ryoji ikeda, "op."
Whether or not Ryoji Ikeda has an academic degree in classical composition is irrelevant, the man has proven that he has an ear for sound and how to develop it nicely, using the sources he has to their fullest. This, to me, is quite the opposite of an irritating trend of modern experimental academia in the sense that numerous composers and musicians will insist that their authority be respected with a large amount of literature to digest before the first notes are even heard. (Just think of all the people commissioned to record bridges only to filter the sounds through whatever effects units they own.) Even with this album, which is a grand departure from Ikeda's style, the packaging remains simple with only enough text necessary. In the past, Ikeda's music has been composed entirely of wave tones, clicks, and other sounds that simply do not occur in nature. This time, however, there are absolutely no electronic sounds used. "Op. 1" is the first part, and is composed for 9 strings in four movements. The piece isn't entirely unlike his electronic music, introduced with a piercing pitch, but this time it's provided by a solo violin high on the fingerboard. The individual note is played and another follows, the cycle becomes rhythmically repeated while the notes change, accompanied by another violin in abrasive minor intervals. Soon, the violins are joined with the lower tones of viola, cello and the drone of a double bass. Also, in a similar way to his electronic recordings, the distinguishing endpoints of various movements are practically inaudible, only observable by watching the CD player click through index points. "Op. 2," and "Op. 3" follow, each reduced to only a string quartet. The rhtyhm from "Op. 1" is left behind but the tone exploitation remains. Once again, on "Op. 2," never at one point do individual players move from note to note without pausing. This time, however, the different instruments play at staggered times, like watching raindrops fall to the ground in slow motion, one by one. "Op. 3" is probably the most developed piece, despite it being about half the length of the others. Here, each instrument takes turns making their attempts at simple and short, four-note melodic phrases. High-pitched piercing drones are reintroduced which contrast nicely to low melodic phrases played by the cello. The disc ends with a prototype of "Op. 1," played only by a three-piece of violin, viola and cello. The piercing notes and rhythmic synergy is remeniscent of the more fully figured version first appearing on the disc and the composition is almost entirely identical, but this time I sense a bit of post-production here with only small hints of effects added on afterwards. While this one is noted as the prototype, it seems more emotional, more disturbing and unsettling yet more connected. Perhaps it's Ikeda's smug way of proving that while he can do it with a bigger ensemble, he's still quite capable of getting more out of less. - Jon Whitney
calexico, "feast of wire"
Calexico's lighthearted remix (or rather, remake) of Goldfrapp's "Human" single was my first exposure to the band, and it held a strong appeal to my kitschy desires. So, when presented with their new full-length, I was expecting a fluffy yet fun slice of indie rock with a twinge of Mexican folk music. What I found instead was an album with an extraordinary blend of depth, humor and beauty for what is essentially an accessible rock album. Does this record make you want to get off your ass and flamenco dance? Absolutely; but it's also sentimental, even mournful at times. Calexico, while heralding their south-of-the-border aesthetic, don't rely on it as a sole gimmick. Don't get me wrong, that folksy lightheartedness is definitely present: "Sunken Waltz," "Guero Canelo" and "Attack El Robot! Attack!" come complete with the festive blaring trumpets and pedal steel and nylon guitars expectant of traditional Latin music. In fact, it is possibly the band's use of stringed instruments in general that is their forte. The magnificent, melancholy "Black Heart" achieves its effectiveness mostly as a result of the heartbreaking violins. "The Book and the Canal" even recalls the band's Quarterstick labelmates, Rachel's with its somber stringed orchestrations and piano, while "Not Even Stevie Nicks ..." prevents a lapse into oversentimentalism with a dose of humor.
