appreciate their honesty.

Written by: Courtney Ham, July 5th 2007

Rashaya & Resistance Cruisers

admin — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 00:47:00 +0000

By Matt Weston

Matt Weston’s album Rashaya is a fantastic piece of modern art. It is unique in that it is not a standard drum performance one would find at a symphony or pop music concert. Listening to Weston’s music is a different experience in and of itself; there is a variation in the sounds that is reminiscent of the Broadway show Stomp. The tracks have a surprising amount of expressive emotion produced from the unique instruments. Listening closely, there is an underlying accompaniment of sounds that are unusual, but add positively to the piece at large, even though you can’t quite put a finger on what instrument it is. Just when you think he is going one way with the rhythm the song goes in a whole other direction.

This album is not for the novice music listener. I recommend this for those who have a love of percussion-based music. Also I recommend it for those people, like myself, who enjoy having a little bit of everything in their musical library.

I was disappointed not to hear as much percussion on Matt Weston’s album Resistance Cruisers. It is more cacophonous electric noise than interesting and expressive percussion. The first track “It’s your Career” is the only likeable piece on the album. This piece finds balance in the mix of unique percussion with noise, which is tolerable, but becomes tedious by the end of the piece. Perhaps it is the guitarist in me, but the electric solos on this album sound like serious damage is being done to an electric guitar. During the track “Rose is the Color of my Envy,” I wanted to cry. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

Experimentation with music is good - that’s what I liked about Weston’s album Rashaya. However, the Resistance Cruisers experiment failed. This album crossed the line from edgy and new to obnoxious.

Written by: Diana Tierney, June 22nd 2007

Remixed & Covered

admin — Sun, 27 May 2007 22:54:00 +0000

By Xiu Xiu

5RC

“Experimental” and “avante garde” may be the best ways to describe a band like Xiu Xiu. In earlier years their albums have come across as mind-boggling, nearly indescribable noise. Their newest release, Remixed & Covered, offers up some big-named friends that help decode the language that is Xiu Xiu.

Some may call it pretentious and others may question its integrity, but it can certainly be said that credibility is brought to this double disc by the likes of Devendra Banhart, Gold Chains and Kid 606, to name a few. Their interpretations of Xiu Xiu’s songs bring some sort of peace to the whole “noise” experience, or at least they did for me. The songs range from dancey to drone-like, ethereal, to heavily synthed. Oxbow’s cover of “Saturn” sounds a lot like the Black Heart Procession, while Marissa Nadler’s cover of “Clowne Town” brings a lighter feel. Some tracks are filled with quality while others are a bit headache inducing. If you can get past the obvious differences in the songs, which make it seem less like a compilation and more like a frantic jumble, the three-piece Xiu Xiu (Jamie Stewart, Caralee McElroy and Chess Smith) have proven that they are talented song writers, despite being almost experimental to a fault.

Written by: Lauren Begnaud, May 27th 2007

Taiga

admin — Sun, 06 May 2007 17:41:00 +0000

By OOIOO

Thrill Jockey

I have to admit, I was a bit concerned when I hit play on the first song of OOIOO’s album, Taiga. I’m not one to discredit noise as a musical form; I even own an album or two by Agoraphobic Nosebleed. However, there’s only so much “noise as art” that I can take at a time, and as the droning and incoherent screams of “UMA” came rushing into my headphones, I was seriously contemplating the ibuprofen in the bathroom cabinet. Luckily, the repetitive yelps of the first song are not present throughout, and there are some good moments. I appreciated the feel of “SAI,”, which sounded a bit like Yes, if they were influenced by Super Mario Brothers and Yoko Ono.

Perhaps I wouldn’t consider this album when recovering from a hangover, but despite the sometimes jagged hollering of the vocals, I enjoyed much of the tribal-cum-techno feel of Taiga. This isn’t the album for anyone who is firmly planted in the “verse-chorus-verse” mantra of western pop music, but I believe anyone who has an appreciation for the avant garde should make this an addition to their collection - just make sure to keep the Tylenol handy.

Written by: Emily S. Dunster, May 6th 2007