05.26.2024
Good Morning,
This is Beach Sloth. Below are this week’s albums:
· Editor’s Note – Moving forward, anything that is abnormally loud and noisy beyond what a ‘reasonable person**’ would subject themselves to will be prefaced with a *Volume Warning* Thank you.
Hampton Hawes – Northern Windows
One of the most exciting discoveries I’ve stumbled upon in a long time, Hampton Hawes does jazz-funk flawlessly on Northern Windows. Usually, I have a note or two for an album, a lesser song, or a desire for something to go on longer/to be a bit shorter. No notes are required. Hampton Hawes surrounds himself with an exceptional rhythm section, a husband/wife duo. If I grow old with someone for the rest of my life, establishing grooves this good, my life will have a purpose. I am completely serious about it. No hesitation. I don’t play an instrument per se, but I could learn. Hampton does not go easy on the rhythm section, and the horns are arranged to perfection, thanks to David Axelrod. Later, David Axelrod would go into politics, joining the Obama administration, but for now, he was purely into jazz.
Hampton Hawes began life playing the piano, and it shows. The level of mastery he shows on the instrument is insane. Run-throughs have never been so aptly named because he plays it furiously with a gleeful flair. I needed to replay a section a few times as I thought, “Whoa.” Beyond the technical aspects, which are fine, is the level of soul. Being highly skilled at their instrument does not mean they necessarily bring any semblance of emotion to the album. Several albums I’ve listened to by supposed masters have often lacked the level of heart I require from music. It is one thing to be good and another to be passionate. Not everyone has both. I’d argue that Phish are incredibly talented musicians, and they essentially do nothing with that skill, choosing to rock on with brain-dead jams devoid of any attempt at passion. Hampton combines his clear technical skills alongside a level of passion that is crystal clear. You can hear every tone, every flourish, and there’s something alive occurring throughout the whole band.
There is a sense of journey occurring throughout the album. Part of this comes from Hampton’s rather eclectic life. On the religious kick with Go Down Moses, he takes notes from his mother playing the piano at the Presbyterian Church and his father being a minister at said church. While I adore all the songs, this one feels perfect. This song convinced me to check out the entire album; it feels personal to him. I mean that as a positive thing; it is as if he is trying to pay homage to his parents, and there’s a soulful quality. Everyone is doing their best, and it shows – the rhythm is tight, he races through in almost a chaotic fashion in certain moments, and it is so lively. For me, at least, this is the album's highlight and, honestly, the beating heart of the entire experience. Nimble bass work and light drums feel fantastic, freewheeling, and devotional simultaneously.
Many surprises are found. Bach, the shortest piece, is a peculiar mix of a Wes Anderson soundtrack via Mark Mothersbaugh and a twist of late 60s Bossa Nova. All this happens in three minutes, and somehow, he makes it feel logical, as if this is the only way this could played out. To their credit, they even have a flute on this track and make it sound good, unlike some corny jazz flute that infected much of the 70s. I am uncertain why people were so obsessed with the jazz flute in the 70s; maybe it has been long enough to bring it back; all has been forgiven, dear abused instrument. Enough time has passed, and all those who mishandled flute playing are all dead; you’re safe, dear flute; you may return. Some of these passages feel like they are virtually screaming out for sampling, as they are tasteful, beautifully produced, and recorded with an effortless polish. To his credit, Madlib has this record in his collection, so bless your heart, Madlib.
In case you were wondering, there’s an excellent sprawling finale. Long tracks always intrigue me, and I like it when a band can stretch out a bit. Hampton is victorious with the finale. I see why Kennedy pardoned him out of jail in 1963. Back in 1958, Hampton was targeted by a federal undercover operation, who thought he would give up his heroin supplier rather than risk a musical career. They never got anything out of Hampton, and he served half his decade-long sentence. Though it may be an exaggeration, Hampton saw JFK on TV and thought he’d pardon him. Hampton was right. JFK did. Later, JFK was assassinated by the subpar pianist Lee Harvey Oswald in retaliation against the increased competition. While it is true that Oswald was the best pianist in Dallas, that was a low bar (and continues to be) as Dallas remains the cultural void of not just Texas but the United States as a whole. I’m even including the dregs of Humanity Idaho in that assessment. Still, though, JFK did the right thing, and had he not released Hampton, this album would not exist with the world forced to subsist on thin jazz gruel.
