LE SILO: “3.27830” *****

Recorded 2006

 

Le Silo is a highly accomplished trio of Miyako Kanazawa (piano and voice), Yoshiharu Izutsu (guitar and voice) and Michiaki Suganuma (drums and voice).  They exploded suddenly in 2003 with a groundbreaking “8.8”, instantly setting a new standard for the avant-prog idiom.  The trio masterfully combined an irreverent attitude to Japanese and international classics with a penchant for sudden mood alteration.  Unlike many bands evolving in this style, Le Silo opted for a skeletal instrumentation dominated by the acoustic keyboard sound.  The pace is often frenetic and the compositions are plagued by calculated discontinuity; chopped up into contrastive subsections.

 

Among the myriad of ideas ranging from aggressive assaults to disjointed improvisations, there are also unexpected moments of melancholy deriving from the experiences of impressionistic European jazz.  It is not clear if this is an erudite exercise de style, or a convergence of genres, a quarter of century later. 

 

Undeniably, Le Silo belongs today to Japan’s foremost acts. 

 

 

Reguhon

The opening of the record is loud, but rather unassuming.  A robust piano, a defiant guitar, and accretive drums…  A context not heard since the heyday of Cartoon… But we are in Ikebukuro, Tokyo.  We begin to recognize the female and male voices.  After a spell of silence the trio unleashes its raw power, propelled by the vehement piano invasions.  This will remain the band’s signature throughout this recording. 

 

Miwaku no Hawaii no ryokoo

Aloha, or just about.  If that trip to Hawaii was so “fascinating”, then it must have been one of the honeymooners’ group tours where bored newlyweds are forced to impersonate Presley songs…  The obsessive, ugly tune here competes for Lebensraum with a crackly old vinyl record, but the chorus is thousands of miles away from the Pacific – an impotent, effete, indifferent wailing à la 1980s’ Reportaz.  The mixing is opaque and soupy.  The band breaks free through this self-imposed patina but fails to develop a melody.  Instead, it rushes through a polymetric gallery of constructivist scraps until the main guitar theme returns, calling the absurd chorus back.

 

Inu

After some very Nippon-style vocal interjections from Miyako Kanazawa, we are accosted by a duo of crude, unrefined piano and drums.  The keyboard will intone a simple figure, mellowed down by a jazzy drum.  When the song reaches its dynamic peak, the non-sensical, anti-climactic chorus returns, resolutely shattering the tense build-up.  It is up to the guitar to pick up the pieces.  Miyako’s soprano squeaks down from all the structural bridges. 

 

Nichiyoo no hiruma ni doa wo tataite okosanaide (ryaku shite nokku)

“Don’t knock on the door on Sunday to wake me up”, proclaims the title, but the knocking is exactly what we hear.  This transmutes into a drum intro for a very competent fuzz guitar.  When it weans itself from the harmonic role for the melo-rhythmic piano, Yoshiharu Izutsu’s guitar can barely escape comparisons with Bondage Fruit’s Kido Natsuki.   It will excise melodic notes with a kamikaze velocity, but then a classicist solo piano and cymbals will calm it with a dose of melancholia.  The nap does not last.  The ‘knock-knock’ is a wake up call for an angry, caustic guitar.  The indignant piano line reminds us here of Miyako’s jazz contemporary Hiromi in her more classicist ventures. 

 

Ura ru*shi I…

The first of the three improvisations in which, according to the description, the three musicians swap the instruments.  While the drums appear lost for direction (Izutsu), the coincidental vibrations uniting the guitar and the piano are of some interest.

 

Numazapa II

A first track under this title can be found on Le Silo’s first CD and together they are Michiaki Suganuma’s only compositional contributions thus far.  This one begins with a percussive entrée, followed by a very mystical right-hand keyboard arpeggio.  It approaches us slowly, building up tension while the cymbals remain almost imperceptible.  Before we are forgiven for thinking that this is a Rainer Brüninghaus recording, the guitar theme will be laid out, sketching sluggish monumental scales against those scuttling piano lines.  The piano will eventually take over the lead.  All along, Suganuma’s percussion constructs a four-dimensional structure, busily welding, riveting, filing, piling and forging his cantilevered decorations. 

 

Ru kusuchiaa

A barely understood English text is instantly exposed to a whispered reaction from a woman.  Soon after, Miyako Kanazawa’s composition plunges into a staccato, reinforced by a Zeuhlish choir.  Several sequences will follow in this tight, perfectly immiscible track.  Here, and here only, Miyako’s voice evokes Jun Togawa’s memorable Guernica moments.  The progression is unstoppable; distorted vocal fragments, smooth guitar gables and pilasters, and zeuhlish choirs all advance like a regiment of condemned slaves.  Impressive.

 

Hebidansu

This “Snake Dance” starts with a very nimble guitar narrative, and a rolling drumset.  The piano is given a lot of freedom for an almost swinging solo against the rattling skins.  The level of complexity rises here, as the guitar chokes, piano hiccups and drums belch at competitive speed.  Miyako’s keyboard enters an atonal territory without ever sounding like a Cecil Taylor’s derivative.  The guitar will waddle in an unusual, heavy bass timbre.  These are spacious, illustrative fragments, as if destined to quote from Bill Frisell, Steve Tibbetts and, inevitably, Terje Rypdal.  But Izutsu’s sustain is shorter and the drummer is far more intrusive than Jon Christensen ever was.  Against the racket, the piano is anabolic, but it becomes very shy on its own.  Eventually, the initial theme returns, despite the attempts to re-phrase it through a brief drum solo.

 

Ura ru*shi II 

A very abstract piece, more accomplished than “Ura ru*shi I”.  The exact consonance of the guitar and piano leaves some doubt if this is a pure improvisation, or a replay of an earlier idea.

 

Sabireta machi

Izutsu’s beautiful tune has been scored adeptly for crystalline piano, circumspect electric guitar and brushes.  It is evocative, brooding, sentimental and almost ECM-ish.  This time, Rypdal’s “Odyssey” ghosts are with us for longer.  The texture is sprayed out, undulating and wavy.  When the piano takes over, one really wonders if engineer Norihide Washima grew up on Jan Erik Kongshaug’s daily staple.  The last sequence is a stroll through an abandoned, rainy cityscape – a strikingly cinematic theme.  Asia’s best film directors – from Hirokazu Koreeda to Hou Hsiao Hsien – should take note.

 

94K2 (kushi-katsu)

This track consists of three spokes, as if wiggling perversely toward the hub.  First we hear the voice of someone asking directions (a food stall?)  A rather shrewish sounding female explains.  Are we in Osaka?  Then we hail Chopinesque chords crashing through the spiky wall of drums – the US band Cartoon comes to mind again.  In another twist, we hear a traditional Japanese song, quickly distorted into an Alboth-like piano/drums attack.  The guitar will reproduce the plaintive song’s theme but will need to ascend and descend against the sonorous grindcore tsunami.  The vocals meddle, hysteric and over-the-top.  Is this Prince Dracula at the piano?  Spine-chilling, bowel-wrenching, frightening!  The short syllables are being belched out by the chorus, reminding us of Koenjihyakkei’s most galvanizing moments. 

 

Ura ru*shi III

Acoustic guitar only.  Kore de owari desu.  

 

***

 

When Le Silo’s debut was issued in 2003, it was greeted as a revelation.  It remains an absolute classic to this day.  This second opus follows in its footsteps, although I do miss Tatsuya Yoshida’s crystal-clear production at Koenji Studio, so apparent on the first record.  Sonic Asymmetry can’t wait for more.

