Datsik/Flux Pavilion/Excision – Boom EP

In addition to the somewhat worthy attention that Burial received for his two albums, the dubstep genre has always been a thriving and prevailing community in music. Artists like Benga, EL-B, Oris Jay and many others have proven the style of music to be a fantastic genre. It’s even moved into the realm of hip-hop where many have cited it for the influential and significant sound it is; even receiving an endorsement from hip-hop legends and pioneers, Public Enemy.

Rants aside, independent label, Rottun Recordings has been more than fair in allowing artists to spread their music through their digital store. A few vinyl editions are available but for the most part, it’s been a haven for like-minded geniuses to make heavy-beated, heavy-coated, layered dubstep of the best kind. The Boom EP is another step in the right direction towards notoriety. A blistering weighty set of four songs from music makers/producers Datsik, Flux Pavilion and Excision, it is without question, one of the best electronic releases of the year.

The integral role in all of this is Datsik and his other-worldly touches of grime and metal-clashing. The title track starts with whispering native flutes before tearing into stomping beats. The evil sounds of what appears to be one angry robot come in the shade of bass-heavy synths, a drum pattern and collapsing snares. All of this breaks away and reveals the flute all alone with only the mere recoil of a repetitive keyboard when suddenly, with the announcement of “tick-tick-BOOM!” the beats explode. It’s timely, it’s smart, and it’s absolutely musical.

And while that song stands out as the album’s signature tone, it’s packed around three other mammoths that eat, live and breathe sludge. A love for movies is obviously one of the main ingredients on Boom. On the other Excision and Datsik collaboration, “Calypso” is a movie-sampling piece that further explores the options of sounding big and full without ever over-doing it. Here, the mechanics state “Your services are no longer required” while the music trances away with more of the same fierce power. And on “Crunch,” the narrator is heard, “You’re on thin f*cking ice, and I shall be under it when it breaks…now f*ck off.” It’s vulgar, sure but it’s a brilliant introduction to the music’s nervy jolts.

“Game Over” is the closest they all get to creating an all-encompassing beast. Inter-relaying the rhythms from climbing quarters that rapidly fade into eights before rippling amongst eights and sixteenths, there is a definite love for percussion here. The bridge comes in the form of a mean keyboard that rouses with a crescendo into the final battle. While everything is entirely engrossing, this song’s strength is its building intro and ensuing structure.

The Boom EP is a unified and grand exposition of what three electronic producers can come up with. This is only proof that dubstep will continue to delve deeper into countless possibilities. When you have the attention and the talent is obviously there, Rottun shouldn’t have a problem cranking out more hits.

The Black Drumset – S/T

The ninth song on The Black Drumset’s self-titled debut album has a running time of 4:29 and consists of nothing except the sound of rain, with a few loud, booming thunderclaps echoing in the background for good measure. I choose to point this out at the beginning of my review because the track does a good job illustrating the ridiculousness of the disc as a whole.

If garage rock’s sound is supposed to take its cue from the sounds of teenagers banging away on their instruments – barely legal kids bouncing ideas around and exploring new sounds for nothing but the thrill of it – The Black Drumset represents the sound of a band taking that aesthetic far too literally. Brian Willey and Carlos Orozco, the only permanent members of The Black Drumset, are undeniably talented musicians; this fact makes their apparent wish to sound like a bunch of kids who aren’t the least bit concerned with song structure or coherency all the more perplexing. There’s a strong sense that none of this music has any discernible point.

And believe me when I say that none of it has a point. Everything here drones on and on and on: keyboards, guitars, bass, and drums play the same progressions and rhythms over and over again, beating the listener over the head with electronic babbling and sonic meandering of a kind that makes the band sound like a second-rate Mogwai. Hell, even the vocals (where there are any) drone! Take, for example, the full set of lyrics to “We are Alive”:

“We are alive

We are alive

We are alive

We are alive”

Apparently we are alive, goddamn it, and The Black Drumset won’t put the song to bed until the members remind us. As if repeating the title of a song over and over again and calling it “lyrics” once isn’t one time too many, the band actually sins again – on the final song of the album, no less. The band tells us a couple thousand times on “The White House is On Fire” that the “White House/is on fire,” with all the resiliency and insistence of a latter-day Paul Revere.

