These templates, when magnified and closely examined, do vary, but are relatively monochromatic in construct. It makes great vacuuming music, though. To Rococo Rot Kraftwerk. OUT: June 7. Big Black, double-time Led Zeppelin. Birthday Party. Recorded by Steve Albini unconscious Uma Thurman catapults back to life after John Travolta injects her heart with a shot of adrenaline?
For the rock starved, Point 1 is like the fluid in that syringe. Squint Entertainment The Los Angeles band's debut The Blue Moods Of Spain was a near-perfect approximation of these kind of intimate moods, employing a spare, languorous style largely defined by leader Josh Haden's soft, measured delivery and simple, spiritual-like lyricism.
Unfortunately, where Blue Moods ruminated on what-could-be with a smoldering whisper, She Haunts My Dreams lingers on regret with an almost emotionless reserve. Musically, the album is even more subdued than its predecessor, downplaying its more provocative, jazzy accents Gosh is, not incidentally, the son of jazz great Charlie Haden for a hypnotic, slow-mo shuffle of acoustic guitar, bass and lightly tapped drums.
There's a fine line between evoking a sense of mystery and saying nothing at all. This time out at least. Haden and co. Especially evident on the record's minute opening track, "On A Balloon," it's a sound he revisits repeatedly while introducing a variety of "wrong" soundings familiar to anyone who has set up a home stereo: grounding mistakes, bad connections between components, short bursts of pulsing, low grade feedback. While artists such as the German conceptualists in Oval have explored these sounds before, Takemura's approach is more bright eyed; his extensive use of clean, clear chimes — sometimes from a vibraphone, at others from electronic sources — feels like a dip in a pool of melody when heard next to the parched theoretical efforts of his peers.
Scope's later tracks hearken back to the tape experiments of the minimalist composers of the s. This disc isn't for everybody — the CD scanning alone is sure to turn off some listeners. But if you're willing to indulge him, Takemura reveals that there are myriad ways to employ the digital age's sonic glitches. Copyrighted material R. What Shouse carries over from the Grifters is a penchant for meandering, insinuating melodies, the kind you hum a day later but can't recall where they're from.
Joan Wasser of the Dambuilders contributes some expressive violin work, and can reach back for the jarring effect the band occasionally tosses in among the otherwise smooth veneer.
Four songs reappear from the Souls' debut disc — these are the more rollicking, straightforward rock numbers, and aren't much altered aside from a more fleshed-out band sound a track from the last Grifters LP is also reprised.
More impressive is the startlingly melancholic new material, which is imbued with a sense of loss seemingly informed by the death of Jeff Buckley a good friend of Shouse's, and Wasser's ex. While I hope Shouse cheers up, his introspective side warrants further exploration. That an old school 70s folkie said it or that it's true? Tight Bros that's "broze," by the way make the Saturday night variety of rock. In the Northwest rock scene, where practically every boy-rocker has some retro shtick involving glitter or cigarettes, the Bros go for that same-shirt-I've-been-wearing-all-day look.
Their punk pedigree is impressive singer Jared Warren was in the psyche-destroying Karp and guitar twins Jon and Dave hail from the crushing queercore band. Behead The Prophet and it guarantees they can balance the irony of playing hard rock in the spongy, electronic '90s. As the 12 action-packed songs go whipping by, the locked-down rhythm section always gives the fearless, tricked-out guitars a place to land.
Warren stirs us with his best Bon Scott howl and gives each song enough sexy wattage to power every amp in the room. This is the kind of frenzy that cranks the volume on your libido without your tacit consent. Play this loud, but beware! It might destroy your warm relationship with the neighbors. Nigerian Afrobeat pioneer Fela Aniklapo Kuti's political funk is often linked to the music of James Brown; likewise, the odd similarity in the playing styles of Ali Farka Toure and Delta bluesman Robert Johnson helped Toure connect with Western audiences.
Toure's forays into a kind of West African talking blues provided living proof that our folk musics could be traced to indigenous African sources. His collaboration with Ry Cooder, the Grammy-winning Talking Timbuktu, mated Toure 's guitar rags and multi-lingual vocals to the mystical lightness of Cooder's smooth guitar work. For the last five years, however, Toure's touring and recording career has taken a back seat to his role as a farmer and as the provider for his 11 children in central Mali.
Recorded with a mobile studio and generator transported to Toure's village, Niafunke, this record is a darker, busier, and less new age sounding affair than Timbuktu. The connections to American blues are less explicit and the performances seem livelier, captured in the heat of the moment.
Shimmering, tightly wound guitar patterns iterate and overlap, multi-layered hand drums chug along, and a droning chorus gives the songs an air of ritual. The effect is magnificent but the question lingers, "How did he know when it was finished? With bloopy percussion that sounds straight out of the air filter in a fish tank and skittering beats that recall rain skipping off a metal roof, this is music with a water element.
Opener "Hope We Never Surface" announces the undersea theme with a submarine's sounding call and its title also suggests surface noise on an LP, which is telling. The gorgeous "Ivy And Lead" presents a savvy spy theme made melancholy by a violin moaning in counterpoint.
The squidgy, wet beats of "Mr. This stateside issue of Stay Down is fleshed out by the tracks from the EP A Bag Of Blue Sparks, but the addition of five of 2LS's harder electro tracks tracks threatens to smother the album's simple majesty. Its blissful sway, peaceful currents and underwater imagery could point to a new genre. Dare we call it aquatica? Two years after his actual death, another collection of the Texas songwriter's finest work surfaces under the less successfully sardonic name A Far Cry From Dead.
Townes's wife Jeanene and the couple's friend Eric Paul had the best intentions in enlisting a bunch of musicians to flesh out some demo tapes that Van Zandt left behind, but the result is terribly uncharacteristic.
He sounds weary and perhaps wise, his guitar playing steady, but a backdrop of perfunctory drums, keyboards and sundry instrumentation wraps the songs in a sheen that Van Zandt never attained on his own.
And why would he? The original takes on "Rex's Blues" and "Pancho" dripped with raw honesty. That was the beauty of Townes Van Zandt — never far from death, but knowing he couldn't outrun it forever.
But the fact that they treat their talent more like a burden than a gift is the key to their appeal. Yet no matter how much pot they smoke many of the selections on Brown were recorded in Holland — wink, wink , no matter how many phasers and flange pedals they deploy, the songs still persist.
