Holidaze Shopping Guide

Do you find yourself with the dreaded task of holiday shopping for an esoterrorist?  You can't just go to the mall for such a person; you have to dig.  Plus, there's probably the chance that they don't even celebrate the holidays, reminding you always about the historical inaccuracies of Xmas.  And while you probably won't be able to find them something they don't already know about, there a lot of amazing things that are just now coming out that they would love to have in their stockings.  Below is a list of potential goodies for your pretentious but lovable significant other.

As mentioned before, Merzbow just released a 12-disc box set of ambient music, Merzbient!  It's interesting that just as Kevin Drumm was getting noisier, Merzbow decides to get more Kevin Drumm.  This will take one whole day to listen to in its entirety, so it should keep them busy during your Xmas eggnog-induced nap.  Prices are varying depending on the source, but I've found it as cheap as $130.

In 2004, Tristan Perich released a CD of 1-bit music, consisting of compositions from circuitry.  Similarly this year, Perich released his 1-bit Symphony; however, instead of a CD in the jewel case, one finds the actual circuitry, which, in contrast to the previous release of recorded material, actually performs the music live when turned on (one could think of it as a more avant-garde version of those singing holiday cards).  Plug your headphones directly into the case and enjoy.  Available for $29 from Cantaloupe Music (also available in a limited edition with silk-screened source code for $150).

Yeah Buddha Machines are awesome, those handheld looping devices that were first introduced in limited quantities from Chinese partnership  Christiaan Virant and Zhang Jian, and are back in third generation for more ambient drone creations a la Brian Eno.  About $25.

While Criterion Collection is responsible for keeping underrated classic film still in rotation in the DVD market, they are also responsible for making you pay $50 for a DVD, leaving many film enthusiasts reluctant to indulge themselves (which means you should get it for them).  Around Black Friday, Borders did a huge 50% off sale for their entire stock of CC, which was probably the best deal I've seen.  At the time of this post, unfortunately, that sale has ended.  Amazon, however, always maintains the most competitive prices on these collector's edition masterpieces, with usual discounts starting at $10 off.  Best case is almost half off of the Ingmar Bergman box set.

Friends of mine, Nick and Nadine, who are Sonnenzimmer, ran a series of amazing work for Insound this year, the 'Insound 10 for 10,' which visually represents the ten bands that made a resounding impact in music in 2010, though you may disagree with this list, including Beach House ,Broken Social Scene, Girls, Liars, The Mountain Goats, Neon Indian,Owen Pallett, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Ted Leo and the Pharmacists, and Titus Andronicus.  Each poster and t-shirt design for each band works independently and then ultimately as a whole.  Available at Insound, more info here.

Not impressed yet?  Nothing obscure or weird enough?  How about a Tom Zé box set, cataloging his career with 3 LPs, 7 inch single, and a CD interview.  That ought to do it. 

Holiday Tunes

A google search for "noise christmas" doesn't get you holiday classics performed by The Boredoms, but you may get a few "joyful noise" results.  Unfortunately there aren't a lot of cool records for fans of the out that are holiday-relevant, but I do know of a few that are somewhat unique concepts for Xmas albums, if you even care about being festive with your current tunes.

Working Stiff has been an open forum collective of outsider folk since 1985.  It mostly consisted of some like-minded artists meeting at the Springwater venue in Nashville, TN, some of the most recognizable acts involved being Lambchop, Dave Cloud, and one of my favorites, The Cherry Blossoms.  Cherry Blossoms bassist, Laura-Matter Fukushima, began a small label, Tiny Rig, which put out one of Nashville's proudest holiday records, The Working Stiff Christmas compilation, featuring holiday recordings (some live from Springwater) from all the best, and decorated with one of the many beautiful paintings of Blossoms' frontwoman, Peggy Snow.  The record still pops up at Nashville's most popular vinyl shop, Grimey's, every holiday, and it can still be ordered through Amazon and The Cherry Blossoms' official site.

If you've read this blog before, then you know about my fascination with christian alternative culture, especially religious metal.  Almost a decade ago, ROTD Records (and wouldn't you know it, christian metal labels have a significantly short lifespan, and this one's now kaput) put out their famous (and when I use this word, it often means famous amongst my friends and me) Brutal Christmas record, with epic metal covers of your holiday favorites.  Asian black metal group Kekal's cover of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" is the highlight for me, with the chorus sung with elfin-esque  group vocals.  Now, metal christmas albums seem gimmicky and silly, I know, but what stands out about this one is the sincerity of the record, as these bands subscribe to the christian faith and thus all subsequent christmas narratives, advent and all.  This is way out of print.  WAY out of print, but you can find it.