Everything about the album leaves me wanting nothing. The funk is there, the jazz is great, the interplay is solid but never too showy, and even the album cover, with an elegant wall of glass adorning an office building, is tasteful. This is a joyful work; five stars.
Guy Skornik – Pour Pauwels
You know you are in for some heavy psychedelic when the band is from the early 70s, from France, and needs a conductor. Guy Skornik looks precisely like what you would expect of the head of a French psychedelic band, even to this day. Fortunately, he remains involved in the music scene as one of the three founders of the Parisian radio station Ici et Now! (which translates to “Here & Now!” in English). So he is heavily involved, even all these decades later. Before he began releases under his name, he started with the group Popera Cosmic, which had only one album released in its relatively brief life in the wild, unhinged year of 1969 of Our Lord.
Guy Skornik has a solid approach to the album. A little over a half-hour, and it is dripping with decadence the only way early 70s France knew how to: remarkably ornate classical arrangements. Though not the same relentless experimentation as Jean-Claude Vannier’s L’Enfant Assassin Des Mouches, Guy does not include musique concrete in this album; this still has several similarities with that effort. Like that album, the usage of choirs is a nice touch. The usage of epic string sections adds to the chaos. Various unexpected and under-utilized instruments make the album unpredictable because many moments go into leftfield and even relish the experience. Say what you will about the eccentricity of Guy Skornik. A lot can be said, but he appears to have good taste in what he executes with the album.
From the beginning, he makes his intentions crystal clear with the way too on the nose titled track “What Is Réalité?” Oh gee, I wonder what reality is. Yes, I get it; this is mind-altering stuff, but that kind of track title is precisely what you’d expect from a guy who looks like this. However, if I am being fair, he probably had the look before it became a stereotype. I appreciate the usage of the harpsichord, as the harpsichord was contractually obligated to appear on any psychedelic album from the 60s to the 70s. Interestingly, he explores not just the bombastic, the bright and loud, but also some quieter moments that are downright lovely. “Quest-ce Que Le Dream?” is shockingly fragile, even restrained in certain moments, almost folksy. I’ll even give credit where credit is due – he is not a half-terrible singer. Gurdjieff, named after the philosopher George Gurdjieff, who lived in France and was adopted by France as he was an unrelenting weirdo, is the best piece. Oozing with a wildness, the song is the most expansive and most fully realized, going for a gigantic orchestral mixture alongside acid guitar riffs and various bells (yes, they probably spent a lot on this one track).
Eventually, the 1970s ended, and, like most French psychedelic band leaders, he moved into composing music for advertisements, which he did for the next several decades. A handful of soundtracks and some work in the 2000s showed he remained somewhat active on the artistic side. This is a rather beguiling work, all strange and perplexing, a study of contrasts—the near-silent hushed whispers alongside celebratory shouting; it feels alive.
*Volume Warning*
Волчий Источник - Ремиссия Духа
Wolf’s Source Remission of Spirit follows the fine tradition of black metal mythologizing. Black metal typically has a fondness for embellishing, and while all genres do this to a certain extent, the embellishments get outright ludicrous. Sometimes, the embellishments are needed to gain a degree of street cred, especially when creating ferocious music in Scandinavia, a place world-renowned for low crime and high living standards. A few of those tales get absurd like Nattramn cutting off his hands and having pig hooves sewn instead, which would help Nattramn sing. It did not, and Silencer continues to be a horrible band, known for ridiculous memes more than music. It is not like Silencer’s music could stand up to any scrutiny, hence the need for storytelling to embellish things.