Brown surveys just about every experiment in genre-mutilation that Ween has attempted; from the balls-to-the-wall boogie abuse of "Dr. Ween has never shied away from self-deprecation. These guys know that the best humor is achieved at someone's expense, and on Brown they offer up their own musical oeuvre at the altar of the Big Guffaw. Jimmie Dale Gilmore. L L LLl-. On "All In The Family. Speaking as a seasoned homo, it's not language that thrills me, but I've heard rap and hardcore tracks that were far more distressing.
Fred insists that folks would see he's not mean-spirited, "if they knew who surrounds me, and who my friends are. More than half of my friends are gay, and we call each other 'fag' constantly.
My songs are my retaliation to hurt my ex- girlfriend and all the people I thought were my friends that have betrayed me. But that's that. I don't want to hurt anyone physically, I don't intentionally say things to hurt people, and I don't make fun of people. Because I know it comes back around. Many of this century's finest artists — Irving Berlin, Frank Sinatra, Keith Haring — wanted to reach the widest audiences possible.
Knuckleheads need art, too. Art doesn't begin and end with the act of creation. The exciting part begins when a song or painting or book enters the public sphere, and takes on new life with each individual's perception of it. Fred Durst dwells on this idea a lot. Is it a feeling that's common in 90 percent of all human beings? I swing it a couple different ways on the new record, but I'm talking about common things.
It's straightforward. Matchbox 20's songs are huge, but when you sing about 'It's three a. Should I be freestyle rapping, just because I can rhyme?
Should I just brag and boast, and talk about street life? A small percentage of people buying my record might be down with that, but that's not going to touch anybody. It's not going to affect them for life. Limp Bizkit hasn't gotten there yet, but we're a hell of a lot closer. And you'd be forgiven for assuming that the pair hails from the other side of the Atlantic, especially considering that European audiences were the first to embrace this DJ duo's eclectic downbeat fusion of trip-hop, dub, bossa nova, hip-hop and acid-jazz.
But Thievery Corporation is, in fact, from no farther away than the other side of the Potomac. Hailing from Washington, DC, the duo draws on America's "melting pot" ethos to the fullest extent, creating a cross-pollination of culture and style that is duly noted on the pair's recent mix CD — yet another installment in the accomplished DJ Kicks Studio K7 series.
Thievery Corporation's hour-long turntable expression embraces music not easily pigeonholed by the usual genre tags, which makes the collection vibrant and intriguing, despite its calm, cool and collected pace. Smooth as a Lexus and slick as an Armani suit, this track offering is mood-enhancing, mind-altering sonic therapy that works out the kinks of pre-millenium tension like caring hands massaging tired, fatigued muscles.
A track-by-track lesson in multi-dimensional style and ambiance But things got really hectic in the early '90s when, dissatisfied with the wimpy state of trip-hop, Santana formed H20H Recordings and, later.
Tricked Out Recordings — labels specializing in apocalyptic, unlubricated big beat created from severe techno frequencies, bone-rattling bass lines and hyperactive drum breaks that made the Chemical Brothers sound like the Smothers Brothers.
Keeping the hard edge of the underground alive, Santata pummels all comers with his latest attack, Battle For Planet Of The Breaks Moonshine , a bombshell of nu- skool breaks, a style of funky breakbeat marked by the utilization of challenging rhythmic structures and howling bass lines akin to drum 'n' bass. The attack is intended for purely physical abuse, and novices may be turned off by the music's atonal, rhythm-driven brutality. MMM May the wasahi he with you.
Around the time Can broke up, it started to become hugely influential on the post-punk generations of bands that were looking for a way to combine the depth and complexity of avant- garde with the pulse of rock.
But Can has remained something of a musicians' secret: it never had a hit song in Anglophone countries, a lot of its albums are spotty neophytes are directed to the group's early- '70s' peak, Tag o Mago and Ege Bamyasi , and most of them have been available intermittently at best.
That may be about to change. Virtually all of Can's individual and collective catalogue is finally in print in America through Mute , the band has just released a retrospective boxed set, and several members are working on high- profile new projects. Can's most important idea was that a pop song could be "written" in the course of collective improvisation.
Most of the band's material started as extended jams taped in the studio; later, Czukay would return to the tapes and turn them into something very different and much more structured.
Then we found out that the mistakes were the best thing that could happen to us. So suddenly we managed editing in a different way: to make sense, to have a start and to have an end of something. Bands from Tackhead to Mogwai to Jessamine to Stereolab have played first and then reworked their playing into compositions.
Beyond its structural innovations, though, Can's fingerprints turn up all over the last 30 years of experimental pop: Liebezeit's knotty snare-snap underscoring Brian Eno's punk rejoinder "Backwater" in the 70s, Czukay producing the first Eurythmics album in the '80s, Berlin technoheads Workshop sampling Karoli's guitar wobble from "I Want More" last year.
It's hard to imagine the Orb without the woozy billows of "Aumgn," or Gastr Del Sol without the way "Soup" adapted the meticulous tapework of composer Karlheinz Stockhausen who had taught Schmidt and Czukay to a rock context, or the Boredoms without 62 newmusic the twitching, schizoid mix of "Cutaway.
It obviously influenced a lot of modem acts. The rhythm — the drums, basically, but the whole group as a rhythm group — was the center of our music. In form, it was repetitive patterns which were turned around and around to reveal new aspects, but there was always the central rhythm for each piece. That's very near what drum 'n' bass does. Once I've set a rhythm, I keep it from beginning to end — it's like not changing the key of a piece. European music is based on bars.
You play a bar, and then the next bar follows, and inside it something else can happen. There's no conceit of repeating rhythm. In jazz, there's no constant rhythm either. Jazz is actually a European idea — it's based on bars. You have triplets, quadruplets, quintuplets. You mix it up; whatever you want, you put inside the bar. It's like you go to the zoo — you have this gorilla in a cage, then you have lions, then you have chickens, on the next page you have whatever you want That's where Jaki developed this music where the ground tone is the drum, the center of the harmonic.
What drum 'n' bass did is to dematerialize the drum tone — to have a drum tone which has no pitch. And on top of this, you can have everything. To celebrate 30 years of Can, the band has recently released Can Box Mute , a set including a double CD of live recordings from the 70s, a videotape of a complete gig, and an extensive book of interviews and historical material. Can also returned to the stage — sort of.
