Showing posts with label Glitch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Glitch. Show all posts

Saturday, March 29, 2008

September Collective "All The Birds Were Anarchists" (Mosz, 2007)



Artist: September Collective
Album: "All The Birds Were Anarchists"
Release Date: 18 May, 2007
Genre: Glitch, IDM, Ambient-Techno, Indie-Electronic, Leftfield
Mood: Refined, Sparse, Amiable, Hypnotic
Reminds Of: To Rococo Rot, Mapstation, Barbara Mongestern
What People Think: BoomKat, Emusic
Definitely Worth Buying: BoomKat, Juno

Tracklist
1. Out Of Intention
2. Das Meer
3. Natura
4. Grundgerausch Der Wohnung
5. Light Writing
6. Pausenband
7. Primaten
8. Taking The Trouble
9. Our Cat
10. Essentially Unchanged
11. Substitute Original
12. Spates Light

One night not long ago, lying in bed and listening to the September Collective's mesmerizing new album All the Birds Were Anarchists, the image of a snowglobe filled with swirling flecks of gold leaf flashed into my mind, at which point my mental camera slowly zoomed out to reveal the orb sitting on a shiny black grand piano, surrounded by velvet curtains even blacker than the lacquer on the Steinway. It was only one of a thousand such images I've enjoyed while listening to All the Birds over and over and over these past few months. Should you listen to the disc-- and I urge you to-- you will doubtlessly have wildly different visions, but I promise you that you will see something. It simply is that kind of record. September Collective is the trio of Barbara Morgenstern, Stefan Schneider, and Paul Wirkus. If you know any of those names you'll have some idea of what to expect, as each artist's voice rings through true and clear. Morgenstern has recorded a number of releases, principally for Monika Enterprise and Leaf, featuring her pellucid voice and delicate arrangements of piano and synthesizer that convey a drifting pop sensibility, in the broadest possible sense. Stefan Schneider is best known as a member of To Rococo Rot and for his solo work as the ambient dub outfit Mapstation. And Paul Wirkus is an improvising laptop artist working with a library of chamber music samples and a small kit of analog synthesizers and effects. The group says that the project was born out of a shared 2002 tour in which each artist had solo billing. "After we played our sets we found it senseless to end up a concert just like this and we started to improvise in the end of our show," writes the group in its bio. "Although everyone of us works with loops and computers it worked out perfectly. So we continued after this tour and founded September Collective-- a project which is based on improvisation and trying out new things." Their nonchalant, even naïve approach to group dynamics is all over All the Birds, but they're no dabblers: The album offers an engrossing and profoundly confident mélange of styles and timbres. Two levels predominate: one an improvisational scrim of shirred textures and intermittent sequining via brilliant sonic details, and the other a more robust structure of composed melody and songcraft. The two run parallel throughout the disc, swapping places and playing games, both within individual songs and throughout the album's entire arc. The first track, "Out of Intention", opens with a whir of out-of-time loops: cardiac thuds, insect skitter, intermittent hi-hats, a dusky blue unfolding that might once have been a keyboard, or maybe a saxophone. A rudimentary bass line enters, shrugging its shoulders, and a delicate counterpoint blossoms in the piano's treble register. Far in the back, an unadorned drum machine keeps time-- with its MIDI cables apparently disconnected. (I love the way September Collective appropriates dance music's most basic tool to use pedestrian sounds in mercurial ways.) Against this nodding pulse, Morgenstern embroiders free, filigreed piano riffs that hang just this side of George Winston's property line before disappearing in the whir of Oval's hard drive. Beginning in the same shimmering approximation of key, "Das Meer" ("The Sea") muddles its loops into an arrhythmic whirlpool. An electronic sound like a bassoon, a higher muted reed line, and an almost imperceptible Rhodes fuse into an inseparable three-part structure that sounds uncannily like something from Talk Talk's Laughing Stock. Haphazardly brushed drums suggest that everything could fall apart at any second-- until that piano returns, almost certainly Morgenstern's, stitching everything lovingly back together. From chaos, pop-- and in a rush of hummingbird's wings and fingered stemware, it all dissolves back into ether again-- again, a whole lot like late period Talk Talk. And that's just the record's first 10 minutes. "Natura", opening with looped and fizzed piano reverb, finds the players staking out their spaces in a three-cornered room, with what sounds like Morgenstern drifting into a melodic right-hand reverie, Schneider laying down dub-inspired sub-bass and melodica, and Wirkus doing his damnedest to untether his colleagues' steadfast mooring, letting a loop of close-miked piano clatter go flapping into the red. The same trick appears three tracks later, on "Pausenband", suggesting a box of ghosts hell-bent on breaking the locks, while the clacking percussion of "Our Cat" leads seamlessly into "Essentially Unchanged", where it plays out-- yes, essentially unchanged-- beneath limpid keyboards. Such recycled loops and recurring themes, far from suggesting meager hard-drive holdings, help not only to bind the record tightly together, but also to weave it into your very consciousness. I suspect that's one of the main reasons All the Birds has become one of my preferred bedtime listens of late. It's not simply that the record's palette is generally subdued and, well, mellow; but when the body is at rest and the brain slipping into hypnagogic drift, that's precisely when September Collective's quiet anarchy reassembles itself into such improbable, impossibly beautiful forms. Sometimes, it's better when music doesn't make sense, but like the iconography of dreams, simply runs free, making its own haphazard associations as it goes.