 

LE SILO: “8.8” (2003)

LE SILO: “3.27830” (2006)

 

Published in: on May 29, 2008 at 10:02 pm  Leave a Comment  
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FAUN FABLES: “Family Album” ****

 

Recorded 2003

 

 

Faun Fables is nom de lettre adopted by Dawn McCarthy, an American songstress and painter inspired by the melodic traditions of the old continent.  In most of her endeavors, she is supported by a very unlikely presence of Nils Frykdahl – better known from his spasmodic vocal equilibristic in Idiot Flesh and Sleepytime Gorilla Museum. 

 

McCarthy’s and Frykdahl’s graceful songs alternate with adaptations of little known European classics – Scandinavian, Swiss, Polish, French.  But for the adventurous (and young) American audience, this is simply Faun Fables, a sensual and pensive update on the 21st century “singer-songwriter” trend.  Tasteful, flamelike arrangements and justified eclecticism of the material set these collections apart from the bulk of the output of pop singers whose imagination operates within the restrictions of Celtic mannerism or Appalachian fingerpicking.  If there is an objection, it should be addressed at the artists’ exhaustive attitude to these productions – they invariably contain one or more superfluous songs that somewhat spoil the overall cohesion of these records.

 

 

Eyes of a Bird

Is there a better way to open a nostalgic collection than with the sounds of scampering Italian children?  Yes, there is.  It is the sound of scampering Italian children interspersed with flashes of flutes and droplets of acoustic guitar.  We meet Dawn, an unpolished singer and guitarist who, in this song and many others, will tell us about the relation to her very personal past and (less often) to a future.  On this track, Nils Frykdahl is omnipresent – on guitar, on bass and on occasional flutes.  It is a swinging, unhurried introduction to the set, but one that does not fully capture the magic of later songs.  Yet, the tail-end is so raspy and manic that no one will be deceived into thinking that this is going to be merely a record of a folk poetesse.

 

Poem 2

With some back-up voice support (Robin Coomer) and a twinkling glockenspiel (Max Baloian) Dawn reproduces here the lyrics apparently transmitted through a medium.  We are slowly being immersed into the arcane ambiance of “Family Album”.

 

A Mother and a Piano

This is another family story, with recurrent nylon guitar from Frykdahl, ascetically affective vocal from Dawn, and a barely audible vibraphone (Phil Williams).  It rounds off with an archival piano recording.

 

Lucy Belle

Finally Frykdahl puts on his lipstick and shows off how his bass can skid into falsetto.  This is entirely his song, one that would fit into Sleepytime repertoire.  The invocation to animal roles is appropriately unnerving.  Dawn backs-up before howling wolves vanish into the woods.

 

Joshua

McCarthy sings a sad text about what could’ve/would’ve/should’ve happened, had the existential discontinuity not terminated the young life’s journey.  Marika Hughes’ cello awakens just in time, embroidering the title name and then sawing across the accelerating latter part of the song. 

 

Nop of Time

An uncanny flute doubles on a voice of a 7-year old girl who improvises her own song.  The captured sounds of the girl’s surrounding and the purely responsive role of the flute evoke Robert M. Lepage’s clarinet pieces.  The passage is strangely joyless.

 

Still Here

Another Frykdahl’s song whose guitar recalls the tuning Fred Frith applied to a 6-string in his New York phase.  The melodic disunity of this piece borders on incoherence.  It is a mere narrative and the melodic line’s only role is to illustrate the morose atmosphere laid out by the story of separation.  Both Frykdahl and McCarthy sound remarkably hoarse when singing in unison. 

 

Preview

McCarthy’s vintage song is another throwback to her pre-adolescence memories.  Her very adult voice deconstructs the uneasy relationship between experience and puberty.  In higher registers her voice projects poorly and the transitions crack.  Does this matter?  This was Dagmar Krause’s “problem”, but she became a legend.  Frykdahl lightens the mist with his playful chords coaxed out of his autoharp. 

 

Higher

Archival operatic recording of “Holiest Night” opens this track and the sustained organ chords will outstay the invitation, eventually providing undulating fabric for McCarthy.  The atmosphere is almost of a sparse gospel, complete with an undisciplined choir in misstep with the lead vocal.  The organ goes chunky, but not funky.  This piece may have some private value for the artist, but does strike a little like a filler.  Its justification probably lies in the title of the record.

 

Carousel with Madonnas

This is Zygmunt Konieczny’s astounding masterpiece from the early 1960s.  Originally Ewa Demarczyk’s most famous anthem, the knock-out staccato is reproduced here perfectly by Brian Schachter on piano.  But what is truly stunning is the fact that Miron Bialoszewski’s poem is so ardently expressed by McCarthy’s uncanny, polysyllabic diction.  She makes it appear easy, but it is not.  Who would have thought that this song would be translated, much less sung so distinctly in another language?  The rectilineal form is only slightly softened by Osanna-like flutes and decorative percussion.  Nonetheless, it will remain a demonic stop-go waltz, fully dependent on emphatic piano attacks. 

 

Rising Din

After that volcanic paroxysm, comes the anti-climax of Frykdahl’s ballad.  This is another very emotional and personal theme.  Turgid and apathetic, it does not quite stand up to the standard of the rest. 

 

Fear March

One of the more original tracks here, “Fear March” is the most percussive and exalted, nearly approaching the heroic lashing by Het in the early 1980s.  The Faun herself and Mike Pukish take care of the clubbing.  McCarthy makes her proclamations, while Frykdahl assures both the instrumental and vocal bass buttress. 

 

Eternal

Another classic remake of a classic.  Brigitte Fontaine’s voice was also hapless.  This song comes from her charming, elated debut (“Est folle”), recorded before she became a jazz chanteuse with Art Ensemble of Chicago.  One cannot resist concentrating on the differences between this excellent version and the original.  To Faun Fables’ credit, there are some, and they are good: the flayed skin drum (Sheila McCarthy) and very loosely sounding bass weren’t there back in 1969 and nor were some of the vocal arrangements.  Towards the end, after a very ‘Grace Slick’ ascension from Dawn, the band shifts into a jamming mode, but cuts off too early.  Not on “Family Album”, I suspect…  Dommage.

 

Mouse Song

Frykdahl’s initial recitation is met by twiggy flutes before we can recognize a traditional Alpine tune with obligatory yodeling.  Dawn’s mastery of this technique is commendable and it comes with dancing spoons and a jaunty guitar.  This is an invariably mirthful and optimistic moment – very much unlike the rest of the record.

 

Old And Light

Another reminiscence from a very personal childhood and one of the better songs penned by Dawn.  Here, she operates in the higher range again, punctuated by a drum, and distracted by frail voices from “Picnic at the Hanging Rock”.  The Italian kids return.  The lesson of nostalgia is over.  Time to go home.

 

***

 

This is an unusual statement to make, but one that Dawn McCarthy fully deserves: her recordings have actually been improving with each new issue.  After the somewhat hesitant debut came the intriguing sequel and then the third CD described above.  But it is “The Transit Rider” that fully deserves the term ‘masterpiece’.  Do not miss it.

 

FAUN FABLES: “Early Song” (1999)

FAUN FABLES: “Mother Twilight” (2000)

FAUN FABLES: “Family Album” (2003)

FAUN FABLES: “The Transit Rider” (2002-2005)

Published in: on May 28, 2008 at 9:21 pm  Comments (1)  
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Alain MARKUSFELD: “Le monde en étages” ******


Recorded 1970

  

Born into a musical family, this French artist burst into the post-1968 scene with two chefs-d’œuvre which did not age well, because they did not have to.  The music remains the testament to the era which left behind scores of adventurous recordings.  Markusfeld reveled in combining the then unlikely elements – barely nascent rock sensitivity, sensual chanson, very un-pop choral arrangements, and early stage exploration into modern instrumental textures.