Still, these solo projects aren't Can, whose essence was that it was a collective with no leader; Czukay says that what made their best work possible was that they were able to "forget about their own will, and start listening. We started at zero and found out our own way, and that's the basic thing. You will not be a functioning cog come 8 a.
But the solitude, the silence and the glistening obsidian of the night sky are as intoxicating as whatever it took to plunge so deeply into that good night.
Some functioning cogs rise that early, feeding farm animals or financial markets, and by that devotion signify their allegiance to an altogether different world. This will not work for them, but those who have not yet visited bed by 4 a. It is a dangerous time to make decisions, for, as Ibsen noted, some truths are best left unexamined. Worth looking for, still. If Jesse Colin Young had done little more than drift into a studio, sing the opening line to "Four In The Morning," and walk out again, he would be due some kind of immortality.
Not the post-homicidal part. And, yes, there is much artifice. Young's real name is Perry Miller; he cobbled together the stage moniker by combining the names of two gunfighters, which becomes ironic in view of his subsequent pop-hippie success. Artifice, yes, but that song is spot-on perfect, and there may be wisdom in Young's choice not to revisit that bleak place. His best known song, the Youngbloods' "Get Together," a sunny Summer Of Love pop masterpiece, struck an altogether different mood.
Originally released in , "Get Together" became a top-five hit the summer of ; it was Young's only visit to the charts. Though the fashion of the '60s may, alas, be returning, it inevitably is revived with the context altered.
That was my childhood, and its memory is filled with the euphoric hope that I lived on the cusp of a generation engaged in a great battle for the future of the world, and that we not to mention the world would win. And so while history remembers the blood and the hatred and the ugly divisions of that time, it is helpful to remember the hope and joy with which we began.
And, yes, I once swore to wear nothing but bellbottoms for the rest of my life, and we didn't win. Joy, then. And so, while "Four In The Morning" has been my longtime companion, it is far better that I thank my older brother for so often visiting the family hi-fi bearing the Youngbloods' one and only long playing masterpiece. Elephant Mountain. They made and repackaged too many other indifferent records; this is a singular treasure.
Yes, it begins on familiar ground with "Darkness, Darkness," but even that song's concluding chorus — "emptiness, emptiness, oh, yeah" — has a jaunty wiggle. Besides, "Darkness" is immediately followed by the invocation "Let's all get high" that starts "Smug" one wonders if that's the voice of producer Charlie Daniels — yes, that Charlie Daniels , and the frolic begins. Point is, Elephant Mountain is a rare friend along with most of Victoria Williams's catalogue that can be counted on to lighten the day's burden, though the wisdom of age has taught me not to seek that 4 a.
Ultimately, Young lifted another burden, for he broke me of the collector's need to own everything. No, like many of the bluesmen who became his early influences, he had comparatively few moments of brilliance. But those few moments are more than is given to the rest of us, and they help me to remain sorry forever young. Grant Alden is co-editor of No Depression magazine. Newly rechristened to avoid confusion with the American Hades, this band posits a slow-paced version of Norwegian black metal that's big on atmosphere, lurching ore waltzes, and instrumental beauty.
Borne by the demise of Old Funeral, Hades Almighty shares its lineage with Burzum and Immortal, both far better known and genre-defining bands. The big difference, and it's a remarkable trait for a metal band, is that with Hades, nothing is ever overplayed or overstated — Hades Almighty is the black metal band that rocks.
Taking inspiration from Killing Joke as much as from Bathory, the band unites the dark trance washes of the former with the gritty vocals and distorted mind of the latter. Hades Almighty is also great at arrangements, slipping in unexpected verses that actually kick in and change the momentum of the song, rather than jamming ponderously like so many Samael clones.
Millennium Nocturne doesn't just suggest big spaces, it creates them explicitly. This band lives within its instruments, not its stage attire, and it deserves to be hailed vigorously for it. Mayhem, the least that Christian Vikernes could have done was continue playing the stuff himself. Instead, after incapacitating the competition, Vikemes has insisted on taking his project BURZUM down the winding path towards soundtrack music for a role-playing video game.
Hlidskjalf Misanthropy , his second instrumental album made on a synthesizer in prison, is far better than its execrable predecessor. Divided into eight thematic variations on a single mythical concept, the album is a collection of digital Medieval processionals and ambiance.
The paralyzing loneliness that characterized Filosoiem is all over this release, but you have to be willing to say goodbye to guitars and vocals to get at it Yeah, remember them? Well, with Metallica cramming a half-dozen of the band's titan works into a million-selling medley, these countrymen of Lars Ulrich are doing well.
Their new record, 9 Metal Blade , would be a lot better if the band had actually been playing together for the past 20 years. Truth be known, singer King Diamond lavishes much of his time on his own increasingly esoteric self- titled band, and of the other musicians, only guitarist Hank Shermann remains from the breathtaking albums Melissa and Don't Break The Oath. Those observations in mind, 9 is a highly professional slice of Deep Purple- influenced thrash metal, brimming with Satanism and eerie ghost stories.
The key word you want to hear in conjunction with this band is "evocative"; you certainly won't, but at this point it's okay to settle for not being embarrassed Everything is appealing about the huge groove of Cathedral's slamming bell-bottomed stoner funk, especially the deluded caterwauling of Lee Dorrian. With Caravan Beyond Redemption Earache , sporting typically exquisite cover art by Dave Pritchett, it's enough just to lay back and listen, with no expectation of having anything specific to hum to yourself once the magical addled ride is over.
This disc is sheer greatness in search of punctuation The Verve it ain't, but that very ugly noise is the direction where this is headed. Mike Paradinas has acted as electronic music's chameleon over the past six years, adopting new sounds and guises Jake Slazenger, Gary Moscheles, Tusken Raiders, etc.
He certainly can't be accused of bandwagon- jumping because he winds up making records that are always out of place. His newest endeavor is no exception; it is perhaps his most accomplished record to date. After the spiky, anxious textures of his album Lunatic Harness. Paradinas has made a delicate but funky pop album that never tips over into kitsch but refuses to take itself too seriously.
Opening with a track that could have been on a Saint Etienne album a couple of years ago. With the flick of a switch, Paradinas can rock the box with the greatest of ease.
