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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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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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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