Though only 47 minutes long, Feast of Wire has a sound so expansive, it's difficult to believe they packed so much richness into such a short span of time. The liner notes document the exhaustive list of instruments (and guest musicians!) present on the album. Calexico could no doubt persuade even the most jaded music snob that originality and fresh ideas are still to be found within the overwrought annals of indie rock. - Jessica Tibbits
The Clean, "Anthology"
In 1981, The Clean's "Tally Ho!" single was the second release of the then nascent Flying Nun record label of New Zealand. This fact is largely responsible for establishing The Clean as the archetypes of the New Zealand/Flying Nun sound which sprung up mostly in the 1980's (and has persisted to the present). The sound was poppy, drony, distorted, melodic, tremulous, and brilliant. But as The Clean Anthology proves, the band did not just embrace this school of sound more fully than anyone else: they helped build it. Anthology compiles singles, albums, compilation tracks, and oddities from 1981-1996 onto two CDs. The only thing omitted is The Clean's most recent album, Getaway, from 2001 (a savvy omission as it is still easy to acquire, whereas much of the other music here is quite scarce). The first disc contains four EPs and four compilation/oddities tracks, while the second disc contains three full-length albums plus some outtakes. "Tally Ho!" begins Anthology rousingly, and I'll be damned if the first Modern Lovers album does not come to mind every time I hear this song. From there on out, each song will make you want to dance around your room, or stare lovingly, perhaps even leeringly, at the wall, or call a pal up and talk softly just so they can slightly hear the music in the background and unwittingly share your smile. Among the errata, the most memorable is the prudently cut "Ludwig," an outtake from the Modern Rock LP, which features subdued shouts and jamming as a bed for a faux-German accented rant about a man named Ludwig who has not only the good fortune of living in a castle but also the good grace of having Walt Disney visit and compliment his monolithic abode. The contrast between "Ludwig" and "Wipe Me, I'm Lucky," the next song and the first from the Unknown Country LP, is eyebrow-raising. At one moment, you have this entirely aberrational song with the German-American accentuation, and next you have a playfully plucked instrumental with New Agey vocal harmonizing that sounds like some lost Aboriginal tribe from New Zealand. I suppose "Ludwig" would have made a stark contrast anywhere, but here it seems particularly pronounced. The most telling aspect of the chronological ordering of these discs is that as time goes on, The Clean's sound gets cleaner. Drone and distortion is lost. Whether this is due to higher recording standards and better studios (Flying Nun claims that "Tally Ho!," The Clean's first single, was recorded for $60 on an 8-track home studio) or to the growth of the band's sound is something you are left to ponder. Answers could probably be culled from listening to the members' other musical projects which were born during The Clean's consistently intermittent existence. The Bats, Bailter Space, and The Great Unwashed are all good reference points as to how Robert Scott and David and Hamish Kilgour evolved outside of The Clean. What does abide in The Clean is their adherence to the spirit of the sound they created. Each song exhibits, to some degree, the angular sounds of England which The Clean imported and molded into their own particular brand of seminal post/art-punk, which in turn helped to nourish a healthy stock of New Zealand bands to follow. - Joshua David Mann
charles atlas, "worsted weight"
For those of us who do not have our very own lavish, sunlight-flooded house with a private lake in the backyard, the trio of Charles Atlas has captured the all-encompassing scenery, beauty, and fragrant air, and packaged it for our livingrooms and headsets. Once a pet project of Charles Wyatt (former guitarist for Dart and the one who clearly put the "magic" in early Piano Magic recordings), Charles Atlas soon became a fulltime duo with the fulltime involvement of former Rosemarys keyboardist Matt Greenberg. On this, the fourth album, they have expanded to a truly mesmerising ensemble with the addition of Sascha Galvagna. Each song has a timeless instrumental delicacy, patiently developing bit by bit with hypnotic, cyclic guitar riffs, piano or organ, and occasional pulses, chimes, and even a performance on the first track by vocalist and saw player Denise Bon Giovanni. It's minimalistic in the number of sources used, but the result is never droning or predictable. At no points in this album does their sound ever become dull, tired, or boring, even on the 12 minute opener which, like a number of the other 7+ minute songs, could easily go on forever. At times, like "The Deadest Bar," the piano treatments are highly remeniscent of the classic Harold Budd/Cocteau Twins collaboration, The Moon and the Melodies. The variety of instrumentation from the throb of "One Foot Under," to the guitar-piano counterpoint of "Factotum," to the drum machine-colored "Strategies for Success Boxes," to the piano-led "Port, Noise Complaint" is what separates the trio of Charles Atlas from other quiet instrumental groups whose sleepiness can easily assure them a spot in the record store on the shelf next to Yanni. The trio, who are now based in San Francisco, will be on the road with Jessica Bailiff shortly. I hope the lucky ones who can make it do their damndest to make sure the sound of chatter and cash registers are kept at a bare minimum. - Jon Whitney