The album is accompanied by a floppy disk containing MP3 files of the songs. The tumbling, latticework percussion is anchored by a deep kick drum which seems to fall just outside of any recognizable time signature. Finally though. Graham's music is reminiscent of early Detroit work like Rhythim Is Rhythim's "Salsa Life" and "In The Beginning" in its refusal to let go of the minor-key chord change, thus retaining a melancholic edge throughout.
Taylor Deupree coined the useful term "laptop music" to describe the sub-minimal electronics being made by artists such as Ryoji Ikeda, Thomas Brinkmann, and other practitioners for whom the term minimalism seems inaccurate. The artist known as snd or makesnd must be added to that category.
His recent Newtables EPs were miniature exercises in groove making, like Funkadelic playing in a dollhouse.
With his first full-length, the CD- only Cassette Mille Plateaux , snd charts a new path into the world where the most delicate tonal or rhythmic change feels like an earthquake amidst an otherwise still life terrain. The tracks are all untitled; only their lengths are provided. What snd manages to do, with an immense subtlety, is begin a track with a set of spare, kinetic elements and wring changes on them The Shipwreck LP is nothing less than a towering achievement, a record of such rare beauty that it should not be ignored.
These two Roman artists have recorded music elsewhere but this represents the apex of their recording career. There won't be a dry eye in the house after playing two minutes of the opening "Tunemx II"; an exquisitely melodic piece undergirded by impossibly heavy kick drums. D' Arcangelo also move into the realm of '80s synth-pop and manage to make even that sound warm but pristine. Speedlove Presents Chemical Warfare MCA In the world of music there are performers and then there are entertainers, and what separates the two is the entertainers' ability to use their talent and style to make any audience their own.
Rahzel is an entertainer, no doubt. After undoubtedly spending his teenage years locked in his room honing his skills and trying to one-up beatbox masters like Doug E. Now Rahzel's solo joint is upon us. And surprise, surprise — it's one of the most entertaining hip-hop records of the year. Rahzel is a gifted magician of sound and a great musical ringleader, and he's got some excellent, infectious and wide-ranging pop- but-not-schlock tracks behind him.
Q-Tip, Black Thought, Me'Shell Ndegeocello and Erykah Badu all shine on crucial guest spots, and there are more than enough smatterings of Rahzel's live solo beatbox performances to prove that although he may be low key, he's definitely a rap entity to watch. Stones Throw. Lootpack is confident, intelligent and dedicated to the art of hip-hop. But the band's tone isn't overly hard or unnecessarily arrogant.
Endz" and "Answers" are perfect examples of this, floating words over grooving, rolling beats augmented by dusted keys, raw drums and spaced-out flutes. And "Speaker Smashin'" explores the abstract side of Lootpack's style. There's not a lot of musical variety in Sensational's work — his tracks are twitchy, dark, and sometimes muffled, and have an unnervingly freaky feel. His vocals don't make him any more accessible — his tinny drawl weaves its way around the snaky rhythms he produces, with freestyle logic that leads from line to line, rather than encompassing a methodical thematic concept Sir Menelik, Eminem.
RA The Rugged Man and lots more. Flow's new instrumental shot is a curious move from the rulers of the NYC underground, but it's a great album nonetheless. The A- side is a bubbly, wobbly little piece of instrumental funk with turntables subtly integrated, mostly for texture, but the flip is where he really shines. On an untitled extra track, he rides the band's slow, cool groove with a string of berserk movie-dialogue scratches.
The group has followed it up with a 12" EP called, naturally, B Mute , which is where the beats seem to have relocated themselves. Slow down tracks like "Lataus," and the individual percussive blows would probably resolve into distinct patterns of their own; as it is, they're made from clusters of speck-sized events, like metal shavings that coalesce into bullets. It's the sound of goose-stepping robots whose positronic brains have been shorted out into killing machines. For those who prefer their electronics neater and more orderly, RYOJI IKED As entry in Noton's "20' To " series of minute minimalist EPs is as clean as they come; 98 second pieces and one second piece made entirely from the Hz A tone — the note string musicians use to tune their instruments — arranged into 99 different regular configurations of rhythm, duration, and stereo panning.
If it doesn't drive you bats instantly, it can be very bracing. How murky? Well, for one thing, it doesn't mention what Hood piece these are remixes of. But the mixers — Third Eye Foundation, Horse Opera, Spymania and Twisted Science — are all first- rate, and they all isolate tiny bits of what was once a song with a singer and apparently a JUD JUD The Demos In some dark antechamber of music hell, there's somebody whose job it is to dream up blitheringly unlikely hybrids.
His crowning achievement is Jud Jud. They define who we are". Credits CD 1 membranophone : Clune track David Bowie track 4. Paul Hartnoll track Phil Hartnoll track Fiona Apple track 1. Tom Maxwell formerly of Squirrel Nut Zippers track Iggy Pop track 4. Scott Humphrey track 6. Bewlay Bros. Orbital UK techno group track Grant Fulton track Alison Goldfrapp track Aaron Barrett track Scott Klopfenstein track Tavis Werts track Diary of a Bad Housewife. Lava Church Records. Madame Pickwick Art Blog.
The theory that, essentially, the poor should not reproduce as they strain the food supply, which will be outdistanced, inevitably by population g Trustar Vibrations. Get It Lit!
Looks like everyone was Rolling and Growling. This cot side table is for the genuine suspicious out there! It turns from a side table to a home gatecrasher assura Noise Addiction. This blog will now only serve to acknowledge what has been recorded for historical sake.
Christian Hardcore Records. Thanks to anyone who contacted me about helping me get this stuff out of my wife's closet space! I have a big plast Por Marco Lobito. Death Metal Trip Archive. Fugitive Equilibrium. Crud Wizard. I Grew Up - For those of you who still are on this blog, hoping for it to be updated, I have a new blog now.
It is currently mainly video game reviews, but it doesn't Switching To The Vapour State. Up the Fuckin' Punx. Brain Dead Zombie. Geometria di un Suicidio. Servizio pubblico streaming - Con Netflix e Hulu portando in grandi numeri di vendita, le aziende del settore dei media non sono gli unici che si affrettavano per implementare un serviz Creep Scanner.
Phoenix Hairpins. About re-ups - From time to time I get questions to re-up files. As stated before, I have no access to my external hard drive from my very old PC.