Even when they try to fashion an actual song out of the woodwork (“An Absolute Emergency”) or find rhythms which can actually stand repeating (“A Dangerous Drive”), The Black Drumset fails to persuade its listeners that all the droning and repeating on display here is for a reason. Worse than that, however, is the anonymity of the songs themselves, which is perhaps the biggest offense; if a band that relies on the persistent continuation of a riff, lyric, or rhythm still ends up with a forgettable album at the end of the day, well, that’s something almost like talent. Almost.

The Reptilian – Boy’s Life EP

The Reptilian is a carbon copy of Minus The Bear, down to the silly, long song titles. The EP kicks off with a guitar riff I swear I heard off Highly Refined Pirates, and continues to duplicate MTB’s style, rhythm, and tone like the members are building Ikea furniture. I’ve heard knock-offs before, but sheesh — you might as well have labeled this a rough demo tape. It’s shocking how little innovation there is in these four songs. You think they would make the most of an EP, instead of ripping off a semi-popular band. But no, they throw away a perfectly good opportunity to promote themselves, relegating the only moment of creativity to the throw away, ambient weirdness of “Wallkicks Will Work”. 

What saves The Reptilian from being completely written off is Jon Sacha’s voice. He brings this Thursday-esque growl to the mix, with this great, primal hurt, like a dying wild animal. There’s a real sense of urgency here, the same I get from Geoff Rickly circa Full Collapse. This is a man with something important to say, desperate for anyone to listen. But where Rickly and Thursday back it up with poetic, symbolic lyrics, The Reptilian falls short. The group’s lyrics are spotty and inconsistent at best — they match the stuff found on War All The Time at worst, and they come off goofier and more self-important than the titles of their songs. You can’t hide your failed attempts and significant lyrical poetry behind irreverent song titles. You can’t have it both ways.

In the end, I want The Reptilian to trust its instincts. The group doesn’t have to hide behind tired, worn out licks — they can take the chance and write the kind of music they want to write. I don’t think they’re a shitty band, I just think they’re afraid to commit.

The Reptilian on Myspace

Count Your Lucky Stars Records

Dark Knights of Camelot – “Purple Undertones”

1967: Purple Haze.

1984: Purple Rain.

2009: Purple… Undertones?

In choosing purple as a part of its song title, Mississippi band Dark Knights of Camelot is asking for a lot of easily avoidable comparisons. The group’s track “Purple Undertones,” however, has little in common with Messrs Hendrix or Prince.

The song begins in quite an epic fashion, with a sludgy, slow guitar riff over a relentless drum beat, followed by sparse, dry vocals. The band quickly teeters on the point of bloatedness, repeating the twangy riff over and over again. Being a power trio, the band relies heavily on the abilities of their singer/guitarist Ben Shea, who seems to struggle to balance between the two.

Eventually the song builds and builds, culminating with a much more uplifting conclusion than the dark beginning. As the song progresses, it begins to take on a whole new feel, reaching an anthemic guitar solo at its end. For fans of darker, less accessible alternative rock, this is surely a song worth giving a listen to.

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Filastine – Dirty Bomb

No offense or anything, but Dirty Bomb would make an awful dirty bomb. Look at the album art there: Filastine’s name furtively fitted amongst the columns of a ruined temple, the record’s name graffitied against a short, nondescript wall. That is hidden. That sort of expression could crawl up behind and cause damage when least expected. The record, though, is the opposite; Filastine’s tunes are bombastic and confrontational, too uncompromising not be heard from miles away.

Dirty Bomb is the second album from Barcelona-based producer and musician Grey Filastine, an artist also involved with Infernal Noise Brigade and ¡TchKunG!. “Singularities”’s taut, fussy string loops commence the experience and introduce a theme of agitation that can be traced through to the album’s end. Following the strings, Dirty’s next big focal point: beat, as a staggered flutter of percussion carries the tune into the realm of the physical. Be it sourced from hip-hop, reggaeton, dubstep or elsewhere, rhythm bolsters up Filastine’s discomposure enough to keep this a danceable political affair. Then, there’s the fantastic ageographical vibe throughout it all as a result of taking genres such as the above-mentioned and grafting overtop countless Eastern instruments and sounds. Being released on a label titled “Post World Industries” makes sense for such multinational machinations.