Back in 2002, when music wasn't that bad, or at least not near as bad as now, German label Mobilé put out a storybook packaged compilation of christmas and winter songs.  Some are obvious picks, like Low's "Take the Long Way Around the Sea" and some terrible Badly Drawn Boy song.  Really the reason to grab this is for Domotic's "Smith, Klaus, and White" and Múm's "Nóttin Var Svo Ágæt Ein."  I think Boomkat still sells some copies.  Insound may have one or two left.  Not too scarce. 

(Something About Fatness)

Broods - 2010

After their debut LP in 2006, entitled Pregnant Babies Pregnant with Pregnant Babies (and come on, you know you've had this discussion of the Russian doll effect of pregnant babies before in both intoxicated and sober states), Fat Worm of Error had little more output on the market for the last four years, with the exception of some cd-r's and split tapes (full discography here).  This year, however, the eccentric collective of free jazz noise spastics, featuring previous members of Deerhoof, have gotten down to business and back on the radar, first with their vinyl LP release, Broods, on Ecstatic Peace! and now this month with their latest, Ambivalence and the Beaker, on Resipiscent, which in my understanding, has been circulating with a different cover as far back as 2008 (update - beyond cover art changes, the music is also significantly remixed and remastered - thanks pilastr). 

Ambivalence and the Beaker - 2010

 Carrying on with the band's signature elements, the same chaotic buzzes reminiscent of Yuma Nora speckle the speakers, occasionally erupting into neo-dada antics and playful vocal experimentations.  Like with Babies, the band succeeds in a rich and elaborate dynamic that doesn't bore the listener in its silly indulgences, but rather keeps things in constant movement and the general output in a satisfyingly thoughtful progression.  But what really matters is that Fat Worm is just fucking fun, and ultimately sounds like an auditory representation of muppet rape (unlike Pitchfork, I will not apologize for the use of the word).

Return Your Purchased Holiday Gifts, the Best Bet for Your Loved Ones Arrives

I actually have a lot of posts and reviews lined up, with the slump in blog productivity due to a great deal of testing I am currently undergoing.  However, something so fantastic, stunning, and limited has appeared within my scope that I must put down the books and relay the gospel of this event with the greatest of urgency.  Drum roll.


MERZBOW IS RELEASING A 12 DISC BOX SET OF AMBIENT NOISE.  And just in time for X-Mas!  As I have yet to hear this treasure, titled Merzbient (clever!), I can at LEAST show you images of the remarkable, beautiful packaging, and I can tell you that Boomkat recommends it to Kevin Drumm fans.  If you're an asshole and really need more motivation than that to blow the $150 or so on a box of noise, then might I mention its limitedness (only 555 copies made, amazon is sold out [it apparently came out October 26, and sneaked past me]).

Behold, Some New Things

Stuff that you should already be listening to but may not be because you're dumb/uninformed.

Zach Hill "Face Tat" - Okay, there's not a great deal of surprises from Hella drummer Zach Hill here:  chaotic yet mathematically precise eruptions of satanic drumming with static-filled currents zapping throughout, ripping ass of all those in the path of its destruction.  The only real surprise is just how much ass is getting ripped and what an improvement this record is from the last solo outing.  So highly recommended.  Cheapest if you download from Zach's bandcamp page.

Salem "King Night" - Salem isn't exactly an obscure subject right now.  In fact, they're about to blow up.  It's inevitable.  This record just impresses anyone who hears it.  Just show them the first track, and they'll go get their own copy of the record.  I'm feeling reluctant to elaborate more than that, because words can't really do justice to the enormous power and awesomeness of this overdriven drum machine epic-goth sexsplosion.  The title track will end up on a film or trailer.  I would bet everything in my possession on that.  Just fucking get it before it becomes too overplayed, because it most certainly will be.

Parlour "Simulacrenfield" - More post rock from Temporary Residence, the label that refuses to give up on this overdone genre.  Parlour, however, add a beautiful horn/woodwind section to the mix,  not like that of the last Do Make Say Think record, which was good, but more like a Harold Budd composition, which is better.

 

Retrospective Series #6 - Retrospection within Retrospection

I was at the Acid Living Room one night, sitting in the middle of a furniture-less room on the floor with my pal Kell Bells.  We were eating our nightly Taco Bell when Andrew came in and said he would play a record for us as we dine.  As the needle dropped, a single, warble-y "beep" tone sounded, followed by hollow air of analog tape playing a low fidelity voice from the other side of a phone call. "Hey this is Bobby Dale, pick up the phone," the voice announced in a thick southern accent. "Pick up, pick up, pick up... alright, I'll holler at ya."  Then the beep sounded once more.  What was being played for our enjoyment was a compilation of answering machine tapes, compiled by a Nashville-based label, Sebastian Speaks, who collected vintage, obsolete answering machines from southern pawn shops that still contained their previous owners' cassettes, chock full of interesting messages.  The recordings include dramatic notifications, such as, "I'm in jail!" as well as the desperate and lonely, speaking endlessly to themselves, as if using the answering machine as a therapist.