The good news is that t Tales Of Blarg. The Fallen Record Collection. The farther one travels, the less one knows. Thee Outernet. Who Cares??? Can't Stand The 80's. Does it even matter? Is anybody listening? Do you care? Cosmic Hearse. Electric Hedonist. Physical Copies and Contact Information - After much deliberation, we here at Electric Hedonist have decided to offer CD-R copies of the fine releases we put out on the net for all you musical conn THE UH Requests''' - Please If i have it..
Fashionable Activism. ADIOS - lo siento,pero ya podeis buscar otro blog. Creative Commons Licenses on Audiotool - Hello!
I thought I'd take the time to write about what I've basically been able to sort out from the Creative Commons licenses with regard to Audiotool jus Cashless Discos. Update - Well, it seems I spoke to soon - Mediafire has removed all of my files, including every link on this site. All Dublin addresses end with a number Dublin 2, Dublin 19, etc. The one exception is Phoenix Park, which is on the northside, but has a Dublin 8 address.
Ambassador, the theory is that the plan- ners didn't want to insult them with a northside and, therefore, rougher appendage. Well, it's my theory anyway. Dublin's music scene in tlie '80s was dominated by international conglomerates looking for "the next U2. The early to mid-'90s was dominated by a lot of Dublin bands seeking to emulate the Waterboys' success in mixing rock with traditional Irish instrumentation and sounds.
Raggle Toggle, we called it, when we could stop laughing. But something strange rose in tandem with economic prosperity: an independent music culture and esthetic. Suddenly the kids were doing it for themselves and didn't care what The Man wanted.
Labels such as Catchy Go Go www. The Frames made what the band and most others considers its best album when freed of the need to repay big advances. Doctor Millar think Hammel On Trial, but with a full band has shown that you can be a something daddy with a day job and still make awe- some music. Gemma Hayes from County Tipperary, but based in Dublin has shown that you can start as a quiet country girl in folk clubs and make an incredible debut album that fuses loni Mitchell and local heroes My Bloody Valentine.
Dublin's best venue, Whelan's 25 Wexford St. The venue's Mexican bordello- style decor is cherished, but the music and atmosphere are what you need to be there for. Its much-smaller sister venue, the Shelter, is right beside it. Here you can see Doctor Millar and other local favorites, as well as the big-in-America, not-yet-here likes of Pete Yom.
They have an unmatched selection of Irish indie releases, and also have their own very cool 7-inch-only label. But do not be tempted by the bright neon lights of Temple Bar's Abrakebobra various locations. It's the last place open late at night, but there's a reason: That's the only time they manage to sell any food at all. I get shivers just thinking about the place. But bands and everyone else still like to eat cheap, and eat good. Lunchtime at The Alpha restaurant comer of Wicklow and Clarendon Streets, Dublin 2, brings the best fried food in town, and at dinner it boasts very good Moroccan food.
U2-spotting in the city center? The band owns the Clarence Hotel Wellington Quay, Dublin 2, and are seen around the premises every so often. Many local bands and the occasional visiting star such as David Bowie end a night of drinking at Ri-Ra nightclub Dame Court, Dublin 2, Depending on the night, you'll hear hip-hop, house, indie and other good-time music.
No egos, always good fun. Temple Bar. Gate Georges St. If you're a bit more old-fash- ioned, try a real old spit-on-the-floor bar, like Houricans 7 Lower Leeson St. Don't forget: the worse the toilets, the better the pint! It's got a great dark and dingy clubAive music venue downstairs which we've played many an impromptu after-show party at in extremely intoxicated states.
Upstairs you have a more flashy though still cozy restaurant serving traditional Irish dishes — get there on a Sunday for an amazing roast to counter the hangovers you'll have if your 'doing' Dublin the way it's supposed to be.
Also a great place to meet actors who've just come offstage at the Abbey Theatre. It's also the only pub without Guinness. Anything over 20 people and it's packed. Dublin Zoo , which is superb, is also in the park. Glimpse of history: See one of the world's oldest books. All phone numbers are in the 01 area code. Too elementary. Riot ladies and riot boy run for office on a platform of broken hearts? Not quite. Here's the thing: Olympia's Bangs invoke countless classic-rock descriptors, yet can't be broken down into that familiar, awful adjective soup that "grrrl" contemporaries often endure.
Everything Bangs did well on previous albums Tigei Beat and Sweet Revenge they do exceptionally on this barely minute EP, and diversification is key to the leap forward. While Revenge was a driven, albeit monochromatic, indictment of a bad breakup.
Call And Response simmers with artfully detailed personal politics. Examine the title track: Guitarist Sarah Utter shrieks justifiable grievances about leering, sexist cretins in perfect sync with drummer Peter David Connelly's vicious cymbal crashes, before the chorus unfolds into conscientious pop candy, as bassist Maggie Vail chimes, "Do you know just how it feels to always get called out?
Small, inventive flourishes — the melancholy electric piano in "Kinda Good," Utter's sporadic cock-rock hammer-ons, the empower- ing harmony in "Dirty Knives" — boost the remainder to something damn near greatness.
The title of Utter's spending-spree rant says it all: "I Want More. A member of the Project Blowed crew that spawned the equally conceptual Freestyle Fellowship, the free-form MC intricately blurs words into streaks of light on the highway, forcing volumes into jagged be- bop-influenced patterns. He's a Saul Williams-esque slam poet with comic timing, a one-man Pharcyde painstakingly rapping alongside erratic flutes and psychotic sax skronk, a jumbler of wordslikeAesopRockbutwithstadiumsizedcharismaaaaa.
Over chunky breakbeats courtesy of Call abstractionists Daddy Kev and Paris Zax among others , Busdriver mirrors ragged horn patterns, his flow too wrapped up in rhythm to always hit the right notes or get enough air. Due to his urgency and theatrical overemphasis, lines like "the city's full of robocops who bleed soda pop" find some anger-with-a-grin middle ground between didacticism and smirk- ing nihilism.
This tragic poet is the type to pull up to the fast-food drive-thru, freestyle his order and tell the cashier he's a "tall, lonely teddy bear who occupies empty air. This bus never slows down. His Texas drawl will sound bored instead of weary, his country-rock songs will feel forced instead of forceful, the duet with a female guest that each of his post-imprisonment "comeback" albums has included will seem like an obligation instead of a welcome dose of sweetener. Jeiusalem, however, is not that album.