QuintetAvant, "Floppy Nails"
While not ground-breaking, this certainly is a fun LP. A decently turned out LP is always fun. There's something generous and luxurious about them and all the more so in these times of miserable little "jewel cases," measly graphics and microscopic text. The cover of this LP is satisfyingly nostalgic, looking like a French fusion record from the early eighties with, for some reason, a picture of the Osmond familly. The inner sleeve is simply delightful - you really have to see it. If this had been put out on a CD it would seem a scam since it's only about 31 minutes long. As for the music, nearly all the elements we have learned to dread in French music, avant-garde or otherwise, are, if not exactly absent, adequately restrained. Of the star-studded line up, Jerome Noetinger, Lionel Marchetti and Jean Pallandre are noted as playing magnétophone à bandes while Marc Pichelin plays synthé analogique and Laurent Sassi handles the enregistrement/mixage (live). It is a fairly chaotic collage of material, sounding sort of like improvised musique concrète and it's the surprise and contrast of the different material that is the primary technique. While things eventually get excited enough to be noise art, the starting point is a rather self-concious sound art. There are many references to European music of the 50s and 60s, in particular the Schaeffer and Henri and the electronic music of Cologne and specifically Kotakte, though I don't think it uses direct quotes. It isn't in bad taste but, frankly, the fashion for this material became tiresome years ago. The sound of variable-speed tape machines dominate with tapes starting and stopping, rewinding, slowing and accelerating and the sound of tape being manually yanked through the player. In many aspects the music is very familiar but the overall combination of elements is not and is actually quite fresh and, while there's nothing that's truly remarkable or of dazzling brilliance, it is indeed fun. - Tom Worster
Cul De Sac, "Death of the Sun"
Tradition and innovation are powerful forces, always tugging, tearing at each other, one struggling to hold on, and the other struggling to break free. This is a tension observable right now in our culture, as the means of producing electronic music becomes available to most anyone with a personal computer and an idea, these new concepts of what constitutes artistic expression often clash with established notions of what makes something real or true. These are cultural growing pains, a sensation of vertigo that comes with progress and the flexing of boundaries. On Death of the Sun, Cul de Sac takes both tradition and innovation and uses them ingeniously to create harmony from tension. The members of Cul de Sac began by assembling a myriad of sources and samples from antique vinyl records to ambient forest and city soundscapes. These sources were then electronically manipulated and modified to serve as a musical spine for the piece. Throughout the album, fuzzy, distant voices drift in momentarily amidst clicks and static. The electronic foundation is solid, and its intricacy makes this an amazing headphone listen. Adding even more layers of complexity, the members of Cul de Sac respond to this electronic foundation, counter-pointing the synthetic and the treated with acoustic instruments like violins, guitars, melodicas, and drums. Their response was not to canned, prepared pieces, but to electronic sequences that were played live and on the spot during recording. On "Dust of Butterflies," a lone acoustic guitar unfolds a music box melody that itself is sampled and looped over the electronically modified snapshot of a five-part harmony found on a record from 1933. "Turok, Son of Stone" consists of a building chorus of primeval percussion that is visceral in its attraction. The percussive theme continues through the dark, insistent "Death of the Sun," churning dirt and dust before fading away with an aching violin. The final piece, "I Remember Nothing More" samples a minute of an old 78-RPM record of Creole songs released in 1940. The singer, Adelaide Van Wey's voice peeks through the tender acoustic guitar, the vinyl scratches and fuzz casting her like a faraway, fading transmission. The effect is eerie, listening to her soulfulness repurposed in this manner. The clash between traditional and innovative comes together here, and for a moment, Cul de Sac has made them one concept, one expression of clarity. Death of the Sun is a fascinating album, fusing so many seemingly dissonant threads and melding innovative ideas and techniques with traditional sounds and sensibilities. - Michael Patrick Brady
nick cave and the bad seeds, "nocturama"
After two excellent albums that marked a daring new direction, it seems that Nick Cave has decided to stop and smell the roses. This album is more a reflection on the twenty years of music he has made with the Bad Seeds than it is a step forward. Instead of picking up where 2001's No More Shall We Part left off, Cave has attempted to craft an album that marries the raw sound of his earlier releases with his more refined recent efforts. The result, unfortunately, is a schizophrenic album whose best songs suffer due to a lack of cohesion.