While the messages are entertaining, no doubt, what's really enamoring about the record is the obsolete technology and how it stimulates a deep nostalgia for the years it represents with its haunting tape warble.  The sound quality itself creates this womb-like comfort, but at the same time an anxiety about the loss of such experiences and the end of archived material in the easily deleted digital age.

Hilarity and Despair is one of numerous project put out by Sebastian, with other works including a 64-page book of discovered artifacts in an abandoned house and a somewhat kickass record by Deluxin (featuring Nathan Vasquez of Be Your Own Pet and far superior to the more successful act).

Why None of You Know What You’re Talking About

Many western classical theorists draw a definitive line between music and noise.  There has been continuous debate on the exact location to which that line belongs, and the argument was only further complicated with the arrival of 20^th century composers who deliberately blurred said line with the innovation of noise as music.  What’s unique and intriguing about noise as a genre of music is, of course, the blatant oxymoron.   This explains why noise has been a less popular brand of composition, not simply because its dissonance is unappealing, as much popular music involves dissonance (to the extent now causing the jarring C chord in Beethoven’s Eroica to seem laughably tame), but because it is an extremely intellectual style requiring the understanding of multiple, simultaneous representations that are occurring.  This includes the acknowledgement of what is noise and what is music, as well as the comprehension of placing the concept of one into the paradigm of another.  

                To simplify, the general, broad notion of what constitutes noise as distinct from music is the absence of distinct pitch and perceivable patterns.  Sources of such could be interference, such as the static on a radio, audible distortion (an alteration of an original sound), and/or frequencies emitted from electronic devices (the low hum of a running refrigerator).   One can take from these sources, however, and manipulate their qualities within a traditional structure for composition, thus creating music out of noise, which would technically no longer be noise now that you’ve removed its randomness/undesirability.  In the digital age, however, noise is dying.  Computers run quieter, modems aren’t crying through a dial-up, televisions buzz less.  This may be why noise continues to become more acceptable: because of the loss of the association with undesirability and obnoxiousness.  The sounds are just otherworldly now.

                So then what constitutes noise as a distinct genre?  It’s kind of like how Potter Stewart can’t define pornography, but he knows it when he sees it.  But if we were to set regulations on the genre, which should probably be done, we could fashion those after the laws of winemaking in regard to pure varietals.  To be considered a true Cabarnet Sauvingon, and thus earn your right to proclaim such on your bottle’s label, you need somewhere between 80-85% of the wine to be derived from actual cab grapes.  Within these boundaries, noise would then need to be comprised of at least 80% of sounds which can be emitted from electronic devices going wrong.  That’s a fair standard, I believe.

                And so let’s apply this to how popular forms of music are being said to now include “noise.”  A particular target I would like to shoot at is the latest M.I.A. record, which in reviews has been said to “draw from influences such as noise.”  I’ve also seen the new album listed as pop/electronic/dance/noise.  No.  No.  You can’t do that.  You can’t refer to something as noise because it gets noisy.  M.I.A. has no noise influences; dance music is just getting more distorted and over-compressed these days.  That’s all.  M.I.A. isn’t mixing beats with Merzbow.  At best, she’s a cheap blend, a table wine in a box.  Okay, just wanted to address that briefly.  But it seems noisiness is indeed infecting all new popular forms of music and so the overlap is further complicating how we discuss noise and music, which means we could be very close to entering the utopia that Cage once dreamed of where all things to all people are very much a song.  This would further diminish the commodity fetishism of recorded sound art, devaluing music as property, and the music industry will collapse in a chaotic apocalypse.  Then former RIAA agents will turn to crime in their desperation, and the streets won’t be safe, and everything will be so damn NOISY!  Luckily that will never happen.  As stated before, it’s a genre for intellectuals who have graduated to the formal operations stage of Piaget’s development theory, which requires at least a high school education.  America’s too stupid to ever fully embrace something that you can’t dance to.

Anti-Aesthetically Pleasing

I was at the Moma with P-Ballz once, when we stumbled upon a small, inflated tent made of clear plastic.  The exhibit noted that the artist was inspired by an encounter with a homeless man (obvious) and that the piece was a protest against homelessness (because it's some sort of movement?).  Disgruntled, P kicks at the tent, shouting, "More like a protest against aesthetics!"  And she was correct.  And though that tent was a product of amateurish dilettantism, many artists, from neo-dadaists to punk outsiders, are out there just to make a mess and rub it in your face.  And so on that topic, here's some random stuff that I love because it's so unlovable!