It's Earle's political opus, with a dark, caustic streak through its questioning heart as he challenges America's tendency toward blind patriotism. The talking-blues "Amerika v. The drum loops anchoring many tracks make sense, as Jerusalem is Earle's most contemporary album in sound and sensi- bility.
Since , the band has been channeling the rowdy rebelliousness shared by tradi- tional gypsy music and punk rock into a cross-cultural dance party against oppression, crafting genre-bending freakouts that simultane- ously celebrate and question globalization. Multi Kontia Culti Vs. Irony, Gogol Bordello's second full-length, sounds like a raging Eastern European-American wedding celebration teetering on the brink of chaos — somebody has spiked the punch and the neighbors have called the cops.
Hiitz is the crazy drunken uncle shouting over the din, slipping back and forth between English and his native tongue as he pontificates on politics, revolution and the power of music. Luckily, Hiitz's hammy delivery prevents him from sounding pedantic, as does the joyful din heating up around him: The rhythm section pounds out bouncy grooves worthy of a line dance, only to break down into noise-fests that could inspire a mosh pit.
Even dorky instruments like the accordion sound cool in Gogol Bordello's heady mix. When Hutz declares "Let's Get Radical," on the song of the same title, he's got just the band to back it up. While many acts might be content with accepting and exploring reality as it stands, Lemon Jelly's Nick Franglen and Fred Deakin have an entirely diiierent approach. Cultivating an esthetic that allows on almost seamless flow between art and music, they ofier an alternative look at the world through swirling lenses, courtesy of both their sonic constructions and the accompanying graphic art.
Lost Horizons, the duo's debut album prop- er following the EP collection named after their website. In fact, tracks like "Ramblin' Man," with its ecstatically delivered list of globe-spanning locales, and the spritely, horn-driven "Nice Weather For Ducks" evoke a sense of childlike fascination and possibility you're unlikely to hear in most contemporary music.
There are darker moments, such as the more sinister "Experiment No. But for the most part. Lost Horizons is exactly the journey through Wonderland its title insinuates. As Willy Wonka himself so knowingly said, "We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams. Lewis's lyrics are refreshingly disengaged from issues either femi- nine or feminist, allowing her to explore emotional territory that is usually the exclusive province of male rock groups — you know, everything else.
Execution, the band's second record, burns with intense weltschmerz, its existential crises cloaked in buoyant instru- mental hooks and shimmery arrangements. The lead track, "The Good That Won't Come Out," sets the tone: A subdued, clockwork drumbeat ticks the time down, while interludes of plangent pedal steel echo the ache in Lewis's near-monotone lament.
Like much of the best stuff on the album, the song accumulates power verse upon verse, cracking open briefly before bursting apart. What makes these songs moving rather than maudlin is the way Lewis's lyrics and the music work together to hotwire melancholic thoughts with a sense of hope.
The yearning for a path out of despair is palpable, and — heyl — catchy, to boot. John Nayer - My Stupid Mouth 2. Tobitho's Secret - 3am 3. Better Than Ezra - Good 4. Shannon Worrell - Eleanor 6. Train - Meet Virginia Acoustic 8. The Gufs - Give Back Yourself 9. Shawn Nullins - Lullaby Guster - Window Gary Pierce - Vineyard So what is DemoJition, actually? All of those things, sort of. The 13 tracks are a mix of songs culled from the many different recording sessions Adams got himself mixed up in since his solo career hit with 's Heaiibieakei.
And, as you might assume, the record's full of a bunch of distinctly different personalities. There's some of HeortbreaJcer's miserablist "Desire" and "Dear Chicago" , a little bit of Whiskeytown's alt-country troublemaker "Gimme A Sign" , but then there are some new faces — some weird crooner who leans uncomfortably near Aaron Neville, and even a sappy folkie with a John Denver sweetness factor.
Sure, there are some missteps in all those SybiJ-isms, but as is his way, when Adams gets things right he gets them goddamn righf. If "Cry On Demand" doesn't tug on your tearducts there ain't a show on Lifetime that could save your stone heart.
As an album, Demoh'fion is a little inconsistent, a little schizophrenic — but as a time capsule representing a period in a bril- liant, still-growing career, it's gold.
Appropriately, every track's title ends in an exclamation point. Suicide and the rest of the Agenda's code-named gang surpass Mr. Their raucous, catchy ode to a high-school gal, "Shakel Shake! Let the revolution begin.
Professional driver on closed course. Do not attempt. Having completed the retro-pop magical mys- tery tour of 's The Discovery Of A Woild Inside The Moone, the group now seems to be taking its inspiration less from the playground and more from the garage. Trading in the swing set for a souped-up GTO suits the Apples well: They can still concoct a masterful melody reminiscent of Brian Wilson or Ray Davies, but there is a rougher edge to this batch of buoyant pop songs.
This new- found urgency comes across best on "Rainfall," the first of two tracks sung by drummer Mlarie Sidney, whose tough-kitten, Go- Go's-inspired vocals give tlie fun-filled rave-up just the right injec- tion of sass.
And it's nice to see that even though the Apples are getting older Sidney and leader Robert Schneider are now mar- ried and have a young son , youthful angst still rules: "Yore Days" is a reflection on post-yearbook stagnation, and the bonus track "She's Telling Lies" is a ta e of a teenage Dairy Queen harlot. An apple a day must keep agi ig at boy. Arkestra One traffics in the same lush soundscapes and lounge grooves that inform acts like Stereolab and Air.
His advantage is Brozilian- bom vocalist Nina Miranda, who col- laborates with Timoney on most of the tracks, contributing airy, melodic vocals that bring to mind the ethereal style of Astrid Gilberto.
Hmoney's masterful loungetronica doesn't feature a great deal of sampling — at least, not to the point of obnoxiousness — but he does fancy peculiar samples: "Man From The Audience," for instance, opens with a weirder-than-usual evangelist introducing his flock to a young man who wants to get "stoned on Jesus.
In the main, limoney crafts broad melodic statements that have a cine- matic sweep. Her improvised vocals don't simply feed off Hmoney's compositions, they complete his musical visions. Arkestra One's debut is an auspicious one, as Timoney's take on both lounge and ambient is distinctive and very appealing. Verve tours felt somewhere between performance art, tent revival and meteor shower.
In a good way, of course. But since their final split, Ashcroft's courted a different kind of bombast; every step since the early psychedelic headswims has been a little more orchestral, almost anthemic. Spiritualized more. What then of Human Conditions, Ashcroft's second, now that he's settled into solo territory completely? Well, it's not Alone redux, or a return to form, but a deeper trip down that road he's been striding.