It's not that Nocturama is bad from start to finish, what really plagues it is its uneven quality. Cave fails in properly directing the Bad Seeds to create a mood to the album. While the opening tracks are very solid, they hold too close to the path set by the last two albums and make little progress. The strikingly rocking (and horrible) "Dead Man in My Bed" provides an awkward pit stop in the middle of the album. This song sees Cave regress light years lyrically, and muscally it sounds as if he is trying to force himself to reclaim the explosive energy of early releases. While it is a relief that he immediately retreats back to the calm and collected sound he has clearly become more comfortable with, Cave's placement of this track right in the middle makes the album a difficult listen. This track would have worked better if placed towards the end of the album, as is done with the intense closer. "Babe I'm On Fire" is a great success and gives evidence that despite, "Dead Man," Cave is still able to rant along perfectly when the Bad Seeds decide to play their hardest. Every second of this 15-minute long tirade is absolutely essential and both astonising and disappointing. For if Cave could have found the proper bridge from "Wonderful Life" to "Babe I'm On Fire," instead of a messy collection of occasionally uninspired songs, then this would have been a much better record.
Nick Cave has raised the bar so high that expectations demand a great album, not simply just a few great songs. Nocturama was recorded in seven days and it shows. The Bad Seeds at their best are not spontaneous but deliberate, lets hope the next one takes that into consideration. - Mike Tiernan
With last year's Octopus Off-Broadway, Parlour showed their rare ability to set your cerebral cortex ablaze track after track. The album just never let up. In keeping with this theme, Tim Furnish and Co. release Googler, only nine months after Parlour's debut, not letting fans of the first album catch their collective breath. From the looks of things, Parlour may be able to keep up this pace. All of these tracks were recorded three to five years ago, suggesting that this group has a lot of music in the can waiting merely for polishing and mixing. It's anything but canned, though: Googler is certainly a polished release. Again, Parlour is able to keep me glued to the speakers with infectious grooves and trippy elements. From the first track, it's almost business as usual on "Jololinine," where interweaved guitar lines and thudding bass lay the groundwork for percussions, both real and sampled. "Distractor" is almost a departure, with a workhorse beat and driving energy, driven by an almost manic bassline and steady powerful drums. Then it's back to classic Parlour: "Over the Under" is the Spider-Man theme of the 21st centuryan underneath-the-skin builder with great effects and hypnotic rhythm. Parlour just make it all sound so easy. Maybe too easy. Some of the same tricks on Octopus are also here, with "Hop Pife," containing the same eerie effect from the first track on that album but extending it out far further and with greater success. Thus, even though you may hear some of the same elements you've heard before, the music never bores you. "Pife" is one of the album's best tracks, the soundtrack to any number of my future dreams with no explanation, and also its longest. The album closer, "Svrendikditement" brings it all home. Distorted beat samples, keyboard washes, and xylophone make for strange bedfellows, but it's still utterly compelling. I call it a vast improvement. The song "Over the Under" is available in its entirety over at Temporary Residence.com if the 60-second samples below don't satisfy. - Rob Devlin
The Young Gods, "Second Nature"
In the 1990s, the Young Gods could have been found releasing albums on sizable international record labels and touring with big acts like Ministry. Things have been relatively quiet, however, in the last five years for the Swiss-based 21 year old group. Various side projects by Alain Monod as Al Comet and Franz Treichler with Heaven Deconstruction were indicative of a split, but after recruiting Bernard Trontin on drums in 1999, the Young Gods began working on this, their sixth studio album. Treichler's vocals are more tamed now than before, set against a crystal clear produced version of futuristic space rock. More than ever, the Young Gods sound like The Doors of the space age or a psychedelic version of their fellow countrymen, Yello. Comparisons alone, however, don't do them justice. The Young Gods explore a slightly creepy, unsettling urban atmosphere. Starting off with straight-forward drum and bass-influenced electronic rock in "Lucidogen," they get more and more into their own strange breed of modern psychedelia. The album builds in a suspense song after song until it reaches its peak with "Toi Du Monde," the album's longest track. Here, a heavy beat is paired with whispered French and English vocals, resulting in a crushing sound with irresistable grooves, and perhaps an attempt for the "Young" Gods not to appear middle-aged, when compared to the light-hearted instrumental, "Love 2.7." Hopefully, there won't be another 3-4 years until the next album as it seems the Young Gods have only begun to build up steam again. - carsten s.