Cassis Cornuta, aka Daniel De Wereldvermaarde Botanicus, is a Dutch noisist (trying to make this a word, join in the cause) who has been creating damaged, fractured, and vandalized sound-art since the '70s.  His new LP, mag ik eens even in uw broek pissen, continues his tradition of broken-sounding anti-music, spliced and diced, which is surprisingly listenable but by no means a crowd-pleaser.  With fear that his record may be too listenable, Cassis drilled multiple spindle-holes in the center of the lp, enabling off-centered play on your turntable.  According to Cassis, the record is meant to be listened to from any and all of these "alternate centers."

The Argentinian experimental group, Reynols, has always been a favorite for fans of "other" music, especially for those who get preoccupied with the novelty of their drummer, Miguel Tomasín, who has down syndrome.  While much of their output is psychedelic rock, a great deal of their releases involved you in the experiment, such as their first album, dematerialized CD, which consisted, of course, of an empty CD case.  Then there was Blank Tapes, and yes, it's recordings of blank tapes playing, mixtures of soft, white noise.  My favorite was a 7 inch I picked up (can't remember where) of 10,000 Chickens Symphony, which is also self-explanatory, though surprisingly harsh and unrecognizably chickens (after 100 things start to distort, or so I'm told). 

Danish artist Asger Jorn in collaboration with the French artist and theorist Guy Debord put together the infamous book, Mémoires, a work of psychogeography detailed with graphics, collages, and theoretical text.  What's most referenced of this book is its cover, made of sandpaper, which will inevitably scratch the other books on the shelf, thus we have a product of pop culture designed to destroy it, or at least damage it.  This was reprinted in 2001 and may possibly be available without high collector prices.

I thought about listing some really harsh, shrill noise bands here as well, but a lot of them are being saved for another list.  Plus, I'm already bored with this.  So that's all.

Ben Frost has Me by the Throat

For those of you that haven't had the pleasure of hearing Ben Frost already, think of an anthropomorphic, classically-trained lawnmower with explosive diarrhea (and the diarrhea is beautiful and you love it).  Frost has been one of the greatest contributions to noise in the last decade, making other noise acts like Black Dice seem amateurish and uneventful.  While noise has often been criticized for being unexceptional and indulgent, Frost's compositions are alive, melodic, expressive, and exciting. 

A native to Austrailia, Frost now resides in Iceland (the other middle of nowhere), where he has collaborated with the likes of Bjork and Nico Muhly.  The album I am reviewing today, By the Throat, was originally released last year, being the first full length recording since his critically-acclaimed breakthrough Theory of Machines, and is now finally available on vinyl (here, for instance).  Frost continues his style of glitchy fuzziness accompanied by moments of acoustic instrumentation (not unlike our favorite Azusa Plane).  At other moments, the music is undeniably electronica, but it's represented tastefully through this skewed, dark lens, decorated with distortion.  The music moves endlessly without tiring you, with huge, dense swells of static and warmth, engulfing you in its giant waves of controlled chaos.  I think of Frost's music as I do David Lynch's films, walking a thine line between the avant-garde and the accessible with perfect balance, with constant and (mostly) seamless shifts between moderate harmony and noisy intensity.  This is by far my favorite record of this year and last.

Digitalism (not the french electro-dance band)

I told a friend I had considered getting an mp3 player. “Are you serious?” she asked with surprise and suspicion.  I first assumed she was thinking, why do you want to be a part of that white earphone gadget-obsessed culture?  But of course, she was actually thinking, you really don’t have one already?  And the answer was no, I did not already have one.  Throughout my entire life, I’ve been slow, not necessarily reluctant, but slow to integrate new technology into my experiences of media.  Once a particular method of experience is learned and enjoyed, it’s not easy to alter the ritual without paranoia of a lessened effect.  I didn’t want to switch from cassette tapes to CDs because CDs were always skipping in the portable players.  I thought DVDs would fade like laserdiscs.  Mp3s, though, seemed especially detrimental to my experience of sound.  Those low bitrates sounded all gargly, downloading takes away the fun of record stores, and digital files lack the tangible artwork I’ve grown up flipping through during first listens.  After a while of living in New York, however, I realized I was hardly ever listening to my vinyl anymore.  My attention to recordings had diminished to moments of house cleaning or getting ready for work.  I also began to be intrigued with the easy organization of mp3 players.  In addition, I soon realized the benefits of the digital age: less production of plastics (dangerous ones like vinyl), less consumption of paper, having your entire collection at your fingertips, etc.  I concluded that vinyl could be my go-to, and I would back things up with mp3 copies for portable use/mixes.  I never acted on the idea, though, until one drunken rainy night when I lost my phone.