Condifions is huge, sound-wise, scope-wise— drowning in syrupy harmonies, strings, horns, piano. It's not as pop as Alone, but still less heady, somehow. The tracks breathe, but the mood is less psychedelic, almost prog — sort of Lamb Lies Down On Broadway-mood, minus the time-sig switching. There are some bullseyes the eight-plus minute "Check The Meaning" , like Alone, and quite a few misfires where he aimed for the big chorus and landed in a pool of cheese.
He seems to be searching for a medium between the breadth of psychedelia and the pop he's unorguably grown damn good at crafting. He's not there yet with Human, but he's getting closer. Back when he was leading the Archers through the mine- field that was major-label indie-rock in the '90s, he was also indulging in some rather avant instrumental experiments as Barry Black, a project that released two full-lengths and, at various times, featured everything from banjo and upright bass to cello, violin and Ben Folds on drums.
If Crooked Fingers, Bachmann's alias for what might Ijest be described as an indie-rock variation on rootsy mountain music, is Bachmann's continuation of the Archers' sing-along melodies, then Short Careers, his original score for the indie film Ball Of Wax, is a reincarnation of Barry Black. The all-instrumental disc does features Bachmann on guitar, but the songs are dominated by a mixture of tinkling pianos, stark violin and cello arrangements, odd percussion and acoustic bass.
There are moments of beauty, chaos, and eeriness, all of which probably have some useful context in the film. But like most instrumental soundtracks by rock guys, this disc, even more so than the Barry Black albums, is for only the most com- mitted Bachmann fans. Surprisingly, Branan who's occasionally supported by the likes of Memphis's Pawtucket and vari- ous folks from the Madjack roster has only been writing tunes for a couple of years.
He acknowledges John Prine as a key inspiration, which makes perfect sense, since Prine's shadow is detectable in Branan's unvarnished mumbles and shouts, the lo-fi musical setting and most importantly, the lyri- cal diamonds buried in most every track.
Jangly album opener "Miss Ferguson" is an amusing jolt of libido, but is a dead ringer for a Counting Crows track. While the electric energy there and on the smarter "Jolene" inoculates the disc from soft-focus folkism, Branan generally does better when quieting down to shine light on a woman "by the vending machine talking to a Marine" on the beautiful "Troublesome Girl" or the gal with "the fake tattoos that say 'Forever Yours'" on "Crackerjack Heart.
He makes a striking lyri- Link www. The California native recorded his first four albums with a series of collaborators linked to vari- ous regional scenes, most notably Joey Burns and John Convertino of Tucson's Calexico on 's stunning The Hill. Buckner stopped the revolving door for outing number five by sequestering himself in an Edmonton, Alberta home studio another temporary dwelling from which he's since pulled up stakes , enlisting only the help of a drummer.
Surprisingly, the result is a more densely arranged, full-band www. Impasse pursues the electric sound broached on 's Since, favoring tuneful slow burns over fuzzed-out rock excesses. Even the more sparse, acoustic-based songs, once Buckner's stock-in-trade, are bolstered with an organ, dobro or sec- ond guitar. His low, raspy voice falls somewhere between Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen, its Appalachian folk-inflected waver wrapping a remarkable number of notes around a single syllable.
There's still enough twang to link Impasse to the Americana contingent, but like Waits, Buckner crafts a uniquely personal — and quite melancholy — vision. His trademark desolate lyrics haven't exactly lightened, but the livelier musical backdrop knocks them back more smoothly.
Impasse doesn't blaze many new trails for Richard Buckner, but he's on such an excellent run, that's hardly a gripe. Canada's Carolyn Mark, occasional partner of alt-country hero- ine Neko Case in the Corn Sisters, has one of those voices: a natural force sometimes eerily similar to that of Natalie Merchant. But Mark and her Room-Mates have a much better sense of humor than Merchant or her Maniacs, and her second disc is loaded with fancy wordplay.
Mark, backed by her actual roommates Tolan McNeil bass and guitar and Garth Johnson drums , spins tales about parties, life on the Canadian road, and on "Dirty Little Secret," slovenly enviros who are "saving trees and saving fishes, saving water but leaving dishes.
So do the stop- time rhythms and trumpet break on the flapperesque "Chumpville," and the canned laughter on the title track, perhaps the saddest tune on the set. Driven by ringing guitars and Stochansky's distinctive vocals, Five Star Motel is lush, rich, and irresistibly melodic.
Recorded at George Lucas's paradisia- cal Skywalker Ranch, the disc is a cine- matic voyage to the dark side of Dredg's moon. With 16 oddly named tracks like "Dcbtfoabaaposba" and "An Elephant In The Delta Waves" effortlessly bleed- ing into each other, Dredg cover every- thing from prog-metal guitar to warped piano minuets to sax-y jazz to drum 'n' bass breakdowns featuring actual drums and basses without creating a disastrous cacophony.
Holding it all together are the choirboy vocals of Gavin Hayes, whose enig- matic lyrics mine complex meaning out of sincere simplicity and endearing absurdity. While Dredg don't employ many of the traditional dark devices of their modem-rock brethren, they still remain heavy.
Not heavy like their closest kin. Tool, but heavy like your philosophy professor con- vincing you that you don't actually exist. Truly a landmark recording for this band. Pink Floyd, Mike Patton and his various projects Link www. Grateful Dead- like country folk into American punk's frothing mouth, and his languorous psychedelic colors are painted in broad strokes across this disc. Krist Novoselic, who many remember only as Nirvana's lanky, slightly awkward bass player, hints at why that band reached such peaks, revealing— again — his innate value as a tendon between guitar and Nirvana, Meat Puppets, Sublime, J.
Mascis and the Fog drums, as well as his gift for tuneful arrangement. Threads of Nirvana's bare-boned, scruffy melodies are sewn throughout this debut. Beneath Novoselic's lean bass and Kirkwood's spidery guitar, drummer Bud Gaugh's Sublime polished, intricate chops explore rhythmic patterns neither of the men up front visited with previous outfits. Eyes Adtilt leans heavily toward the Meat Puppets, with Kirkwood's subdued vocals accompanying his soaring Crazy Horse leads on the lion's share of the album.