 

There was little continuity in Markusfeld’s output and it is hard to gauge today the extent of his popularity at the time.  With very few exceptions, the accompanying musicians are not known, although his second LP was produced by Laurent Thibault of Magma fame. 

 

A sidenote.  His first LP, described here, sports Pieter Brueghel’s “Babel” on cover (I do not recall if this brighter original is now in Vienna or in Antwerp).  The 16th c painter enjoyed something of a revival in late 1960 / early1970 record collections, not least thanks to Pearls Before Swine. 

 

 

Musique fatidique pour nuages fatigués

The LP begins with a frontal assault by strident acoustic guitar and an inconsequential vocal part, instantly juxtaposed with a choir and a quaint electric guitar.  This is a truly puzzling intro and gives little clue as to what we should expect next.  We believe to be helped by the rhythm section, which alludes to a putative “rock record”.  But then we notice acoustic piano, immersed in deep echo, tuneful harmonics from the guitar and a chorus.  When the track becomes more organized, it is almost over. 

 

Dans la glue moyenâgeuse

This time the acoustic guitar is scintillating, engraving the appropriate scale for a breezy flute.  There is little doubt that the track was written with the guitar in hand.  When the proper song finally begins, Markusfeld is supported by the chorus, emphatic organ and pastoral guitar.  There is something of the medieval mood we expected from the title, bu the morceau will stagger between dynamic extremities.  Markusfeld shouts and hums and it’s the slowest moments that are played fortissimo.  Conversely, the faster the fragments, the deeper they are mixed down.  There is no time to get accustomed.  Several themes evolve sequentially, apparently with little or no linkage between them.  A bluesy hoedown here, a faster hard rock there.  No respite. 

 

Dors! Madère

A more traditional song format here – with lyrics about a country of drunks.  The instrumental backing is typical for European soul of that époque – heavy on the organ part.  In refrains, Markusfeld is supported by the light-hearted female choirs, just as Japanese or Eastern European “modernizers” would do back in 1970.  His vocal is slightly distorted by a vibrato, but his overall manner is reminiscent of contemporaneous Melmoth/Dashiell Heydayatt’s recordings.  Piano and guitar alternate in keeping the serene melodic content in this otherwise tight and well thought-out composition.  It eschews the overkill of effects that invaded our auditory system on previous tracks.

 

La terre se dévore (partie 1)

Good, unpretentious guitar-fronted rock courtesy Denis Lable makes this an instrumental passage of surprising tonal strength.  It is rhythmically too complex and chromatically too harsh to fall into a jazz-rock category, and it remains remarkably competent without being flashy.  Within this basic idiom, there are not many recordings from 1970 that have defied obsolescence thanks to the wealth of chord shifts and unstable velocity. 

 

La terre se dévore (partie 2)

The supposedly 2nd part of the above track has a very different rhythmic structure, a less sturdy guitarist (Markusfeld himself) and more flowing thematic development.  But then unexpectedly the demonic, female voices throw at us the choral avalanche as if hijacked from J.A.Caesar’s or Tokyo Kid Brothers’ early days.  It is an eerie experience.  One has to keep staring at the record cover just to remember that this is a French, not Japanese record. 

 

Les têtes molles…

The liquid guitar intro seems to be a brief quotation from Hendrix’s “Burning the Midnight Lamp”.  Other fragmentary tributes will appear later (Jerry Garcia)…  Against a slender pillar of decorative flute and acoustic guitar, Markusfeld’s chant is here more in line with the French tradition that privileges voice over the instrumental content.  Still, this will remain an exception on this album.  Excellent Hammond organ (Jean Schulteis) has a timbre redolent of the Nice or Egg, but there is not place here for any baroque intrusions.  Piano tuning reminds of the first “Renaissance” (then one year old) and will lead us towards a romanticizing theme of a typically Parisian mode.  This is a very pleasant moment, but only for those who do not mind 3 minutes of melancholy in their avant-garde ears.  Well written and well executed.

 

Actualités spatio-régionales

Markusfeld opens with a recitation delicately posed on a tenuous link between electric guitar and organ.  They are replaced by sinewy acoustic guitar and busy cymbals, until J-C.Michaud’s bass line steps up the tension.  In a parody of a sci-fi newsreel Markusfeld yelps out nonsensical “news”, entangled within the coils of cavernous guitar, rueful piano, granitic organ and sepulchral choirs.  Messianic declamation alternates with flaccid 12-bar codas and the band will keep on until Bernard Duplaix’s bassoon offers us the only 10 seconds of musical comedy. 

 

***

 

Markusfeld followed up with his second opus in a slightly more somnambulant manner and then disappeared.  When he returned 5 years later, his recordings became less naïve, more crisp and instrumentally accomplished, but the innocuous charm of his debut was gone.  He apparently continued to produce into 1980s.

 

Alain MARKUSFELD: “Le monde en étages” (1970)

Alain MARKUSFELD: “Le son tombé du ciel” (1971)

Alain MARKUSFELD: “Le désert noir” (1977)

Alain MARKUSFELD: “Platock” (1978)

Alain MARKUSFELD: “Contemporus” (1979)

 

Published in: on May 27, 2008 at 9:09 pm  Comments (2)  
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KIPPLE: “Flashes of Irrational Happiness” *****

 

Recorded 2006

 

Kipple is the brainchild of Aaron Novik, a composer and clarinetist known for his contributions to various contemporary US bands and for his own inventive klezmer jazz explorations.  On this (one-off) proposition, Novik restricts himself to the role of composer and arranger, with resplendent results.  The retro hues of the adopted instrumentation (electric piano, marimba, theremin, vibraphone) are original, seductive and perfectly coherent.

 

Novik aligned a crew of young musicians who had studied under such luminaries as Fred Frith, Marc Ribot, John Zorn, or performed in the most exciting bands of the day – Sleepytime Gorilla Museum and Trio Convulsant.  They are competent, restrained and focused.  The CD is divided into two suites, as an old-time vinyl recording would naturally be…

 

The Cull-spiracy Man Infests

The opening belongs to Ches Smith who single-mindedly produces generous, sparkling overtones from his cymbals.  He is accompanied on sustained electric guitar drone, and amplified, bumpy percussion. 

 

Craftly Apples

This is Kipple’s tour de force.  An insolent voice proclaims: “You can’t stop progress”.  Snare joins when Mitch Marcus initiates the obsessive, repetitive figure on Fender Rhodes.  It will bathe in a cocktail from Moe Staiano’s rich menagerie of dry percussive sounds.  The guitar goes mantric, allowing the Fender piano to meander with something of a harmonically constrained solo, while well-suited marimba splutters chromatically.  There is no sense of urgency here.  The drum section dissimulates the regularity of the relentless beat with the scraping attitude to the skins.The guitar solo unfolds imperceptibly within this structure.  In fact, we do not even notice these solos – there is simply so much else going on there.  Suddenly, a dubious epiphany.  This is actually hornless retro-jazz/rock!  This music does draw repeated comparisons to 1970s Miles…  Still, Kipple has absorbed all the other lessons of ethno-jazz and rock that Teo Macero could have never dreamed about.

 

Con Aria

Erik Glick Reiman’s theremin impersonates a mezzosoprano as Graham Connah’s keyboards add splashes of fast receding color.  Guitar strings are scraped and the ensemble blurbs, bleeps, clanks and swishes.  Not surprisingly, Moe Staiano seems to feel at ease in this abstract environment.  .