So you purchased an iphone?  Fuck no.  One of my problems with the mp3 market is that it has already been monopolized by Apple, with merely a few surviving competitors to itunes.  The fascist lack of freedom in Apple products also leaves a bad taste in my mouth.  So what did I do?  I went to the lesser of two evils: Google.  Not exactly the underground choice, but android phones are neat!  I decided to go with the brand new Mytouch 3G Slide.  Below is a comparison to the current generation of iphone.

Keypad.  I don’t like punching around on the screen, hoping for accuracy.  This has a slide-out full keypad for cavemen like me.

Headphones.  The headphones are shit; I think Apple’s shit headphones are even better.  Best to use your own.  Who can keep those little earpieces in, anyways?  Not me.

Music player. About the same as the iphone’s, though I like the fluid album flipping on Apple’s version a little better, even if it’s not necessary.

Other shit.  Android has way more of all that extra cell phone crap.  But we’re not discussing that here.

Have mp3s ruined my life?  Not yet.  The other day while walking home after a hard day of work, I listened to the new Lightning Bolt record and felt so much better.  Not having a car in New York, I had forgotten how important it was to have a soundtrack to your escape.  Here’s to new experiences.

Show Review: Skeletons

In my title, I was going to use some pun along the lines of "rattle my bones," but I resisted.  I mentioned it, however, so that I could basically still use it.  Skeletons is an interesting act to follow, as it manifests itself in numerous forms, not unlike the projects of Phil Elvrum,  with a revolving cast of players, most of who attended Oberlin's music school together. The core concept of Skeletons is reminiscent of a jazzier Arkansas Man (I know most of you haven't heard of Arkansas Man, but that's part of being an esoterrorist) or a sound that would have been produced by Briano Eno in the late 70s/early 80s mixed with some post-free jazz that would be released on Ecstatic Peace Records.  You know what I'm talking about.  This particular performance was the "big band" version of the group, a 13-piece, fully orchestrated hour of movement, ecstasy, melancholy, and lots of dissonant brass.  The performance was one of a series being hosted by Roulette, a charming space in Soho that caters to new and experimental music in a pleasant, seated atmosphere that demands reverence to the artist. The band played two sets with a Mt. Eerie meets Clogs sort of arrangement, consisting of epic bursts of brass decaying into minimal trickles of acoustics with vocal moments tiptoeing in every so often, softly ponderous. Beautifully spacey movements would erupt into utter rock-outs or progressively groove and grow, fall, glide.  If you can't already tell, I'm a fan and plan to keep an eye on this group, as you should as well.

Reunited!

Do you think New York City is overrated? Me too.  So for this post, we're getting on the train to Jersey to show those New Yorkers back home how it's done.  No, I'm not talking Jersey shore and spray tans, I'm talking Ivy League and tweed.  Last weekend I participated in an annual ritual of the cult of Princeton, the Princeton Reunions.  Though I am not an alumnus, I do my best to make these get-togethers now, not just for the unlimited amounts of booze or the 2 million dollar fireworks display (because that is actually kind of offensive), but for what that charming, hyper-white town has to offer, two things I can't get enough of: The Princeton Record Exchange and Hoagie Haven.  While graduates return to reunite with one another and their campus, I am reuniting with these two businesses.  I'll start with the former.  

As I've stated before, NYC record stores aren't especially great, with Hospital being the exception.  But Princeton, New Jersey, has one of the best in the area.  This most likely isn't news to you, as the nearly 30 year-old store is quite famous for it's infinite stock, obscure collectibles, and knowledgeable staff (doesn't sound like the NY shops at all, does it?).  I first visited there as a guest with my friend Sharon, and have since visited once a year with an alumnus during reunions.  As always this was a delightful visit to the shop, with their 20th Century Composer section overflowing with gold.  I finally found an original pressing of John Cage's recorded performance of Variations IV, which isn't really rare, but I never had the cash on me whenever I encountered it.  There was also some cool Tristram Cary LPs and lots of noise.  My most notable find, however, was a 3 LP compilation released on Sub Rosa, a label out of Brussels, who have ambitiously attempted to catalog noteworthy but not necessarily rightfully praised innovators and contributors to last century's noise and electronic music.  This particular release, an anthology of noise & electronic music / second a-chronology volume 2, is the second installment of the label's history of deconstruction, featuring rare and/or previously unreleased material from Captain Beefheart, Luc Ferrari, Meira Asher, and many more.  The record's a lot of fun but also extremely academic, with thorough artist bios to accompany the record and elaborate track explanations from music writers or the artists themselves.  If you're some scumpunk futurist that doesn't care about the details, feel free to simply crank the record and rock out (or pass out during the drone tracks).  It's versatile that way.  Be sure to keep an eye out on more anthologies from this label as well.  I hear they even have one for the Chinese noise scene, which, I must agree with them, is pretty unheard of around these parts.