Novoselic's clear and earnest desire to make music again shines through, especially on the sad and creepy "Inquiring Minds," whose repeated chorus. They've all been there, and Eyes Adrift, a stunning, haunting, collection of eclectic rock songs, is all the more beautiful because of it. But even though year-old Ford who iirst picked up guitar at the tender age of 58 now has an audience, the song remains the same. Bad Man echoes John Lee Hooker's amped-up, reverb- soaked ramblers, with a generous por- tion of atonal dementia check the detuned strumming of the title track chucked in for the hell of it.
There's no flashy urban blues slickness here, no blip and bleep electronic trickery. Memphis vet Jim Dickinson's live recording of T-Model and longtime drummer Spam whose lockdown grooves follow T-Model's guitar as though it were a bass, shuffling and whomping behind the beat captures the bare basics, but Dickinson still tweaks enough to vary the tone and ambience, mov- ing drums to the forefront or knocking them back, trimming T-Model's guitar down or fattening it up.
This transports Bad Man out of the rough, documentarian style associated with simple roots music, which homogenizes the experience out of either necessity Alan Lomax's field recordings, for instance , or as a deliberate lo-fi angle. On this album, Dickinson uses the studio space as an instrument, and T-Model follows along, hypnotically churning out a skeletal blues-bake. Jotin Lee Hooker, R. Fight Dirty finds the Atlanta band ripping through the rapid-fire guitar-and- Hammond sound it's been honing since well before garage-rock started getting, uh, stroked on a large scale.
The disc is most reminiscent of the often-incongru- ous musical interludes in '80s movies, where the action would suddenly shift to a scene of a band onstage and fringe flying on shimmying corn-fed hips.
Think the Mosquitoes washing ashore on GiJiigan's Island, but with chops. Bryan Malone's guitar and vocal tones are a perfect Pebbles-eia match, and keyboardist Trey Tidwell is the secret weapon, pouring that B3 goodness over the able rhythm section's grooves. The shame of Fight Dirty is that it's just a record. You really want to be seeing this, not just hearing it, preferably in a low-ceilinged club crowded with people working up a sweat. Let the fringe fly. The list may be impressive, but what makes the project truly special is the diversity of the songs by Gano, who has spent two decades trying to equal the dada- folk-punk of the Femmes' seminal debut.
What connects the disparate material is the herky-jerky melodicism for which he is known. In true revue fashion, the album begins and ends with its catchiest song, the title track — first hiccupped by Harvey, then reprised by Gano himself, reclaiming his first gift after laying claim to a second.
Vocalist Martin Rossiter shares Morrissey's penchant for woe-is-me lyrics and histrionic vocals that could make a Shakespearean actor blush, and guitarist Steve Mason likes to cleanly pick his way Johnny Marr-style through some of the London quartet's sing- alongs for the hopelessly depressed. But every effort since their debut Olympian proves these lads to be above mere reinterpretations of an obvious influence. Libertine, Gene's fourth studio album and sixth overall mixed results.
The domestic version bolstering and undermining a solid continues the trend with includes four bonus tracks, import with some of their best and worst work to date. Tracks left over from the import version — particularly "Yours For The Taking" and "Spy In The Clubs" — tend to be inspired rather than insipid, but still, at plus minutes. Libertine is in dire need of some serious editing. What could be a brilliant EP is an unwieldy and meandering full-length.
Along with new albums from legendary producer Large Professor and class-clown Biz Markie, the new disc from former Pharcyde member Tre Hardson is mak- ing the winter of '02 seem like '92 all over again. Those expecting the same goofy tone and freewheeling attitude of the Pharcyde's acclaimed debut, Bizaiie Ride II The Phaicyde, however, might be disappointed. Hardson's rubbery, sing-song flow hasn't declined, but he spends half the disc crooning choruses in a decent, if inconsistent tenor — you're advised to skip the missed notes of "Just 2 Bring It.
Liberation does the trick just fine. Digging deeper into Liberation's 17 tracks, however, Hardson's one-track lyrics begin to distract from the pleasing production. The legal and personal drama that marked the end of the Pharcyde's career is no secret, but Hardson swaddles his anger in a blanket of vague psycho-babble and self- help aphorisms.
Next time around, let's hope for less Oprah and more Ol' Dirty Bastard. Cut Yourself A Switch is a compelling dis- sertation on the continuing power and beauty of the genre. As one-half of Freakwater alongside Emmylou man- que Janet Bean , Catherine Irwin has put in plenty of time singing the songs of her ol' Kentucky forbeorers, gradually writing more original material.
On her first solo album, she steps back from the elaborate arrangements heard on Freakwater's recent Endtime, instead favoring stripped-down finger-picking augmented sparingly by bass and very occasional fiddle or accordion.
As a result, most of Switch sounds like it was carried over a mountain by Rip Van Winkle, awakened after 70 years' sleep. Irwin-penned standouts like "Swan Dive" and "Hex" reek of moonshine and heartache, and more than hold their own against covers of early Elvis and Carter Family tunes. Bean's sweet- ening harmonies are missing but not missed; singing solo, Irwin's interpretive abilities prove astonishing. Just goes to show, a little education goes a long way.
I I lio new double live CD in stores now. Even when leading Jawbreaker in the era of big-budget alterna-rock, Schwarzenbach strove to find new and better ways to dig deeper into his own psyche for a certain clarity that's as hard to define as "emo" itself. And, as a pure product of the Clinton era, his talent is in making sure you can feel his pain.
Witfi Jets To Brazil, Schwarzenbach hasn't deviated from that path — if anything, the band has become a foundation for more concentrated doses of his soul searching, especially as he's added more keyboards and acous- tic guitar to the tuneful, if stark, mix of guitars, bass and drums.
The title of JTB's latest, Peifecting Loneliness, may indeed be a reflection of Schwarzenbach's sense of humor about his mission, but that's just window dressing for a disc that takes itself pretty seriously. Still, there's no denying that Schwarzenbach has achieved what he set out to do without eschewing the melodic gifts that make even his strongest medicine easy to swallow. But there's nothing retro or stylish about the Juliana Theory, unless rocking your fucking face off sans sonic gimmicks can somehow be considered old- fashioned.Jun 25, · Various clips of Laneline Hunting Beagles. Pups in training and young dogs chasing rabbits. CMJ New Music Monthly, Volume December ; The BEST how to skin a .
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