Alexandr “Dancer” Tantsyrev had a different story. The legends around him are myriad. Besides the Волчий Источник project, he also ran the Khnuth project. Online, it states Alexandr was unfamiliar with black metal until he was sent to the Kamyshlov penal colony for eight grueling years. His crime? Murder. I am going to state bluntly that the integrity of this story is negligible at best, as Varg Vikernes served fifteen years for murder in Norway, a place considerably much more lenient on sentencing than Russia, a country not widely known for its merciful judicial system. One might say Russian prisons have historically been challenging places to be. So that’s my take: an attempt to spice up some of Alexandr’s myth, which, in my opinion, has plenty of bleakness to go around by simply sticking to the facts of the matter. Perhaps there is truth to the matter, but I have difficulty believing it.
Alexandr was based in Asbest, Russia. I know what you are thinking – As Best! What a great name for a city. This being Russia, the name indicates something unbelievably depressing. Interestingly, Asbest is derived from English, but the town is named after its most well-known product - asbestos. Half the size of Manhattan, the pit is the world’s largest asbestos mine; what a feather in its cap. Scientists study the town to see the long-term effects of asbestos exposure. Lovely stuff. So, to try to compete with a legacy that dark, Alexandr had to create a sound particularly tortured, bleak even by the admittedly high standards of bleak black metal. To his credit, this is an unrelentingly dark album, with many touches that separate it from typical black metal. While they mention that Alexandr was never exposed to metal before prison, I somewhat believe aspects of this. A lot of the album avoids the typical cliches of black metal, and he incorporates a lot of variety in the approach. His being at least partly unaware of the genre makes sense in that context and leads to a more outsider quality, shown throughout the album’s duration. Again, I remain doubtful he was in a Russian prison where they gave him a guitar and drum machine to use for a recording.
I enjoy the No Wave aesthetic of the album, especially on the quieter tracks where things are particularly unnerving. He uses ringing guitar tones to significant effect, and they are genuinely haunting. He does excellent work on making the drum machine sound like it will give up. Not since Royal Trux’s Twin Infinitives have I heard a drum machine so severely abused. So that’s one thing. Other parts of the sound offer nods to his native Russia, with elements sounding like a balalaika in certain moments, though the fidelity leaves that open to interpretation. His voice is feral, par for the course in this sound.
Unfortunately, or fortunately (as everything in his music indicates, he was a tad bit tortured throughout his life – you don’t make music like this if you are well-adjusted), he died a few years ago. Reports vary, but most seem to settle on complications from a stroke, with some stating he killed himself. As I do not speak Russian, I cannot claim to verify either claim, but it is more likely that it is the former and not the latter. Regardless, what he left is a brutal, burnt-out shell of self-loathing that is of shockingly high quality.
Yuzo Iwata – Daylight Moon
Chilled-out vibes for Yuzo Iwata’s Daylight Moon radiate brightly. It must have been a full moon, judging by the sound. Things here shine marvelously. He possesses a natural, tried-and-true psychedelic air that only a handful of modern bands have captured with any degree of honesty. Going through the list, I think of the all too short-lived Brightblack Morning Light as the only ones who established this same level of mellowness. If you were to look simply at Yuzo Iwata’s solo output, there’s this and a 1999 effort, Drowning in the Sky. Additionally, this remains the last testament to the unique style he produced, as he passed away the same year as this album release, 2018. Deeper looks, though, reveal an involvement with a legendary, if not necessarily well-known, group, the fine folks at Maher Shalal Hash Baz.
Maher Shalal Hash Baz, a group that draws inspiration from the Book of Isiah and the Book of Mormon, played a significant role in Yuzo Iwata's musical journey. Although he was not a founding member, he contributed to some of the 43 works released by the group from the 1980s to the present. This collaboration is fitting as Yuzo shares a similarity with the group in their flagrant disregard for genres and specific styles, opting instead for a far-out sound. This kind of work is undoubtedly spacey, a characteristic that both Yuzo and the group embrace.
The album's percussion takes a backseat to the guitar’s athleticism, creating a rhythm section that goes hard regarding emotional impact. Yuzo also brings some bluesy licks into the proceedings to imbue the psychedelic musings with soul. Most of the album is instrumental, with little lyricism. However, occasional poetic asides feel doubly refreshing, reminding you of the person behind this. Yuzo speaks in English and Japanese in these rare instances, a nod to his background in the United States and Japan. His base of operations is Philadelphia, not a place well-known for tripped-out approaches. Yet, here this album stands, a testament to the fact that they possess cleverness, too.