(source: PitchforkMedia)

"Stitching everything lovingly back together..."

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Nymphomatriarch "Nymphomatriarch" (Hymen Records, 2003)



Artist: Nymphomatriarch
Album: "Nymphomatriarch"
Release Date: May 2003
Label: Hymen Records
Genre: IDM, Breakcore, Glitch
Mood: Energetic, Trippy, Complex, Volatile
Reminds Of: Venetian Snares, Hecate, Kid606, Doormouse
What People Think: Cokemachineglow, PitchforkMedia
Definitely Worth Buying: InSound, Indietective

Tracklist
1. Input
2. Blood On The Rope
3. Amaurophilia
4. Hymen Tramp Choir
5. Pervs
6. Outlet

The creative process that resulted in Nymphomatriarch is unavoidably eye-catching – Venetian Snares and Hecate had sex, recorded it, and made an album. It’s easy to be skeptical about the artistic necessity of projects like this, at least in terms of their presentation on a public scale. However, the premise in this case is far too juicy to be written off without being given a chance. As jaded as our popular culture has made us, Nymphomatriarch leaves Reign In Blood-era Slayer sounding tame and innocent, and that alone merits at least one listen. Hecate is Rachael Kozak, who first began composing dark electronic music in the mid-’90s and has adhered to a die-hard DIY attitude ever since. She has released music on Zod, Praxis, and primarily her own Zhark Records, which she founded in 1996. Last year saw the release of Hecate’s first full-length, The Magick of Female Ejaculation which displayed her penchant for creepy atmospherics and pounding, heavily distorted breaks. The obscenely prolific Venetian Snares, a.k.a. Aaron Funk, has put forth far too many releases at far too alarming a rate for any but the truly obsessed to keep track of, on labels such as Planet-Mu, Hymen and Isolate. In the last year or two he has grown into an international superstar on the post-jungle/breakcore scene (not exactly selling out arenas yet, but give him time). His superhuman release schedule has drawn him a good deal of attention, but his reputation owes most of its weight to his creative touch with faster-than-jungle jungle breaks, as well as his obsessively detailed and exceptionally dynamic compositional style. The premise of Nymphomatriarch is hard to ignore. The question is whether or not it can hold up beyond mere voyeuristic novelty, and intellectually speaking there is definitely some interesting material lurking beneath the Triple-X camp exterior. Unlike pornography, which objectifies people (read: women) and dulls the sexual imagination, the music on Nymphomatriarch does just the opposite. Sex is transformed and glorified through the imagination (that this is a collaborative effort is especially important to this point), and the end result is a sound world that stands on its own and yet is not alienated from its source. There are no images, thus no bodies to objectify. The track title “Amaurophelia” seems to play on this – the word can’t be found in Webster’s, but it probably refers to blindness as a mode of erotic fantasy. Perhaps it is a bit of inside information regarding one of the music’s creators, but the word applies at least as much to the listener. Musically, Nymphomatriarch is six tracks and a delightful 35 minutes. Though not much attention seems to have been paid to song structure, most of the music on Nymphomatriarch points towards a very clear sense of purpose. All the sounds are crafted to fall within a well-articulated and coherent sonic vision, and the sheer number of different sounds used is impressive to say the least. The album opens with the short, ambient “Input”, wittily associating hardware cable connections and sexual penetration: it is a new-age synth tone with a slimy underbelly, chasing its tail around delay effects through empty space. The sense of unnerving isolation on “Input” establishes a relentless eeriness that underpins the entire album. The percussive possibilities of sex are surprisingly vast. “Blood on the Rope” bristles with trademark Venetian Snares beats – awesomely fast, delightfully syncopated, hard, crisp, and programmed in 10/8 time. Only in this case the hits sound less like Amen snares than bare skin smacking against skin. Providing sonic (and erotic) juxtaposition to the staccato percussion assault, breathy vocalizations dart out of the empty spaces, their tonal characteristics heavily emphasized, while a dirty bass tone oozes slowly along the bottom following no fixed pattern. The production is quite subtle in many cases, creating a surrealist dream world that is drastically alien, yet never totally unrecognizable. Like “Blood on the Rope”, “Amaurophilia” and “Pervs” reflect Venetian Snares’ compulsive efforts to work outside of 4/4 time. “Amaurophilia” resonates with the sound of bodily fluids, sticky flesh and natural lubrication, a dubby bassline and a beat that sounds like Top 40 R&B in 14/8. All the beats ring of violence, but “Pervs” is especially sadistic. A brief early pause in the rhythmic onslaught is punctuated by a mumbling male voice asking, “Am I torturing you?” The question gets no answer before the pummeling beat breaks loose again, interspersed this time not with breathy ‘Oh’s’ but startled grunts and groans that walk a line between pleasure and pain. The beat drops out for some time and the album’s only real dialogue appears in the mix. The male voice returns, asking, “Does that hurt?” This time a female voice replies, “Yes.” The fine line is very apparent, taboo is ruthlessly taunted – the male voice asks, “Are you having a hard time with that?” to which the female voice answers with a “No” that devolves into thick laughter before the final, most hair-raisingly brutal percussion assault elicits cries of truly alarming pain. A sense of retaliatory cultural violence is essential to the breakcore scene, but the violence present on Nymphomatriarch is of a far more personal sort, the vulnerable humanity of its object amplified by the unshakable control and mechanical precision of the syncopated beats and sub-bass resonances. This is no conceptual violence – whereas much breakcore applies distortion to the drums (and everything else for that matter) to convey its sense of hostile abandon, it is vastly more unnerving to know that the beats rattling your speakers this time around are made from actual recorded collisions of flesh. “Hymen Tramp Choir,” stretching out at the heart of the album, is 14 minutes of haunting beatless ambience. It is certainly a surprising inclusion, in that it comprises nearly half the music on Nymphomatriarch, and if you are the sort of listener who wants the product to be focused, honed, and refined, with all unnecessary baggage left on the hard drive, you’ll probably find this particular selection a little off-putting. However, it would be my guess that no one who knowingly purchases this album is easily put off by anything. In exchange for a bit of patience, “Hymen Tramp Choir” vividly conjures a shadowy demon’s lair filled with unearthly gurgles and a mournful distant cry that may be a victim or may be the beast itself. Unfortunately, patience wears thin on repeated listening – my strongest criticism is that the album would feel less like a document, albeit a highly involved one, and more like a fully realized work of art if this sort of extended, absorbing ambience had been woven into the beat-driven tracks rather than left as one huge slab lying in their midst. For fans of Hecate or Venetian Snares, Nymphomatriarch is not to be missed. The first few listens are guaranteed to enthrall, especially for those who are beginning to want a change of pace from distortion, distortion, and more distortion. Beyond the shock value of those first few listens, there are indeed more rewards to be had here – though the compositional structures themselves seem to have gotten short shrift, the source material makes for some of the most surreal listening of recent memory on a purely sonic level, and the beats are hot enough to stop you in your tracks the moment they kick in. If, on the other hand, you are entirely new to the world of post-jungle speed breaks and are unfamiliar with both Hecate and Venetian Snares, Nymphomatriarch would make for the most bizarre introduction imaginable to the world of two already bizarre musicians. But who knows, that might be fun too.

(source: DustedMagazine.com)

"…anal and oral sex, straightforward copulation, and 'microphone insertion.'"