GENESIS P-ORRIDGE, "WORD SHIP" 7"
Amidst the flurry of 21st Century Throbbing Gristle activity quietly comes something new from Genesis P-Orridge. The appearance of this 7" is modest enoughblack vinyl with no more than credits on the white label and a see-through sleevebut what's hidden within the grooves is much more colorful. Side A is a collaboration with Carl Abrahamsson and Thomas Tibert, now known as Cotton Ferox (formerly known as White Stains circa their 1990 collaboration with P-Orridge on At Stockholm). The foundation of "Word Ship" seems to be ethnic percussion loops as an ambient haze fills in patches like a fog. Genesis matter-of-factly answers his own questions, like "where do you live?," "I travel," "where are you from?," "I just travel," "where were you born?," "I'm always traveling," "what do you do?," "I travel," and finally, "where would you be?," "traveling." The track taps the same sort of psychedelic dream vibe of Psychic TV's under appreciated Trip Reset album from 1996. The "Cosmopolitan Dub" is altogether different musically with more sound effects and chorus-effected beats. Side B is by Thee Majesty, GP-O's post-PTV group with Bryin Dall on guitars and Larry Thrasher on percussion and samplers. "Soul Searching" was recorded on Alcatraz, oddly enough, and complements the sound of the other side nicely. Genesis recites words in a narcotic deadpan over a dirge and deep drum loop reminiscent of PTV's quasi-tribal-techno period. What a pleasant surprise. I'm happy to hear Genesis and friends further explore these auras. Side B also includes 23 (of course) locked grooves, recycled matter from the songs, by Deftly-D of Voidstar Productions. More blasts from the past are on the way as much of Psychic TV's back catalog is being reissued by the UK's Voiceprint Records, beginning in March. - Mark Weddle
jonathan coleclough & andrew chalk, "sumac"
In print once again is the CD edition of "Sumac," a 71+ minute extended version of the same track which originally appeared on a one-sided transparent 12" single released in 1997 by Robot. Possibly the reason why this fetches for such a high price at online auctions is its striking similarity to drone recordings by Chalk with Organum years before this. For the duration of the track, a solid bass tone underscores while unidentifiable flying objects and whispery homemade wind instruments play and reverberate madly. At loud volumes, the experience is nothing short of intense. Listening to the full duration, however, is most certainly an exercise in patience and stamina. What makes this recording so eerie is perhaps the fact that it's actually going backwards, something that's not strikingly clear until the last moments, where it seems every phantom instrument, shrouded in effects, reveal themselves only in time for everything to come to a sudden, and unexpected halt. While this is a marvelous recording, I don't recommend paying exorbitant prices for it and now that it's in print again, it's not necessary. - Jon Whitney
pram, "dark island"
Since the late '80s, the Birmingham, UK quartet Pram has released a steady stream of albums and EPs marked with a cinematic and childlike character. Their obsession with dolls, toys and all things antiquated and ephemeral (as evidenced in titles like "Penny Arcade" and "Paper Hats", not to mention the band's name and their album artwork) give me the impression that they should be scoring films for the Brothers Quay.