Yuzo Iwata’s Daylight was so beloved that the good folks at Siltbreeze produced it, and it is a label usually reserved for much noisier fare. Compared with that label’s typical output, this is exceptionally kind, warm, and inviting. The genres utilized are the blues, moments of folk, surf rock, and the like, yet there’s a specific beauty to the way these tracks sprawl and bloom that gives it a unique optimism, like the way good psychedelics should.
*Volume Warning*
Geronimo Arafat – Plate-Licked
Sinda Koslika is Geronimo Arafat. An experimentalist of the strangest order, he engages in many strategies on Plate-Licked. Yes, there’s the noise, like there always is, but beyond that, there’s a genuine fondness for musique concrete. While listening to parts of this, the highly alien nature of the recording reminds me of irr.app. (ext.) with less coherence. The chaotic nature serves as the album’s main draw. The inclusion of sudden bursts of noise alongside vast periods of surprising quiet results in an album where the listener is forced to be an active participant. No, you are putting this on and letting it wash over you. Sinda would disapprove. Instead, Sinda wants to freak your ass out, and he does an exceptional job. Found sound, manipulated sounds, tortured ducks, bleating sheep, and other peculiar noises whose origins are unclear add to the tapestry.
The album is one solid track, which is strange because it is hard to tell when one part ends and the other begins. A few moments have that ultra-experimental To Live and Shave in LA aspect, which makes sense as Sinda is an LA native as well. Perhaps a bit less rock-oriented than that, this album still retains that slapstick quality. Sounds dart, collide, smash, and are sometimes lost. Nobody knows what happened to them. That’s probably okay; only ten people listened to this album, so there was no significant loss. Within the sludge of the sound, a sense of exploration occurs. It feels like Geronimo Arafat wants to bring the listener along; you’re right there with him as he tries to find new territory. Fortunately, for the relatively short duration of a little over forty minutes, the thing moves quickly. If anything, he rather enjoys the fast pace despite no tempo or rhythm. There’s nothing to grab onto, as there are no reoccurring themes or patterns; it is a pretty good surrender to near-utter randomness.
A textural variety keeps things interesting, and the shift from high to low pitches is perhaps the only thing that continues over the whole album. Things make no sense, allowing the listener to have no choice but to accept what is happening. Multiple moments of the album feel like he’s about to end things, but it is simply a fake-out played out. He does not seem to mind; there’s an absurdity here, almost theatrical, which feels appropriate for tinsel town. In specific moments, it even veers towards something vaguely tangible, academic in certain moments, cartoonish the next. By releasing it on the netlabel Aleph9, he plays to the album’s strength that nothing is permanent because nothing ever is.
Plate-Licked is the sound of the universe in flux.
*Volume Warning*
Needle Exchange – Kill Em All With Fentanyl
Noisecore with actual fidelity? I must be dreaming. Usually, the average noisecore band records their music on a tape recorder they’ve brutally tortured for three decades. Yet, somehow, Needle Exchange makes Kill Em All With Fentanyl sound surprisingly clean. You can hear the screaming and unbridled chaos on this one. My fondness for lo-fi is well-documented, but sometimes it is nice to hear something a little cleaner, especially in a genre with any form of fidelity is a rarity. If I had to guess why so much noisecore sounds like it was run through a trash compactor, it would probably have to do with noisecore’s limited commercial viability. The fact that the Gerogerigegege is perhaps the only band able to remotely come close to sustaining life is instead telling, and that’s mostly to do with the sheer, unbelievable oddity of the project. Plus, the Gerogerigegege sells his teeth, so there’s that too.