Perhaps that’s Dirty’s most endearing quality: the denaturing and decentering of musical styles that, in recent times, have begun to fall flat. Similar acts include Daedelus, DJ Spooky, M.I.A., and Gang Gang Dance’s most recent output (the Rawwar EP in particular). The use of acoustic instruments with electronic configurations similarly excites my critical sensibilities. And, though a record mostly void of non-sampled words, Dirty contains a number of voices, all captured via on-site collaborations, that labor well in capturing listener attention. There are many aspects to hold on to here amongst all the genre reconfiguration and polemicizing.

These qualities do, however, give Dirty Bomb it’s most valuable fuel.  A sample from “Marxa” best sums it up: “Music is the weapon. Music is the thing of the future.” You wouldn’t go to war with an unloaded gun, right? Then certainly you wouldn’t put out a record without paying attention to every last musical meaning and detail.

Anthem In – The Cloudbusting EP

Like most sane individuals, I can shamelessly admit that I am a skeptic of albums named after cover songs from the 80’s. I mean, come on. It’s alright to throw in a few cover songs here and there. It’s kind of like a security blanket, or a greasy, late-night comfort food. But when your entire album is named after and fronted by a version of Kate Bush’s 1985 single “Cloudbusting,” the situation at hand quickly escalates from “Ho-Hum” to “Questionable.”

Enter Exhibit A: Anthem In, a quintet of flashy East Coast whippersnappers who are the forefathers of The Cloudbusting EP, and the culprits of the aforementioned cardinal sin. Seemingly overshadowed by the near-ridiculousness of their project’s theme, Anthem In falls short of any ambitious goals they might have had for this release. But hey, don’t get me wrong. There is nothing obscene or repulsive about this band. It’s just that there is nothing all that great either. Songs have predictable rhythms, basic themes, and as a result, there is disappointingly little to distinguish Anthem In from legions of similar-sounding pop-punk clones.

The EP starts off with a sort of clichéd scribbly guitar moan before launching into an upfront, no-strings-attached bouncy jam. While instantly catchy and cool, it soon becomes apparent that give or take a few (one, actually…) slow-dance curveballs, the rest of the songs sounds alarmingly similar. And there is a very predictable pattern that the whole thing seems to follow. All songs start out loud and peppy, and then phase out into the mandatory “Quiet and Mellow Contemplation Zone.” Then, when it seems too glum and sad, the song starts to not-so-subtly build up to loud again, and then transitions into is a sort of “break-it-down” instrumental section. Lastly, comes the ever-popular triumphant finish and then the fade out to black. Copy paste. Copy paste. Repeat. Repeat.

Despite the fact that it all sounds like the same thing over and over again, the EP’s one redeeming quality is that the songs are ridiculously catchy. For better or for worse, these songs will get stuck in your head sporadically at various inconvenient times throughout the day. I can guarantee it. But while it initially seemed novel and hip, there is little to keep you interested on repeat listens. Beneath its ultra-marketable, happy-go-lucky cocoon, there is not a whole lot going on except angsty high school drama, played out “what if” themes, and ambiguous tales of regret. Throughout The Cloudbusting EP, lyrics are simple and ridiculously repetitive. Take for instance the song “Leanings,” which concludes with lead singer Allen Orr repeating the phrase “you don’t see” sixteen times over. This would be bad enough, only I managed to find and track down eight other “you don’t sees” lurking throughout the rest of it. And considering that there are only five other verses in the entire cut, this means that the song is roughly composed of 40% of some sort of variation of the phrase “you don’t see.” Wow. Other similar calculations yield surprisingly similar results. “Universal” fundamentally consists of three basic phrases. And when you closely examine “History,” you realize that out of the song’s 28 lines, only about six of them are actually different. No wonder all of this sounds the same to me. It’s because it actually is the same.