 

Infinity Plus One

More potent bass drive courtesy Lisa Mezzaccappa, sizzling cymbal rolls and two drummers (Ches Smith and Tim Bulkley) – create a powerful migratory wind for the guitar and Fender Rhodes.  After several minutes, the prattling of four drumsticks disrupt the voyage until a rather Frippian guitar and the electric piano retake initiative.  A fragment from a sci-fi novel is being read, apparently reproduced from a crackly vinyl recording.  Frictional percussives and the rhythm section will try again to continue blithely, but the keyboards ruminate, increasingly sterile, dissipating into eerie twilight. 

 

The Excess Is Novel

Staiano’s ‘bug’ device emits an unlikely rattle of low resonance, but hyper-speed marimboid tones.  Excessively congenial commercial talk about oceanic sightseeing fails to stir our imagination.  The vision becomes more all-too deceptively outlandish as high-note synthesizers pierce our ears.  The incessant pounding and crashing Chinese cymbals build up an anguished atmosphere.  The crescendo ascends further, with hyperactive marimba clucks and uncontrollable clatter from other sources. 

 

Volium

Thus begins the second suite.  It is initially nondescript and takes some time to rivet our attention.  Dahveed Behroozi extracts some otherworldly clouds from his synthesizer, but the 4-people strong rhythm section will keep us firmly on earth, sometimes south of Rio Grande, thanks to the choice of non-pitched wooden percussives.  Despite some interesting special effects, this track seems to be circulating within an all-too familiar territory.

 

Lain

Another tape recording from a sci-fi flick (?).  Dispassionate female voice sounds the way our typical venusian or martian should sound, i.e. dispassionate.  Prepared vibraphone, acoustic bass and bowed cymbals generate glass-like, scintillating, pristine beady sounds.

 

Why Scat Alone, Ian?

Merry-go-round ambiance is being introduced with Lowrey organ tones and undulating rhythms.  This will be a more guitar-based track.  John Finkbeiner limits himself to two-three chords, but Myles Boisen joins here to let his instrument purr and squawk.  This could be tedious, were it not for the fluidly transmuted polyrythmic framework. 

 

Back and Forth Forever

Kipple’s closing statement begins with a stately intro, largely dependent on the aerial synthesizer.  The meter changes when theremin and guitar engage in a unique interplay.  Jason Levis on marimba provides the backbone for this unusual duet, while Staiano’s “bug” takes care of the texture.  The track ends with street noises – sirens, passing vehicles and, eventually, silence. 

 

 

***

 

Aaron Novik also appears on a number of recordings by Telepathy, Karpov, Transmission and Edmund Welles.  I have not heard any of them.  But I have heard Gubbish and found its elegant version of klezmer chamber jazz quite appealing.  It compares favorably to some of the recordings on Tzadik label, but probably lacks the sharper edge that fans of the genre often prefer.

 

GUBBISH: “Notations in Tonations” (2004)

KIPPLE: “Flashes of Irrational Happiness” (2006)

 

 

Published in: on May 26, 2008 at 12:52 pm  Comments (1)  
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The DECAYES: “horNetZ” *****

Recorded 1981.

 

The Decayes were a loose collective centered around Ron Kane (bass, guitar, clarinet, kybds) in Southern California. They grew out of premature garage experimentation in the late 1970s and burst into celebrity among isolated fans around the world. Locally, they could never accrue much following, despite an occasional association with Los Angeles Free Music Society.

 

Their repertoire ranged from primitive, but highly inventive studio experimentation to a more basic, but never commercial song format. Despite the obvious mannerisms of the period, the young musicians were cognizant of the krautrock legacy and Czukay’s studio achievements. For the Decayes, this was work of passion – the tapes were heavily edited, run through feedback devices, spliced and overlaid masterfully, enriching rather than cluttering the musical texture. On “horNetz”, Kane was joined by Warren Bowman (bass, guitar), Mark Florin (kybds, guitar), and John Payne (drums, perc).

 

The Paranoid Department

The record opens with a fanfare and a female grandiloquence in Dutch. Snare drums roll and euphoniums fart. The pomp swells further when a male commentator chimes in. Cut! We are listening to the band now – the drumset recorded with a rhythm-box regularity, bass, hypnotic but flatly sounding electric guitar, and the (oh-so 1980s!) clarinet. Voices crawl in the background. The double reed licks and the incisive guitar figure will keep this riding fragment on a roll.

 

Breeding in Captity

Against a very Doors-ian organ in high register, we are facing a fast-paced sardonic recitation about “breeding in captivity”. It receives a well-suited, simple support from the clarinet, the rhythm section and a very sparse guitar. One feels some (accidental?) affinity with C.W. Vrtacek’s early recordings.

 

…but, Dad…

Snippets from TV series (dad and daughter bicker about a robot) are purposefully humorous. We hear more harmonic electric organ, and dialogues on fast-played tapes. It is almost “Lumpy Gravy”, minus the giggle.

 

Dance Hall

Honky, high-pitched organ appears here next to a hollow sounding amplified guitar. The rhythm section is very bare bones. Our attention is brought to the comic selection of tapes with recordings in American English and French. They are long enough to convey the meaning of entire sentences and the self-righteousness of some passages indicates that some must have been at least two decades old at the time of the recording. Some other natural effects are more heavily processed at varying speed, but without overkill. The rhythm section, chicken organ and sometimes clarinet keep it all in place.

 

What More Could You Ask For?

This really sounds like some loser who really can’t sing is spewing out his frustrations in what could stand for a sci-fi instrumentation two generations ago – all complete with space organ and clarinet. Not much else is happening in the stanza-refrain formalism, even if it’s ironic.

 

The Head Popped Off

Expressive bass line is what keeps it going, almost funky-way, against a busy “A Certain Ratio” type of John Payne’s percussive lead. One wonder if this is the track with Dennis Duck of LAFMS. There are screams form the clarinet, sustained notes from a cheap synthesizer, choking guitar cracks, a cuckoo clock and some taped voices again. But overall this is a driven post-punk-funk that’s too lean to fall into superfluous complexities. At the end, the instruments get un-tuned – almost the opposite of an orchestra warm-up.

 

Flamethrower Bloodbath

Spooky march that could easily find its way into Residents’ “Commercial Album”’s instrumental parts. This is neither a pastiche nor a tribute, but does exemplify just how influential the San Fran giants were. The guitar is 100% Snakefinger, the rhythm section is stomping on a Warren Bowman’s basso profundo, but not as succulent as Jah Wobble’s. All the while, some maniac is yelling his soul out, echoed only by crows. It fades out nicely.

 

Nobody Loves Me

There was something about the lyrics written for the wave of electro-pop in early 1980. For whatever reason, outside the ubiquitous balladry at least, most songs married the Bowie/Ferry crooning with post-punk assault by writing the stress on the first syllable of each line. This is the manner that the Decayes ape here, successfully, so to speak. Luckily the reed “section” remains disciplined, providing both the harmonic line and more dynamic upswings in higher registers. Ron Kane proves he can play the clarinet.

 

Out to Lunch

No, not Eric Dolphy’s immortal classic. Rather, this is another fast-paced chorus on a tight bass-drum railroad. The clarinet squeals and squeaks, but does not fundamentally alter the formula-bound score.

 

Hornets

It starts heavier, with a less uptempo drive. Clarinet and acoustic guitar punctuate a mixed-down landscape with multiple male voices. The clarinet occasionally bleeps in the range where it loses its distinctiveness. But this is not a virtuoso record and should not be held to such benchmarks. Intrusions of taped elements seems to play an imperceptibly rhythmic role, albeit on a larger scale.

 

Big Dessert

Two basic chords are busily repeated by the right hand, but they quickly loses projection, and become subordinated to other electronic sounds, rhythm machine, wooden-sounding guitar clicks.

 

I Don’t Know, I Don’t Even Care Why

Another hasty number. The untrained vocal ensures us repeatedly about the wisdom of the title statement. Wooden percussion adds some color.