Friday, March 7, 2008

Cex "Oops, I Did It Again!" (Tigerbeat6, 2001)



Artist: Cex
Album: "Oops, I Did It Again"
Release Date: October 12, 2001
Label: Tigerbeat6
Genre: IDM, Experimental-Techno, Ambient-Techno, Glitch
Mood: Hunorous, Aggressive, Messy, Harsh
Reminds Of: Kid606, Boards Of Canada, Aphex Twin, Autechre
What People Think: AllMusicGuide
Definitely Worth Buying: Amazon

Tracklist
1. (You're Off) The Food Chain
2. Eleven Million Dollars Worth Of Bearer Bonds
3. Destination: Sexy
4. First For Wounds
5. I Said It Knowing Full Well I Had No Intention Of Doing It
6. Texas Menstruates
7. It's All About Guilt
8. Flex On Cex, Eh
9. I Don't Think You Do Sin, Julia
10. Florida (Is Shaped Like A Big Droopy Dick For A Reason)
11. OD'd On First Base
12. Keep Pretending
13. Not Trying
14. After #4 Matrix Sndtrk. Rob D 'Clubbed To Death'

Cex is an interesting guy. Not only does he never play any of his recorded material live (from what I've read, in any case), he also freestyles, plays mic stands like they were trombones, and really gets the crowd to participate. Which is why, after buying his CD Oops, I Did It Again!, I was so surprised. You see, it's not the iMac driven hip-hop he was busting loose onstage. No, it's... it's completely different! There's hardly a trace of hip-hop, besides some of the beats he uses; it's mostly skittish electronics with warm guitar sounds and drones overtop. And is that a good thing? Hell yeah. The album starts and ends on a melancholy note. From the a cappella tape recording of Cex (also known as Rjyan Kidwell) singing to the home recorded message left by a girl right before graduation; it's pretty poignant. Again, the first track, "(You're) Off the Food Chain" is about as organic and sad as they come, with Cex singing "Tar baby I know you look at me/I look at you/I think you're pretty, and tar baby/I know you're on a pedestal/up high in the garden, and I'm down in the mud below." About halfway through he stops singing, and a guitar comes in. He soon begins to manipulate his voice, sampling bits and pieces of what he's just sung. It's amazing. The last track, on the other hand, is simply depressing. On a tape recorder a girl says, "I don't know if you can hear me, because I'm talking in a headset and my voice is kind of morphed because of it. [...] I just figured this would be a really lame way of telling you I like you, in person or on the phone or something, but telling you on tape, which is probably worse than all of that put together." This continues for maybe a minute, and it really sums up the album well. What's in the middle of the album, between those two songs, fluctuates between funny, happy, depressing, and a whole bunch of other emotions that I can't really think of or put into words right at the moment. The song "I Said it Knowing Full Well I Had No Intention of Doing It" combines washes of ambient texture and guitar figures to create something that's really beautiful. I'd go as far as to say it's my favourite song on the album (either that or "(You're) Off the Food Chain"), and it functions well as a more relaxed break from all of the electro-beats. Next is "Texas Menstruates," which is as funky as "I Said it..." was somber. Another noteworthy item within Oops, I Did it Again! is Cex's bizarre sense of humour. Not only do the liner notes depict Rjyan brutally killing a woman and disposing of the evidence (yeah, I know!). No, there's also a skit (wherein Cex assumes both of the voices of a mother and daughter arguing about "the naked man cooking eggs in the kitchen"), and song titles ("Flex on Cex," "Florida (Is Shaped Like a Big Droopy Dick for a Reason)", the album title). It doesn't get much better than that. So, I guess you'd say I really dig this, even though I was misled with his awesome live performance. When I saw him during his tour with the Dismemberment Plan, in London, Ontario, he got a pretty cold response from the crowd. Frankly, that surprised me. His show was so energetic and fun that I'm surprised more people didn't get up. Then again, when it was a club filled with kids there to see Death Cab for Cutie, I guess it's not all that surprising that they didn't completely fall for a skinny white guy freestyling about Sweden, riding bikes, Chess, and Osama bin Laden. Nonetheless, this record is triple-t hottt, and I highly recommend it.

(source: fakejazz.com)

"The naked man cooking eggs in the kitchen..."