If nothing else, The Cloudbusting EP serves as a lesson to others. Repetition and familiarity may be key ingredients in successful pop music, but if you overindulge in their comforting qualities, your efforts will sound sluggish and unoriginal. And when you string together an entire release that stubbornly ignores this glaring error, the inevitable consequence will be disappointment.

Quiet/Loud Records

Sleep Whale – Little Brite EP

Melding together the disparaging worlds of electronic and acoustic music is not a task easily assumed. Many times, a disproportionate amount of either one will result in some sort of New Age drivel that’s better left on the shelf of your local Hallmark store. Thankfully, the post-rock underpinnings of Denton, TX-based Sleep Whale are far removed from those banal and vapid stylings. Yet rock, these dudes surely do not, and you shouldn’t listen to the band’s new EP, Little Brite, expecting anything that would warrant a devil horn to be thrown haphazardly into the air. This isn’t Explosions in the Sky, after all.

With chilling string drones, deftly played acoustic guitar, and skittering electronic flourishes, the only other artist that comes close to matching the transparent and occasionally wistful beauty of this band’s music would be Stars Of The Lid (coincidentally, also from the Lone Star State). Truth be told though, Sleep Whale is comprised of just two musicians: Bruce Blay (violin, sequencer), and Joel North (cello, guitar). Formerly known as Mom (a name change seemed like a good call here), these multi-instrumentalists cite everyone from Brian Eno to the Penguin Café Orchestra as an influence.

To officially commemorate their name change, the band has release a six-song set on the venerable Western Vinyl label, and the music is indeed worthy of celebration. You needn’t be concerned with the fact that there are sounds of trickling water on the opener, “Skipping Stones.” Whereas ambient nature music – the stuff that typically gets played as a masseuse kneads your ailing joints – will use bird calls or falling rain as the focus of a soundscape, it is just part of the overall texture here. What truly impresses is that the conglomeration of electronic twitters, hand percussion, and gurgling H2O in “Skipping Stones” actually create the perception of small rocks ricocheting off the surface of a pond. With softly moaning synths and strings that you’d be likely to here on a Björk or Sigur Rós record, the song fades away as if it’s traveling to the bottom of the ocean.

The cello and violin play a much more prominent role in “A Pebble Garden; their drones are brought up front in the mix with a tone that has considerable bite. It’s an arresting three and a half minutes of glittering ambience. Steve Reich’s presence is strongly felt on the next track, “Josh Likes Me.” With adroit guitar playing set to cascading electronic loops, several auxiliary percussion instruments propel the song along while keyboards hypnotize with an incessant pulse. The tune has the slightest touch of melancholy, but still it manages to convey an airy and effervescent message of hope.

The following track, which goes by the same name as the band itself, is laden with effects. As a delay-treated guitar lines bounce back and forth, manipulated tape loops gradually shift the groove to something completely different. For a time, the metallic chimes of a music box and the string instruments lead the proceedings. Shortwave radio squelches and shards of static can be occasionally, until the song drones in a squall of feedback.

The album’s final two songs are heard best as a pair. “Airplane Arms,” like “Skipping Stones” before it, utilizes text painting to get its message across. With the intermittent rumble of electronic percussion and the razor-sharp howl of the strings, you can’t help but wonder if it’s all meant to sound like you’re standing on the middle of a tarmac. On final cut “Little Brite,” the guitar is heard playing fully realized chords for the first time. The sparseness of the performance is surprising, given Joel North’s fluidity with more complex arrangements. By the end of the song however, the percussive pummeling of the previous track has been taken over by the guitar, now doing battle with a clamorous wave of drones and electronic dissonances. The song ends confidently with a major chord, validating all that came before.

If this is indeed some sort of New Age music, it harkens back more succinctly to the music of Steve Reich or La Monte Young than it does Yanni or George Winston. Joel North said recently in an interview that Reich’s Music For 18 Musicians is among his favorite works. If you know and love that piece of music (or honestly, even if you have no idea what it is), pick up a copy of Little Brite as soon as you are able.

Caroline – Murmurs Mixes

When considering remix albums, choices should be carefully disposed and meticulously calculated. Coming up with solutions on when to release them is another question on its own. A group like Junior Boys has made a name for re-releasing its albums and pairing them with a remix album. And with time, I am sure that we will see a remix disc whenever its newest triumph, Begone Dull Care, is re-released.