 

Table for Two

Lovely electric piano somehow survived from the previous decade, nudging its way among honking buses and other (automotive) garage noises. The keyboard (Mark Florin?) has a rounded, warm timbre, here contrasted with the street noise and the drumstick hesitating between the drum frame and instantly muffled cymbals. The tapes are, this time, very gracefully selected and make this into the most nostalgic moment on the record. Shuffling steps and some engineering work in the workshop stays on during the passages devoid of the electric piano. A testimony to the musicians’ rich, synesthetic imagination.

 

Love Me

Dudley Moore’s song from movie “Bedazzled” is a very simple organ-drum-bass trio on a quick, chunky bus tour. Back in the 1970s, this could be a theme for any TV show, but now it would probably qualify for Aavikko’s CD. The record closes with an effect of a tape fast moving audibly through recording heads.

 

A Man and a Woman

The next four tracks do not belong to the original LP, but appeared as bonus tracks on the CD reissue in 2004. This one is a choppy instrumental based on the same trio formula as some of the simpler tracks on horNetz LP. It speeds up towards the end.

 

How Do They Know?

Sketchy song alluding to the then state of the record business. It is very organ-based, with the same predilection for the contrast between the sizzling tone quality of the keyboard and the mixed down rhythm section. Again, a very ‘residential’ melodic guitar snakes through the repetitive pattern.

 

Victor

The romping sound almost calls for “London’s Burning” scream, but instead we get a lilting, optimistic guitar figure and a hapless voice that would not be out of place in the UK scene that worshipped such declarative singers at that time.

 

Woody

Excellent vignette for multiple guitars in high tuning. The guitars go around their business in flat, dry fashion, occasionally stopping to hear the response from the drummer. This is an intelligent construction, without being flashy.

 

***

 

The Decayes’ originals are hard to come by and I am yet to hear all of them. Their debut crept into Steven Stapleton’s notorious list and thus vanished entirely from second-hand market. It is highly recommended.

 

The DECAYES: “Ich bin ein Spiegelei” (1977)

The DECAYES: “Accidental Musik“ (1978)

The DECAYES: “Not Yet“ (1979)

The DECAYES: “horNetz” (1981)

The DECAYES: “Ten Guitars” (1982)

Published in: on May 25, 2008 at 8:28 pm  Comments (4)  
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Jacques THOLLOT: “Quand le son devient aigu, jeter la giraffe à la mer” *****

Recorded 1971

 

Originating from the 1960s’ French jazz scene, Jacques Thollot left a string of unclassifiable recordings ranging from free neo-expressionist explorations for keyboard and percussion to ornate, carefully arranged baroque jazz. But Thollot’s imagination was too rich to enclose him within jazz idiom. His instrumentals, proportional and highly inventive, are often fragile and elusive. His rich arrangements were as lofty as they were airy. Formally impeccable, they were never academic.

 

Were it not for his first LP, issued on a highly collectible Futura label, Thollot would have probably remained virtually unknown outside France. He deserves a much wider renown among adventurous listeners worldwide.

 

Cécile

The record starts with a dry, obsessive, bell-like piano stuck in high register, with a subordinated, more full-bodied acoustic piano at the back. The repetitive figure’s percussive sounds and flat hi-hats leave haunting after-images. The percussive keyboard is gradually arpeggiated. When the sound suddenly clears we realize that all we have heard thus far was deeply muffled. Now the screen is gone and we are fronted by a full percussion kit, a marching drum, and a guiro. The hypnotic, circular theme bathes in an aura of mystery and the increasingly brittle arpeggios prefigure Florian Fricke’s notorious “Ah!” a year later.

 

Position stagnante de réaction stationnaire

Contrary to the title, this polyrythmic, but subtly melodic drumming evolves into a tremolo, slowing down, then up, then down again. Most membranes are high-pitched and some sticks touch the frames instead. This will be Thollot’s trademark technique throughout this record.

 

Enlevez les boulons, le croiseur se désagrère

Liquid sounds from a tone generator (this is 1971 and Thollot does not operate here a fully-fledged synthesizer) are followed by several figures from the piano, then a sound of lower manual harpsichord, all too soon distorted into a poorly projected, faint music box ersatz. The tinny sound alternates with another keyboard that rushes with the speed of Conlon Nancarrow’s player piano. Occasional entries by electric organ close this chapter.

 

Mahagony extraits

Lukewarm, low-resonance piano solo intones Kurt Weill’s 20th century European classic. There is some dissonant quality to the timbre of Thollot’s instrument and its tuning recreates an aura of an abandoned ballroom, filled only with the performer’s early morning loneliness.

 

Qu’ils se fassent un village ou bien c’est nous qui s’en allons

Here the piano is in a more heroic mood, supported by drums and megaphone voices echoing in a large hall. This filtered noise gains numerical superiority over the struggling instruments.

 

Aussi long que large

Thollot was, first and foremost, a drummer and this drum solo, probably electronically processed, is characterized by an extraordinary fluidity and dexterity. There are moments of premeditated hesitation, although Thollot does not employ negative spaces or straightforward silence. The tempos are additive, but irregular and the dynamic range is quite extreme.

 

Quiet days in prison

Futura’s original is not telling us who plays the mournful cello solo to the piano’s delicate accompaniment. As the mystery player alternates between D and A strings, the composition retains a very lyrical, romantic quality.

 

De D.C. par J.T.

Thollot’s rendering of Don Cherry’s theme is built around a high-baroque scale progression, albeit with more anthemic openings. His trademark, ever-shifting percussive support competes for space with the domineering piano. The latter will end on a chime-like set of notes.

 

Virginie ou le manque de tact

Purposefully, the composition provokes disgust by exposing us to a braying child’s eerily low voice. We then hear again Thollot in another drum solo with most elements from earlier tracks – bright passages rattled over the full range of drums, but almost no cymbal work. The unpleasant, sobbing voice recurs, and when the tape accelerates to its natural speed for a moment we have no doubt that the intuitive recognition of a brat was correct. The drum solo will close this section…

 

N.G.A.

…only to open this one. A speedy piano repetition is never too far behind, with occasional supra-harmonic assistance from an organ. This is a very fast-moving piece.

 

Aussi large que long

The most abstract track yet will also be the longest on this record. Its coarse texture relies largely on the exploration of fast damped piano chords and percussive brushwork. In higher registers, the pianist allows for a slower decay, quite against the natural capacity of the instrument. The perspective in this non-representational composition is unusually flattened. Pattern recognizability seems to be of no concern to Thollot. The result is best reserved for those who delight in the raw juxtaposition of piano and drums, devoid of expressive bass lines.

 

Quand le son devient aigu, jeter la girafe à la mer

The title track opens with a very New Orleans-sounding piano line, but a high-pitched keyboard unexpectedly transports us to 1970s Italian soundtracks. Double keyboard and drums will, with some trouble, oscillate around this annunciatory melodic line. This part segues awkwardly into another free passage for piano and drums. The keyboard attack is more pronounced than on the previous track and the drums stick to a purely demonstrative role.

 

Marche

Yes, this is an urban march complete with the hacking meter and the proud piano line.

 

A suivre

A far too short coda picks up where the opening “Cécile” left off 40 minutes ago – a piano-organ-drums interplay, as if to invite us for a second listen.

 

***

 

After this very free debut, Thollot opted for a string of more melodic recordings. Fragments of his tunes could be found interwoven in new compositions, most recently in mid-1990s. But he probably reached his creative climax on “Cinq hops”.