After their brilliant 1995 album, Sargasso Sea, the band seemed to start losing focus, and the quality of their records took a downturn. The resulting output was often mediocre and meandering. On Dark Island, however, they have once again come into their own, recapturing the cohesion and clarity of their early work. Pram's overall sound is generally the same: it's as if the band were locked in a toy store after it closed for the day, and recorded an album with anything they encountered that could produce noise. Add to that the light, endearingly imperfect vocals of Rosie and her lyrics that read like pages torn from someone's diary of dreams. What makes Dark Island not only different, but more successful than previous works is that it manages to be diverse while maintaining a sense of wholeness. Opening the album is "Track of the Cat," a playfully exotic instrumental piece layered with echoing, slithery rhythms which parallels a later track, "Sirocco," which would have been perfectly at home in one of Jess Franco's late '60s psycho-sleaze movies. The film noir styling of "Penny Arcade" and "The Pawnbroker" precede the gleeful "Paper Hats" and the moody yet warm "Peepshow." Chimes, whistles, xylophones, and lilting keyboards can be found in every nook and cranny. "Goodbye," the eighth track, starts to wind Dark Island down with a lullaby which stands out as one of the best songs the band has ever done, and the delicate cosmic twang of "Leeward" sounds as if it could have come directly from Brian Eno's Apollo. Pram have truly outdone themselves on this delightful record. - Jessica Tibbits
JAH WOBBLE, "FLY"
After concentrating on other projects for most of last year including film soundtracks, remixes and sessions for other artists such as Tori Amos and Afro Celt Sound System, Wobble returns with a new solo album on his own label. Perhaps it's too solo. Fly begins promising enough as a few of the (unimaginatively numbered) tracks float Harry Beckett's mildly effected muted trumpet over a typically massive bass guitar groove and programmed beats, three being especially jazzy. "Two" is a solid, up-tempo pop number if you don't pay too close attention to Wobble's daft, half sung lyrics and concentrate instead on the driving bass and backdrop wails of trance veteran Cat Von-Trapp. But from here things get surprisingly bland, first with a soundtrack-like mid-section. Sandwiched between the aimless organ and piano progressions of tracks "Four" and "Six" is an inane spoken story, a near eight minute waste of space that won't stand-up to repeated listening. "Seven" brings the bass and beat back but some synth, pipes and flutes do little to spice up the rhythm. "Nine" reclaims the glory with a bouncy bass line, recalling classic Public Image a bit, and supple sax layers by Charlotte Glasson. The finale simply retreads the vibe of track one for a tedious nine and a half minutes. Altogether, Fly lacks purpose, focus and flavor. Wobble fares better in full-fledged collaborations like Shout At The Devil, with Temple of Sound, Passage to Hades, with Evan Parker and Molam Dub, with Molam Lao, not to mention his short-lived stint in The Damage Manual. - Mark Weddle
the postal service, "give up"
It's hard to talk about this album without referring back to the phenomenal track from 2001, "(This is the Dream of) Evan and Chan" by Dntel, as that was the first collaboration between Death Cab for Cutie's singer Ben Gibbard and Jimmy Tamborello, the one-man powerhouse behind Dntel. This was possibly one of my favorite songs from one of my favorite albums of 2001, where chaos and mayhem was tied together by a frail, unobtrusive voice, quietly singing an almost nonsensical cartoon story. Naturally, this type of collaboration, which yielded results no less than monumental, opened the opportunity for future works between the two entities with potentially similar results. The end result, however, this disc, has got to be one of the weakest pieces of electronic dribble since Anything Box. I swear, I've heard numerous rougher, tougher, more ballsy recordings from other electronic male duos like the Pet Shop Boys, Soft Cell, and Electronic. Even Erasure sounds like a mannish testosterone-fuelled rockhouse compared to The Postal Service! Whereas Tamborello's music as Dntel was clearly not written for the sole purpose of being the backdrop of vocals, it was not dependent on a singer, the music could have clearly stood alone. The disjunct rhythms, distorted sounds and unpredictable melodies which commanded attention are all completely gone and forgotten, as the music here sounds like a half-assed attempt to make lame pop ditties. The melodies are dull and unchallenging, whipped together with preset keyboard sounds and only a minimal amount of thought put into arrangement. Gibbard's vocals certainly don't help much, as by the third track I'm feeling nauseous. The addition of female vocals seems both pointless and generic as girls (ironically each named Jennifer) don't usually take the opportunity to harmonize, but simply sing the same notes as Gibbard, only an octave higher. The album's title couldn't be more appropriate, as the two could have easily made something incredible, but in the end, decided to simply give up. - Jon Whitney
We know that sometimes these CDs are somewhat challenging to find, which is why we have a community section which can be used to obtain nearly everything available on this site.
don't blame us
Subject: increase your breast size
feeling that i am losing my friends.
that's right. I has nothing to do with my sweating-bastard smell or my
no-so-social-habits.I feel that everyday less people enjoy my music tastes.