Okay, but this isn't the only reason to visit Jersey.  No sir, one must also appreciate the art of the Jersey sandwich, perfected into masterpieces at a little dive known to its die-hard, artery-clogged fans as Hoagie Haven (click the link and look at the menu, comes with a map to the hospital).  After drinking Bud Light all day at those darn Reunions tents, one requires enough savory flavor in one's meal to overpower the thick layer of beer mold resting on one's taste buds.  The Haven shall deliver... well, not really, and it's a bit of a walk out of the way, but worth it.  Now before you go categorizing these words into the pre-established schemas of your simple minds, you should know what I mean when I say hoagie.  It's not the Subway footlong.  It's not that pussy sandwich you ate at the corner deli.  No, it's more than those throwaway bite-sized snacks.  You see, at Hoagie Haven, every sandwich contains a secret ingredient: nards.  Big, hairy nards.  And you don't just eat these hoagies, you submit to them, let them teach you things.  You'll never understand until you eat one, but I'm going to at least try to explain the sandwiches' majesty to you
.

Here's a picture of a wrapped hoagie on my lap.  I include my legs in this picture so that you can see the size in proportion to a 6'5 young man.  These sandwiches are 16 inches long, and despite whatever you've heard before, it is 16 inches that is the perfect size.

I had a rough schedule planned out, to where I was eating here at least once a day for 4 consecutive days.  It was tough on the body but was good for the soul.  I'll work up slowly and progressively to the most intense sandwich so that I don't scare you right away.  We begin with the heart stop, 16 inches of italian bread stuffed with cheesesteak, fried eggs, bacon, and mayonnaise, all dippied in the fryer for a finishing touch.  I had this without water and almost choked.

Next, the big cat.  This is six hamburger patties lined up on the bread, topped with bacon, eggs, and cheese.  I ordered it with the works, so it also had lettuce, tomato, and every kind of pepper you can think of.

Up next, the phat lady.  This one includes its own side on the inside, consisting of cheesesteak, cheesesticks, and french fries, all crammed into the bread, and once again, lightly fried all together.  Yum.  I always liked cheese on my sandwiches, but cheesesticks supply an additional fried texture and oily discharge that a typical deli slice can't deliver.

Lastly, and this is the most famous, most delicious of all, the Dirty Sanchez.  This is fried chicken cutlets and cheesesticks topped with Hoagie Haven's specialty sauce (some sort of mayo-based goodness).  Get it extra dirty for more sauce.  My god. If I only had videos of faces to show you.  Faces of those first-timers who think I am overreacting about a sandwich.  They change.  They transform.  They call their parents and tell them that they love them.

Retrospective Series #5 - Oh God (Part 1)

I know that some of you are more metal than me.  So I like bow ties and grew up in the suburbs. So what?  Some of you were already burning churches while I was still attending them.  This new series of posts, then, is not for you.  This is for those of us who were encouraged and convinced to rock out to tunes with biblical subtexts.  And still today, I remain fascinated by the social phenomenon that is religion and all of its by-products.  It's all just so fun!!!  After all, there would be no black metal if there had been no organized religion to piss off the members of Venom.  So slowly but surely, I intend to cover the lot of it. 

Being an anti-social 13 year-old, I didn't participate much in church, but I most certainly subscribed to the christian doctrine at that time, just in a private, self-concerned sort of way.  Around that time my family became members of a new Southern Baptist location, which had their youth led by a particular gentlemen known as Eddie.  Eddie was preoccupied with the dangers of secular music and focused his concerns on offering all of us kids alternatives to the mainstream.  I use the term alternative more specifically than generally, as these were exact matches to popular acts.  For instance, if you liked Korn and Rage Against the Machine, you were told to listen to Every Day Life (which was before Limp Bizkit, but uncannily identical).  I recall a poster hanging on the wall that even listed these popular bands and their christian counterparts.  It was all unapologetically derivative, and purposefully so.  The idea was to offer a quick fix for these kids before they were led astray by the questionable content of secular art.
This was the early to mid nineties, when the christian industry was just beginning to evolve past the simple, non-entertaining praise and worship genre, which was utilized in churches for serious acts of spiritualism but not fit for casual listening during parties. The 80s had few pioneers, most notably Stryper, the glam rock sensation that somehow carefully piloted the glamor of 80s arena rock and still managed to give "all glory to god."  They dressed like honeybees, or was it hornets?  By 1994, Tooth and Nail Records, founded by money-hungry Branden Ebel, made christian alternative a common, household genre.  Their early acts were mostly indie, punk, and hardcore, but certainly not without a ska band, which was the easiest sell to christians at the time (there are different theories as to why this was).  The label's earliest roster included bands that while obscure at the time, became quite successful later, some on a grand scale, some with mere cult-followings, such as MXPX, Danielson Famile, Starflyer 59, and so forth.  This was also the first self-identified christian label that was putting out non-evangelical records that were just performed by christians.  The Cootees even had a swear word in one their songs!  How progressive!  Anyway, Tooth and Nail sucks now, just like most other christian rock, but luckily this series is devoted to the past, so let's talk about the memorable acts.