 

Jacques THOLLOT: “Quand le son devient aigu, jeter la giraffe à la mer” (1971)

Jacques THOLLOT: “Watch Devil Go” (1974, 1975)

Jacques THOLLOT: “Résurgence” (1977)

Jacques THOLLOT: “Cinq hops” (1978 )

Jacques THOLLOT: “Tenga niña” (1995)

 

There are certainly other recordings that I did not have a chance to hear. Jacques Thollot should not be confused with the much younger François Thollot who early this century created two highly acclaimed avant-prog collections.

 

Published in: on May 24, 2008 at 8:05 pm  Comments (1)  
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Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Hystérie Off Music” ******

Recorded 2007

 

Ghédalia Tazartes traces his roots to North African Sephardic tradition. His recordings exemplify the most prosperous marriage ever of ethnic vocalizing and imaginative electronic collage. Tazartes’ strength lies in his dynamic, rhythmic and harmonic restraint. The element of surprise, while ubiquitous, does not rely on the shock of opposites. Rather, his compositions flow naturally, always apportioning tasty ingredients, but in an organic, gradualist fashion.

 

His activity now spans three decades, yet his music is hors temps. Over the years, his bequest has graced many visual performances, but has stood on its own among the most accomplished French creations. From emotional psalms to shamanic hymns, Tazartes vocal eclecticism makes his art unclassifiable and distant from the electro-acoustic orthodoxy in his country.

 

His recording output dried out in the 1990s and many feared that the legend had been silenced forever. It is, therefore, with great expectations that fans of sonic asymmetry hail his return to a more prolific form.

 

Soul 1

The recording does not “open”, but breaks through the wall, imploding and rapidly mutating into old man’s lament. Increasingly discernible and sometimes nasal, the sorrowful voice will be accompanied by a piano abandoned on the desert hill.

 

Soul 2

Change of scenery. We are in a deep tropical valley as depicted earlier Jorge Reyes’s electronic landscapes. Tazartes’ art is less linear, though, with multiple harmonies emanating from a ringing synthesizer and interrupted by a crashing guitar feedback. The static spectacle is further enriched by hollow, impersonal voices flattened through the phone lines.

 

Soul 3

An apocalyptic moan, most probably in Hebrew, emerges from a cocoon of barely audible synthesized strings and subtle bass drone. We are close to post-“Imperium” era Current 93, but when Tazartes falls into the title Hysteria, the effect is less exaggerated than in David Tibet’s case.

 

Soul 4

A stylistic mystery tour, mountain calls from the Caucasus, stern Coptic choirs, plaintive Arabian voices – all masterfully cohesive in this short sample of Tazartes’ mixing genius.

 

Soul 5

Electronic whispers, slothful electric bass, sinusoidal harmonics and dovish sobbing all return in loops of various lengths. The nocturnal quality of this fragment relies on the changing piano-forte combination of these four elements.

 

Country 1

Scraps of acoustic guitar tuned similarly to Haino’s Black Blues give way to a love poem recited with a falsely foreign accent. The poet forsakenly expresses his love for a ‘little French girl’. When several violin notes intervene, the text begins to alternate credibly between English and French.

 

Country 2

A sharp electric guitar loop cuts through the previous track’s poem. Without the sudden ruptures, this would be a blues. But again, unruly children’s voices, weather events and lost chamber quartets distract the listener.

 

Country 3

“Yes – this is a Love Song”, an old man’s voice announces. Self-ironic and very carnal song, indeed, follows. There is a marked contrast between the accompaniment by a congenial bowed acoustic bass, and the singer’s drunken, limping snort.

 

Country 4

After these short vignettes, the longest track on the CD unfolds with cinematic strings, oppressive seagulls and majestic ship horns. By the time we visualize a Titanic or Lusitania tragedy, a parody of jazz scat explodes, as if filtered through a long tube. Sustained echoes from Deep Listening tradition, electronic clicks, and finally an uncertain melody all posture in front of the cinematic theme. Tazartes sounds here like an adult impersonating a naughty kid, but not without some humorous twists. The blues guitar loops back in, briefly echoing an earlier passage in a structural formation reminding of 1970s progressive suites. It then becomes the main focus; harder, and as decisive as Albert Collins’s. The last two minutes are sent to us from another world: a falsely demure Japanese girl (Yumi Nara), a choking wah-wah guitar, an opera mezzosoprano and crashing drums.

 

Country 5

To the accompaniment of two guitars – acoustic and wah-wah, Tazartes sings out his regret of not being a Spanish nobleman. His characteristic, weeping manner, never breaks into self-parody.

 

Jazz

The title is a misnomer for a heavy guitar cum strings fresco carried over by angelic voices. Tonality is shaky. Half-uttered morphemes and electronically edited percussion reinforce the increasingly staccato guitar and it’s a relief when the fuzz ebbs away. Still, the strings will not reign on their own. The guitar hits back and the string section becomes more articulate, pushing the track to another level of intensity. Ultimately, the kettle drum adopts a function of a belated referee.

 

Bonus

A frightening virago takes it out on her entourage just as a southern comfort guitar relaxes with calculated indifference. It is up to the listener to infer the meaning… Familiar howling will close this chapter.

 

***

 

Every Tazartes’ recording is highly recommended. Nevertheless, his music requires an open mind. Electro-acoustic hardliners will frown on his vocal verbosity and experimental rock fans may struggle with the more esoteric moments. He remains an island on his own.

 

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Diasporas” (1980)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Transports” (1981)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Transports EP” (1981)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Une eclipse totale du soleil” (1983)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Tazartes” (1987)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Check Point Charlie” (1989)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Voyage à l’ombre” (1997)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Les danseurs de la pluie” (1977, 2005)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “5 Rimbaud 1 Verlaine” (2006)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Jeanne” (2007)

Ghédalia TAZARTES: “Hystérie Off Music” (2007)

 

Published in: on May 23, 2008 at 7:09 pm  Comments (3)  
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UN FESTIN SAGITAL: “Epitafio a la permanencia” ******

Recorded 2007

 

The Chilean band has only recently gained recognition among wider, international audience. Multi-instrumentalists Marcelo Rodriguez and Michel Leroy, Pablo Martinez on guitars, Paulo Rojas on violin and viola and Gonzalo Diaz on percussion have developed a lavish, syncretic idiom bordering on illusionism. The atmosphere of metaphysical mystery is conveyed through a cornucopia of tonal metaphors. The story lines may be inhabited by intricate geometrical forms, but never default to a pure musical mosaic.

 

Epitafio al delirio de la permanencia Part 1

A zeuhl-like choir thrusts their trade down our earlobes, but this will not be another Magma concerto. The instrumentation is too rich and the editing too lateral to seek parallels in that direction. Broiling hammond organ will be a dominant feature. Iterative, multiples voices intervene in harsh, unexpected phrases. The 2nd part of this extended composition commences pianissimo, against a hazy, pulsating background. Rhapsodic intrusions crackle, appear and vanish. Pablo Martinez on electric guitar builds a faint line over a harmonic support from the Hammond and other keyboards. Although the 3rd part opens with easily identifiable sounds of harpsichord, guitar and drums, it will be closely followed by what is the most abstract section. Low and high-pitched grating from Marcelo Rodriguez’s arsenal collides with piano strings, shouting and a meandering alto sax. Nostalgically quaint wah-wah guitar ushers in a song hijacked from some provincial party. The guitar theme evolves for the moment, but remains skeletal, disturbed by synthesized, cello (Sebastian Mercado) and saxophone interludes. The guitar loses its wah-wah tinge, but continues to fade in and out while the indignant zeuhlish vocal separates the pithy units. A short theme circling around some devilish manège closes this composition.