Thanks for all that, brainwashed.
PD: I imagined that my friends doesn't matter if i had the lastest múm cd. But
i was wrong. :(
Stupid people generally lead happier lives.
Sell your CD collection and start listening to classic rock radio all the time.
Take in a Hugh Grant or Julia Roberts film while you're at it.
You'll thank us later.
Subject: herbal viagara
I think it would be great if you had your radio divided into a few different
one or 2 for music and one for interviews and reviews ...
reviews featuring samples of various artists would be an awe-worthy channel ...
Unfortunately, the low-fi technology we can afford only allows us one channel.
Subject: eat pizza and lose weight
Attn: Gary Saurez,
I agree with your general views on hip-hop. Don't
you think that a great deal of the music that
brainwashed reviews falls into the same place as Def
Jux? Don't get me wrong. I dig El P. But when you
reach a certain point of calculation in any medium,
the directness and immediacy disappears.
There is art composition out there that is amazing
for deep concentration, where complicated theory is
is worked with in a satisfying manner, which I enjoy
very much. (Anthony Braxton for ex) There is also
music that communicates in a direct manner, that
comes from a given population and lifestyle and
expresses that way of thinking in a timely manner
with a sense of creative invention that occurs
without calculation. It is brilliant without
trying. It does not wear its intelligence on its
sleeve. (Detroit techno and P.E. for example.)
Much of the music that brainwashed reviews is
neither that intelligent, or as intelligent as it
attempts to be, but is rather naive as to what is
possible, and does not communicate in a simple
timeless manner either. I would rather eat an
awesome cheeseburger as they say, (or tofu, if you
are veg like me), than bad French food.
Gary replies: Your over-intellectualized, babbling tangent of a
response to my review of a rap music compilation makes
it seem as if you barely read it. Neither I, nor any other
Brainwashed Brain contributor, have claimed that we're
even remotely an intelligent publication. We're not
The Wire. We don't care about Lou Reed's newest album
of trite experimentation. We don't think that a
pseudo-celebrity like Vincent Gallo sitting in his
bedroom with a guitar in the 80's makes him any
good as a musician.
All we do is review music that we
either like or don't like and present it to you, and
we happen to do a damn good job of it. I am just one
not-so-humble reviewer, with far more opinions than
there are assholes in the world.
In conclusion, as
the roast pork fried rice begins to settle in my
belly, I only wish you had mentioned that you are a
vegetarian earlier in your email, so that I could have
come up with something scathing and witty to begin
this with. See how easy it is to come up with a
response that has hardly anything to do with the
Of course you do.
Subject: brain, i have those pics you requested
Did you notice Mike Myers is playing John Whitney in his latest film?
Let's hope John wins!!! (Whitney almost won in The Relic from 1997, you know.)
Subject: mail order brides from russia
What are FUCK? , guys !!!
Bjay ^ÚBjay, Bjay – it is grange-article in Russian language.
What are fuck, twice, yet.
Your LPs aren’t ^Ú^Úsells in Russia, but your music I got about
7-10 years ago. But I loose my tapes.
And what are fuck I should doing?
I haven’t ability to get that. There are not^Ú that music in SHOPS.
I’ am fucking Russian web-developer. And I cannot view your lame
site for a long time, moreover. What are shit.
Your music will be free ^Úfor the all Russian territory – your site
will be cool in every respect World tradition.
Though, for a little money will be still more.
Sorry, we are drunk great volume of VODKA. But You are cool.
Thanks, comrade, I think, now go play in the snow.
Subject: it won't fit in my butt,... oh my!
I hope I am not wasting your time but I have just been looking at
your brainwashed site and I was reading about Throbbing Gristle. Do you know
where I could find a record by Monte Cazazza, "To Mom on Mothers Day?" It was
released by Industrial Records in 1979. I have tried searchin on the net but I
understand it was deleted.
Thanks for your time, Judy in the UK.
The song is available on the CD 'The Worst of Monte Cazazza," which is still available from Mute. If you want the 7", sorry, I have no leads.