Frodus.  Fuck.  I love this band.  Their full name was Frodus Conglomerate International, a title based on an evil mind-control organization of the same name on an episode of The Monkees.  Their songs are thus about mind control, and the lyrics are written in a manifesto style, with each song continuing a full narrative of their hunt for our heads.  Spastic, stylish, and at times surprisingly anthemic, Frodus delivers.  They left their christian label for a secular one, put out a 7-inch and another lp, then finally broke up in 2000, blaming the Y2K bug.  A reunion tour happened not long after.  Members have been in Black Sea and other projects, and Shelby Cinca composed some electronic music using a gameboy.

Horde.  This band is historically important to christianity, perhaps more than Jesus. Now, there has been LOTS of christian metal.  After all, fundamentalism is based on the same aggressive attitudes as metal, so it was always a good fit, although older generations thought of it as blasphemy.  We had Styper, Living Sacrifice (who began as a Slayer derivative, then have progressively become more... crap), Tourniquet, Extol (I like them), but before most of that was even in the beginning stages, Horde, a solo act by Australian Jayson Sherlock, was ripping Satan a new asshole.  Horde's only album was recorded and released in 1994, just as the second wave of Black Metal was occurring in Norway.  This was the first ever christian black metal record (later the genre would by dubbed unblack metal or white metal), and it fucking destroys.  Everything is there that you would want and expect of black metal: solid state guitars, lo-fi-as-fuck production, blast-beats, shrill screams.  Titillating!  Being that this record was produced at the peak of black metal church burnings and brutal slayings, it was important that Sherlock release the record anonymously.  Endless death threats streamed into the label's mailbox, demanding the identity of this poser.  He survived.  In fact, he even played his only show ever in Norway in 2006, though I've heard there was a second performance just this year.  The record has been re-released multiple times by other labels, and is even currently available on Amazon.

Retrospective Series #4 - Czech It Out! (sorry)

Today's addition to the retrospective series is Vera Chytilová's Fruit of Paradise (Ovoce stromu rajských jíme), an under-celebrated masterpiece of feminist avant-garde from the Czech New Wave.  When I lived in Murfreesboro, TN, there was an after-work routine that I followed.  I would first visit Video Culture, a small independent DVD rental shop stocked full of cult classics, film noir, and porn (some films being a combination of all 3 categories).  This place played a significant role in my goal to view every Criterion Collection release (at the time I had gotten up to about 130 out of 300).  After I made a selection, I would pick up a bag of Taco Bell and then return to my crappy apartment to privately partake in my nightly ritual.  It was at Video Culture that I discovered Fruit of Paradise, re-released and subtitled on DVD by Facets.  At the time, and probably still today, the film was the most visually stunning and musically provocative that I had seen since Holy Mountain, and that's saying a lot.  The film starts with kaleidoscope psychedelics and a trippy song about Adam and Eve, which is loosely used as a metaphoric framework for the film's story.  In this modern-day tale (or as modern as the 70s go), Eva and her boyfriend are attending an outdoor day spa with an anonymous serial killer present among the attendees.  While the narrative is present and developing (and thoroughly whimsical), the film at no point holds your experience directly to it.  The film is so rich in every aspect, one can view it simply for its vivid imagery and soundtrack, which alone act as the best music video you've probably ever seen.  The director's tendency toward slapstick carries over to this film from her first, Daisies, her debut which cost her a sentence of no movie-making for decades by declaration of the Soviets (part of the reason why Fruit of Paradise is so rare).  I could go on about the film's unique score, variations of cinematography (inside the killer's house is done in stop-motion!), and so forth, but this is really one of those films that has to be experienced.  Recommended for fans of Mathew Barney, Alejandro Jodorowsky, and Jean-Luc Godard.