 

Epitafio al delirio de la permanencia Part 2

The band accumulates effects in the first several seconds of this piece: sustained electronic note, lyrical piano chords, a growling voice, bells, finally a sudden wake-up call by electric guitar and keyboards. From now one this will be a double keyboard show on organ and piano. The latter carries a more melodious element. Somewhere, far away, a forlorn voice pretends to know how to sing. All this stops and Paul Rojas on viola makes his appearance, pursued by a morose choir. The fearful voices will now alternate with a frightening organ sequence. Some scream, others panic, still others try to reassure the shocked, cacophonic crowd. A lonely narrative piano will loom up, but on a different planet.

 

L’âge délicieux (la revoluciòn perenne)

The empty range between the tinkling and ominous ur-drone is so empty that the space is quickly filled by an electric guitar and scraps of disoriented voices. Michel Leroy’s organ will control the tone quality and Gonzalo Diaz’s fluent hand drums specify a repetitive pattern. Half-murmured incantation in Spanish and French, the returning jingle and a tortured guitar bestow on this passage a quasi-liturgical quality. The comfortable rhythmic backbone will now allow the band to exhibit its impressive versatility: morbid progression à la Trembling Strain, low range buzz reminding us of Univers Zero’s “La faulx”, natural loop evocative of DDAA. As the composition gains in dynamic, its form is earning an epic status. All the varied elements converge on the path traced by this journey, leaving acoustic beads with rosary-like regularity. The tension is relieved when the guitar and violin revisit the convoy and the organ returns with the incessant tune. Surprisingly, what follows is a progressive rock stanza: “Escucha…” The lazy, untrained voices sound almost like trio SBB. Pero no importa. This track alone deserves a 6-star rating.

 

¡No hay Coristas!

The liturgical mood continues as the choir repeats its complaint – “there are no choristers”. This mournful song will glide along with acoustic guitar, violin and harmonic guitar. Still, some phase shifting and jumpy interjections remind us that the territory is far from convention. Even the prettiest song sequence is always threatened by an intrusion in ‘la STPO’ vein.

 

La dignidad del espìritu bastia

It is quite amazing how catchy this tune can be, buried among the phantasmagoric fantasias and the overall reining complexity. The arrangement is lush, but the editing allows the rhythm section (Luis Moya) and the solo violin to dominate the scene. This will not last. Agile violin suddenly stops responding to the predictable refrain and speeds away. The change in tempo will be contagious. Overexcited voices, Julio Cortes’ saxophones and occasional outbursts of fuzz guitar will do their best to catch up.

 

Destierro

The theme – hummed and sung listlessly – is being supported again by the duet of acoustic lead guitar and electric fuzz ointment. An octave below Philippe Cauvin’s falsetto, Michel Leroy depicts the “Uprooting”. When the violin and hand drums return, his magniloquent manner invades the classic Italian territory. String trio of two guitars and violin will then conduct their explorations, without the sense of urgency that sometimes spoil contemporaneous Nippon bands. More color is applied, with recorder and didjeridoo by Alexis Soto filling the vast space behind the soloing, mellow guitar. As the theme decelerates, the strumming becomes sparse, sending us an inexorable signal of adios. Or until the next one, one hopes.

 

***

 

The band’s discography is still relatively short. The first two recordings are to “Epitafio a la permanencia” what a charcoal sketch is to oil canvas; intriguing and engaging, but with more restricted spatial properties.

 

UN FESTIN SAGITAL: Pharmakon (2004)

UN FESTIN SAGITAL: Esternocleidomastleoideo (2004, 2006)

UN FESTIN SAGITAL: Epitafio a la permanencia (2007)

 

Published in: on May 21, 2008 at 9:41 pm  Comments (3)  
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ROLLERBALL: “The Trail of Butter Yeti” *****

Recorded 2000-2001.

 

Rollerball is a rock avant-garde band from Portland, Oregon. After a derivative and somewhat epigonic beginnings immortalized on “Garlic”, the formation regrouped under drummer Gilles and developed a rich palette of approaches singularly aware of the predecessors’ bequest. The line-up stabilized with Mae Starr on keyboards, Mimi Wagonwheel on bass, Bunny De Leon on reeds and later Amanda Mason Wiles on saxophones. The band willingly experimented with heavy editing and multitracking, but almost always within the context of rock aesthetics and well-defined rhythmic structures.

 

The band does not indulge in extended compositions, which may have limited their appeal among avant-prog fans. The writing is intense and saturated, but maintains a sense of balance and contrast. Their importance is yet to be recognized.

 

 

Pest

Pounding cadence by Gilles opens the record in a resolute fashion. The steady measure will swell until a plaintive, screeching saxophone heightens our expectations.

 

Yeti

Looped guitar adds to a shuffling, almost reverting rhythm on this (semi-) title track. It is almost instantly doubled up by a disoriented, vaguely Beefheartian guitar, which reluctantly scrambles around. Concussive cymbals cackle and jamble. Well place, smeared fade-out will only be interrupted by a warmhearted goodbye from the electric guitar.

 

Lon Chaney

This is a more assiduously constructed composition. In the first movement, harpsichord-like keyboard opens and soon meets a full bodied reed section. The combo accelerates but winds down prematurely. In the second movement, Rollerball sits down to a complex avant-prog etude, with piano and rhythm section accompanying an anthemic female vocal. The mix quality brings to mind early U-Totem’s Emily Hay or Deborah Perry of mid-era Thinking Plague. When the saxes return, the electric guitar is too anemic to soldier on and the promising progression lapses. In the third movement, after a solo bass overture, the wind section altercates with the right handed piano. The focus shifts over to a guitar that tiptoes aimlessly, until it is rescued from immobility by the saxes, the drums and the piano.

 

Butter Fairy

Dull, idiophonic opening evokes jangling Javanese bonnang. A string instrument responds to the call, dragging behind suspect murmuring. Enter the drums. The string instrument turns out to be nothing more than an electric guitar, even though it continues to strum around with a zither-like timbre. It’s here that Mimi Wagonwheel’s contrabass infrasounds will bolster the drum beat, resurrecting the ghosts of Jaki Liebezeit’s most memorable moments. Sibilant voicings come and go. Clarinet revisits this section, but does not disrupt the increasingly hypnotic flow. The deadpan guitar works out effortlessly on a robotic treadmill. After a short pause, the neurotic rhythm returns, allegro moderato, with the clarinet somehow lingering on. The continuous banging is imperceptibly morphing into a dry, leathery resonance. When the intensity of the beat subsides, we finally notice the indefatigable guitar’s harmonic support that must have been laboring in the background all along. If this track defines the second half of the record’s title, then it does so deservedly.

 

Truth

Holger Czukay’s fans will be excused for their distraction. The backward taped voices employed by Rollerball on this interlude are redolent of Canaxis’s first minutes. Nothing else – lighthearted wooden percussion, windy background effects and sinuous electronics – will matter much here.

 

Narcisse

We enter a coffee shop noisescape, confounded by children’s voices, and bits of female conversation. When this sketch fades, a song is intoned a cappella. It is closely followed by a melody built from a vicarious quartet of piano-bass-drums’n’tapes. The tune continues to filter in and out between a cappella element and the processed, percussive dash of subtle, instrumental editing. The parenthesis is closed with a honky tonk prattle in the distance.

 

White Death

Bells and percussion introduce a heavily processed female alto that loses little time to gain in dynamic. Mae Starr’s electric violin searches out the same pitch in a wavy manner. This duel makes for a disorienting experiment. Densely scribbled percussive daubings destabilize what could otherwise be a fashion show for vocal chords.

 

Earth 2 Wood

Bold and straightforward, as only a song can be. Amanda Wiles and Bunny DeLeon initiate this piece on tenor saxophone and trumpet, further bolstered by the piano and rhythm section. The chorus is multitracked and occasionally visited by an unlikely accordion.