On the tastefully titled Kill Em All With Fentanyl, they engage in the sheer wildness that is noisecore. They scream. Whatever that drum set did, it did not deserve what it got put through. Sometimes, they go right for amp noise rather than anything that might approximate a riff. Most of the time, they refuse to have anything remotely cohesive. If you can make out the lyrics in any fashion, you may be heavily hallucinating. None of it makes sense. Things start and stop for no reason. Buildup and breakdown: the only interruptions they get are the occasional samples interspersed within the colossal churning methodology. Yelling is done with a sense of urgency, with the yells even coming close to the sheer Neanderthalic idiocy Patrick from Spongebob Squarepants regularly displays. Sometimes, they almost stumble upon a groove, though this feels accidental, like whoops, didn’t instead for that to happen. Of the two pieces, the latter piece engages in slightly more structure, as the first track of 666 Tracks needs to be significantly more Satanic, and Satan is the God of Chaos.
A duo, Budd appears to have let this be their only associated project. John Gardner, on the other hand, got busier after this. Besides his handful of releases under various aliases, most notably his creepy Wonderland Club project, he founded the media label Wonderland Media, LLC. With this label, he bridges the gap between some very old-school experimentation (think Smell & Quim alongside the legendary Orchid Spangiafora) alongside newer acts like Buck Young and J. Peterson. Already well-versed in noise, with this label, John’s been able to immerse themselves into the noise realm, getting rid of any pretense for structure. Some of the releases veer away from music (if you can call noise music) and go into the written word as well as one film.
Needle Exchange shows, at the very least, how noisecore could be with a bit of fidelity and presents the genre from a different angle.
*Volume Warning*
Eric Frye – Diffusion Soliloquies
“So Tonight, Gotta leave that nine to five upon the shelf and just blur the self” – Michael Jackson from his award-winning hit single “Off the Wall.”
Eric Frye certainly had Michael Jackson in mind when he composed these peculiar rumblings from America’s heartland in Minneapolis, Minnesota. For those unaware of Minneapolis, it is the Target Corporation's corporate headquarters, which illuminates absolutely nothing about Eric Frye’s work. Instead, Eric exists within a peculiar, limited vacuum of noises – the compositional talents of Keith Fullerton Whitman, Florian Hecker, and Jeff Witscher’s endless array of aggressive, nonsensical productions. Going further along the spectrum are Alvin Lucier's early vocal experiments. It is interesting how far Alvin Lucier was ahead of the curve and how long it took compositional strategies to match the abstract nature of Alvin’s work precisely. Sure, Alvin did manage to lead a motley crew of chipmunks to sing inane pop ditties, but that was about as far as vocal studies could go in the 80s. The world was not ready.
Well, thankfully, the world is ready for this, judging by the tens of editions of this release. Individuals interested in this sound may find something of interest with Alvin Lucier and Florian Hecker (the latter of whom is still putting out stuff of similar nature). Unlike Florian, Eric chooses to make these compositions anonymous. It is interesting how long it took for vocal studies to become the playthings of abstract electronic compositions. Since billions of people are on Earth, and there is a seemingly endless way of reconfiguring those sounds, it is surprising that it took this long to come up with something this engaging. To call this easy listening would be a lie; it is not. Walls of noise at least have some structure, some given rhythm and purpose. Yet, this highlights the sheer randomness we encounter on any given day, assuming we go outside regularly, which is a mighty big assumption. Most likely, if you are listening to sounds as esoteric and bizarre as this stuff, you may need to go outside to touch grass.
Eric's ability to scrub away the identifying aspects of the voices while giving them uniqueness is doubly impressive. Aspects of their cadence, even their delivery, help portray this sense of anonymity through numbers. If the album focused on a single voice, it might be different. But even with this semi-anonymous approach to composition, it is evident that multiple individuals were included in this project in one way or another. You can almost make out what is being said; that is the essential purpose – nearly to understand. Keeping the listener at arm’s length feels akin to hearing a conversation outside earshot, where clear language is used, but deciphering the exact meaning remains impossible.
Outside of Eric Frye, others involved in this process include the technicians of Curtis Roads (who have been doing this level of software development for quite some time) and Marcin Pietruszewski. Neither of those two makes listening easy, yet their inclusion within this project makes it impossible to understand, permanently stationed beyond easy comprehension. Utterly bizarre.
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** Your idea of a reasonable person, music-wise, I am sure, differs from my idea. Still, if you’re already here, you’re already unreasonable by sheer virtue of your attendance, and I thank you for that!
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