For dreamy pop wiz Caroline, she has opted for an iTunes exclusive entitled, Murmurs Mixes. With underground producers and electronic beatmakers taking the stage, the overall package is a terrific win on many accounts. Her frail and fragile voice is ever so present on all of the songs. With a lovely melody delivered by a music box, Lullatone’s mix of “Bicycle” simply aids Caroline’s affectionate delivery. One can only think and know that Caroline was eager to approve; soothing and kindly restrained, the six minutes transpire like a mellow dream.

The release was a quiet declaration with the focus being on the caliber of the music, rather than on the promotion provided for it. The tracklisting was often changed so many times that I wonder what the final one is. The press release describes a different one than is on the actual promotional disc, which differs from what is actually advertised on Temporary Residence’s site. But whatever the situation is with that, none of that confusion seeped into any of the music.

Even when the breaks do appear, they don’t frighten any of the mixes’ overall placidity. For “Winter,” Repose strikes hard with fastened snares and thumping flashes of cymbal and frenzied keyboards. Allowing enough calm to shine the light on the gloom of Caroline’s weeping and the corresponding piano, it’s not long before the beats kick back in. Elsewhere, Poignant carries “Everylittlething” with powering synths. They’re a fitting touch especially when Caroline’s vocals are some of the harshest and assertive ones found on Murmurs.

There is just enough variety on this set of mixes, and when nearly every song is taken apart and given a new look, it makes you wonder what the original take sounds like. Another key aspect is that none of the musicians phoned in their work. Unlike most mix albums, every one did their part to ensure the music was re-invented. And a great example of this is how even the same song can feature two vastly different versions that are similar only in melody. For “Sunrise,” Logreybeam’s is an ambient, securely detached version, while Sunset’s begins with familiar ambience before quickly turning into a fleshed-out, meatier rendition.

Poised and self-assured, she’s given her friends and collaborators the freedom to bring her songs to life on Murmurs Mixes. Caroline’s voice is a meek and timid voice but she always sounds sincere and genuine. On Air Ballet’s mix of “I’ll Leave my Heart Behind,” she sounds contemplative and opens up. As she sings about the heartstrings that are being pulled within her, she doesn’t shy away as she sings in full force about how she must protect her heart. Ultimately, the songs are still Caroline’s but she’d be smart to take note of how refreshing they can sound in the right hands.

“All I Need” by Caroline (Owen Vallis Mix)

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Isa & the Filthy Tongues – Addiction

Scottish bands don’t, as a rule, come from Edinburgh.  Edinburgh is mostly perceived as too respectable, too reserved, too culturally elitist to produce much in the way of amplified rhythmic sound with perhaps adult lyrical content. Scottish rock bands are mostly from Glasgow, that grubby corner of Caledonia that is forever the south Bronx before Guiliani gentrified/demolished it. Edinburgh does on occasion produce stars of its own though, such as Shirley Manson, frontwoman of Garbage, whose own career began in a little remembered (though reverently by those who do remember) Edinburgh band called Goodbye Mr. Mackenzie, whose main songwriter Martin Metcalfe has taken several years over preparing the 15 tracks presented on Addiction.

‘Isa’ herself is Stacey Chavis, whose transatlantic vowels reveal her as a native not of Stenhouse but of Portland, Oregon, and it’s tempting to regard Isa & the Filthy Tongues as  somehow Garbage in reverse. A Scots band fronted by an American female vocalist; there is also an air of thwarted genius in the atmosphere around the band itself. Goodbye Mr Mackenzie are somehow the best example of ‘nearly men’ the 80s Scots music scene ever produced, and their guitarist John Duncan attended the same school as I did. I wondered then if Big John (he was a quite large bloke with a huge mass of spiky bleached hair, more out of place than you’d think in late 70s north Lanarkshire) was happier selling records in the old Listen store on Union Street than he ever was making them.