 

Can’t Run the Dogs That Hard

A man reads a poem to the accompaniment of lyrical guitar and piano. The saxophone passage emphasizes the loneliness of these introverted ruminations. This is Rollerball at its most melodic and introspective. But seemingly refracted thuds will keep it from becoming lacrimal.

 

Line of Perpetual Snow

Wind chimes and accordion move with the urgency of a giant’s breath. The atmospheric circularity will be sustained by a sleepwalking female vocal. After 2 minutes, a more macroscopic image is articulated via multilayered reeds and accordion. And when Amy Denio-like yodelling bursts in, we may just as well join in for a swirl of faux waltz.

 

Smokey Loved Bacon

Cadaveric dogs bark through the fog of sputtering late evening smoke. Is it Smokey? The sound source is too amorphous to tell, but we surmise that it is animate. This raises our level of apprehension. The release comes when high pitched chords finally take over and drift off in a coda.

 

***

 

If you have a chance, search out Rollerball’s output, especially the recordings from their creative peak 1999-2001.

 

ROLLERBALL: Garlic (1997)

ROLLERBALL: Einäugige Kirche (1999)

ROLLERBALL: Bathing Music (2000)

ROLLERBALL: Porky Puppet (1998-2001)

ROLLERBALL: Long Walk for Ice Cream (2000-2001)

ROLLERBALL: Trail of the Butter Yet (2000-2001)

 

The band has continued to record, apparently in a more decisively ‘jazz-rock’ vein. I have not heard these recordings, which does not mean that they should be avoided.

 

Published in: on May 20, 2008 at 10:33 pm  Comments (1)  
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PALO ALTO: “Asphodèles de l’asphalte” ****

Recorded between 1989 and 1992

 

Palo Alto was a French quartet active in the 1990s. Denis Frajerman, Jacques Barbéri, Philippe Perreaudin and Philippe Masson successfully reconciled two distinct musical traditions – quintessentially Gallic miniatures and a very un-French approach to studio processing. The results were stupefying. The pictorial depth of their recordings could only be matched by Denis Frajerman’s solo adventures. Their rich, phantasmagorical paysages were populated by odd shapes and eerie shadows. This was rock electronics of volcanic creativity.

 

The band disappeared from sight around 2000. More recently, a number of archival recordings saw the light of the French day (with, regrettably, little light anywhere else). The collection presented here was among them.

 

After several cameo appearances on various tribute records (Ptose, Coil), the band resurfaced live and finally published a new CD in late 2007. They seem to be active again, publishing music, video and books.

 

Le chant posthume

Self-declared overdrive bass opens the record as if evoking the zeuhl heritage. Il n’en est rien. This piece and the entire record will be strongly rooted in the then inescapable tradition of post-new wave stylisms and Residents-like nightmares. Following a sequence of faux tubular bells, a quasi hysterical female vocalism sidetracks our attention. But instead, a slow progression on keyboards remains stuck in pentatonic scale. The “song” closes with unsettling ingressive vocal sounds.

 

Asphodèle de l’asphalte

Mechanical mambo jolts from the rhythm box, accompanied by a very juicy electric bass which will define the record’s title piece. This simple repetitive melody will see no development, despite, or may be because of a somewhat anemic Middle Eastern phrasing.

 

Madame la charcutière

This is little more than an epigrammatic piano vignette. Two female voices, courtesy Claire and Nathalie, turn the nascent melody into a non-sequitur.

 

Séquence 4

Manipulated, growling voices open this sequence. Deeper, subharmonic layers provide a canvas for sharp snippets of alto sax loops. Independently, percussive pattering envelopes a sketchy keyboard melody and grows in intensity, but will not obscure the melodic line.

 

Les flots sont moins bleus que les sables

After an all-too-short intro on maghrebian recorder, over-familiar electronic pulse zooms in. Luckily, hyperactive balalaika soon floods us with rapid figures, contending for space with vaguely Middle Eastern harmonics. It is then substituted by a pre-dawn clarinet. One searches for references to Joseph Racaille, but in vain.

 

Cosette

Formulaic tune played by Denis Frajerman on multi tracked keyboards in a shrugging Klimperei style.

 

Monsters are Bach

We revisit the Residents recipe – marching aliens, distorted voices at triple speed and mechanic reversals of muscular electro-feedback. Squeezed into this stomping, the keyboard theme is actually less straightforward than in the previous pieces.

 

Anomala

Innocuous rhythm box hails from deep in the 1980s – an unabashedly new wavy reminiscence. Were it not for the spastic balalaika in the background, the tune could almost be adorned with affected vocals à la the Cure.

 

Paysage: nul chant d’oiseau

Simplistic electronic meter chops about for another meal of pentatonic figures. But then we are reached by austere effects of untuned strings. The resonating twang evokes African kora, but we should not be misled, as the sound apparently emerges from a cheap keyboard that Philippe found at a flea market. The mixed-down balalaika returns, bridging those dull pizzicato explorations with the mutant rhythm.

 

Musique de l’enfer 1

The ghastliness of this miniature will barely attain the standard of the B-movie. The somewhat ramshackle beat will brake before we have even noticed.

 

Musique de l’enfer 2

This is a more exploratory dance macabre, adorned with echoing alto sax. The morbid, electronic pulse recalls, this time again, the Residents.

 

Avant la naissance

This number is based on a procedure well known since 1960s – a tape recording, here with a text in French, cut short and sent through a loop. After several seconds, the repetition graces us with an irregular rhythm until new loops of other conversations and radio announcements are overlaid on top. Fortunately, the collage never becomes too dense. After nearly 3 minutes this sonic sauce is supplemented by a heavily processed source of electronic origin, but it will not materially alter the original theme. Henceforth, the track develops along two surfaces. Jacques Barbéri’s strident alto saxophone cuts through this mass until the electro-throb returns and drowns out all the other contributions.

 

Friture

The next two compositions present Palo Alto as a quintet and are more consciously developed. Here melodramatic recitation by Marie-Laurence Amouroux extrudes phonemic values from the interplay of pre-programmed rhythm-box and a warm bass clarinet. The alto saxophone, as often on this collection, soars independently. Philippe Masson multiplies the grating mechanical beats.

 

Le pont

Another anti-chanson. This one approaches the style developed several years before by Alesia Cosmos. The stripped down female voice seems to be slowing down the hesitant theme. The reeds contribute sparsely to the overall cartoonish image.

 

La quatuor vocale

The last recording is something of a throwaway – an experiment of a multi-tracked vocal contributed by Philippe Perreaudin.

 

***

 

All those who wish to uncover Palo Alto’s other jewels, here are some recommendations:

 

PALO ALTO: Le close (1990)

PALO ALTO: Grand succédanés (1992)

PALO ALTO: Asphodèle de l’asphalte (1989-1992)

PALO ALTO: Excroissance (1993) MC

PALO ALTO: Trash et artères (1993-1994)

PALO ALTO: Le disque dur (1996)

PALO ALTO: Trans Plan (1998 )

PALO ALTO / KLIMPEREI: Mondocane (1995-2000)

PALO ALTO: Terminal sidéral (2005-2007)

VARIOUS ARTISTS: Pogs Box (2001), remixes

Denis FRAJERMAN: Mandibules (1990, 1994) MC

Denis FRAJERMAN – PALO ALTO Solo: Le souffle du vide (1992-1995)

Denis FRAJERMAN: Drosophiles (1995) MC

Denis FRAJERMAN – Jacques BARBERI – PALO ALTO: Le nom des arbres (1996)

Denis FRAJERMAN: Les suites Volodine (1997)

Denis FRAJERMAN: Fasmes vol.1 (1997)

Denis FRAJERMAN: Macau Peplum (1996-1999)

 

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