Past aside, Isa & the Filthy Tongues are seemingly favourites for film soundtracking, with songs appearing in current films such as ‘New Town Killers’ and ‘Spread’. The combination of breathy femme vocal and noirish guitar riffs is, I need to say, a compelling one, although Stacey Chavis’ voice is sometimes swamped by Metcalfe’s reverberating Gretsch, and no wonder, as given the budget his previous incarnation lacked, Isa & the Filthy Tongues can explore some personal high points of the preceding 3 decades with alacrity.  So, for any musical pedant there are influences a plenty to spot and perhaps savour, including The Cure, Depeche Mode, The Pretenders, Hank Marvin and most tellingly, even more obscure mid 80s Edinburgh popsters The Shop Assistants. But Addiction is more than capable of standing on its own merits, and makes for a coolly measured if not chilly reappraisal of some well known styles, reassessed and regurgitated with more than a dash of élan. Isa & the Filthy Tongues are, at their core, a flashy bunch of unashamed glam poseurs, and the one band they don’t sound very much like are Garbage.

Was it really exactly a decade ago that I penned my first printed music review? Garbage, plus support, in Edinburgh’s Princes Street Gardens, a concert held to celebrate the opening of the Scottish parliament, and my comment re: the probably apt choice of headline act never actually made it into print. They were needed though, in those far off and overcast late 90s, with only it seemed Placebo for company as the airwaves were consumed by what seemed like acres of dull club music that no-one could really dance to. Ten years later, we still need more from Martin Metcalfe, and he and his cohorts are in a position to more than oblige.

Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career

“I wanted to control it, oh love I couldn’t hold it” are the words that Camera Obscura’s Tracyanne Campbell sings to kick off the Glasgow band’s fourth album, My Maudlin Career. With such romantics in place and expanding on the right balance of lush pop and sweeping strings, it’s hard not to hold back.

These traits carry a precocious talent in the fact that they’re never off-putting but in reality, strikingly wonderful. And for Campbell and her fellow bandmates, they’ve developed a strong correlation to pop and its infinite connections with emotion and love. On “You Told a Lie” she sings, “No need to convince me that you were a catch” and later shares how she heard “love conquers all.” The music is a fittingly gentle ballad that features Campbell in her sweetly, soft-spoken style. And just as everything around her is growing into splendid soundscapes of believing any little white lie your lover will whisper into your ear, her expressions are fantastically conveyed.

Pretty little birds like this are hard to fight off. They chirp and sing with such affecting ease that it almost feels like a crime. Perception is everything, and music like Camera Obscura’s—the kind that could be dismissed as fluffy and sugary—is giftedly tender and sweet. Sure, it’s a fine line but the quintet possesses a careful attention to the finer things in life and they bring those aspects to the light, where they belong.

The soaring highs of “Careless Love” reach dreamy heights. It comes off as a breathy walk on the beach and then the strings swoop in like something out of 101 Strings’ playbook. The robust cellos, filling violins and the brash string basses pack a powerful punch. And if you’re careful, you’ll hear what sounds like The Beach Boys’ vocals on the opening wooing of “The Sweetest Thing.” A fulfilling theme of happiness, Campbell sings “50 ways to leave your lover” with the utmost confidence.

I should note and expose the fact that the album has been out for a few months now. This isn’t to say that it was in any way forgotten but moreso, nestled around other records that while being a bit flashier, were in no way a higher quality than My Maudlin Career. These intricacies and take away moments reveal themselves in particularly hopeful ways. But you have to give it the time to open up to you as well.

The lullaby melody on “Other Towns and Cities” brings about a stripped and sealed away sound. The strings disappear, along with most of the bandmates’ instruments and Campbell is left with a single guitar to stand on. Gracefully elegant, a sole violin creeps in to provide some shelter. And this starkly distances itself from the roaring closer, “Honey in the Sun.” The only song to feature a horn section and the longest one at that, going away elated and leisurely uplifted just feels right.

Candidly speaking, even without the strings, the horns, or those schmaltzy lyrics, at the core of Camera Obscura’s strength is its songwriting chops. As a unit, the group amassed some of the best music of their careers onto this singular, ‘effusively sentimental,’ career. They don’t want you to hold back in any way and when the music is this impressive, who really wants to?

4AD

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