That's Springintgut to You, Pal, and a Big Fuck-You to Sleigh Bells

So I had time to spare around Washington Square and thus decided to stop by Other Music, a record store that could be cooler but does well with its location by NYU and its stock of popular titles. I perused their "Out" section until I was bored with their obvious essential selections of 20th Century composers (which could actually use a good dusting and a restock, must just be there for cred). I then flipped through their "experimental" vinyl (god...) and did my regular routine/ritual of documenting the unheard of artists in my cell phone for a later inspection. Right as I was nearing completion of my store browse, I came across a fascinating piece of collectability. Perhaps it was the fact that the retrospective series has me remembering a time when I was extremely influenced by packaging, but nonetheless, the physical properties of this recording had me in awe.
Above, I have provided an image of the packaging, and below, I have detailed the image for your full understanding. 

I took the record over to the cashier and asked if he knew the story behind it (I was expecting the same experience that I get at Hospital Productions, with passionate clerks excitedly explaining the awesomeness of the music that you are holding), to which he passively responded, "I don't know... it's an art piece." Oh really, fuckwad?  An art piece?  Very interesting.  I'm glad you know the store and its products so well.  You might as well be selling toothpaste at Duane Reade, instead of wasting my time with your bullshit responses.  So it was only like 6 bucks, so I said I would go ahead and get it.  He had to come back to the register since he had already walked away.  I gave him a debit card but told him just to run it as credit.  He asked for I.D.  and insisted that he can't run it without something containing a signature.  Just run it as debit then, you tit basket, and then you can go back to playing your National record with your hyper-styled faux-hawk and your shark-tooth necklace like the indie pop teenie twat that you are.   Man, I couldn't wait to get out of there and go back to my home at Hospital, while Other Music's trying-way-too-hard-to-not-care staff draw stick men on the counter while tapping their toes to whatever co0l-for-the-present-five-minutes band (let's say, Sleigh Bells).  Someone at Other Music, however, has got to be cool, because they sell Buddha Machines and this record in discussion.  I've yet to meet him/her and have only encountered these mainstream shopping mall versions of hipsters.

On to the sound of the record, though.  The artist is German electronica composer, Springintgut, otherwise known as Andreas Otto.  Most information on this guy is in German, so I went to his label's site and translated via Google.  Otto is a classically trained cellist and drummer who - in spite of his distaste for electronic music - began to explore new possibilities for electronic composition back in 2001.  His live performances usually consist of a modified cello and a video game joystick as a sound controller (see video below).  On this particular record, confusingly sharing the same title as his current LP, Park and Ride, the music that begins is what Otto will later describe as an "electronic music cliche," which plays continuously during his speech on the decaying state of music due to the increased involvement of computers and other technology.  So that's the record, a lecture over an example.  Side A fades out, and the lesson continues on Side B (do be careful with your needle placement on this oddly shaped disc).  During the lecture, Otto invites you to view some images with him, and he instructs you on how to find them on the internet (easy to find due to the weird names of the files).  Neat!  I would share the links, but it's way more fun to do while listening to the record, so go find it (and at this point, I really am not sure where else to find it, sorry).

All novelty aside (I'm surprised this is the first time I've actually written that on this blog), Otto's argument is valid and compelling, and this topic is of concern to many contemporary artists. The real charm of his lecture though, is that he is not romanticizing what listeners may call more "organic" acoustics, nor is he rebelling against the idea of incorporating new technologies into composition (after all, his other records are pretty much straight forward electronic music).  He instead offers a quirky bit of guidance to music on computers and ideas of how to translate music notation for artificial/alternative intelligence in attempt to avoid the end-product from sounding, to put it in Otto's words, so "stupid."

Now, going back to my previous mention of new craze Sleigh Bells, whose popularity crutches on its mere over-compressed production, I would like to consider what Otto would have to say about American electronic music, the current cool essentials, and the kid that checked me out at the store.  I can't assume without projecting, but I like to think we'd feel the same.

Here's a clip of Otto doing his thing:

Retrospective #3 - Picks & Lighters

Before I was of drinking age, I lived in a small town about a one and a half hour drive from Memphis. I worked minimum wage jobs, and on pay day, I would excitedly hop into the car and head down to the only two cool record stores of West Tennessee at that time: Shangri-La and Last Chance Records. The latter carried the more hard-to-find, and is thus out of business after several location changes, but it was my favorite. Oh the treasures I would find! And oh how my small-town, inexperienced little mind was blown. Today I will reminisce about another of those bought-for-the-album-cover situations.

I was flipping through the countless rows of vinyl, when I suddenly came across a unique spiral design that caught my eye. Upon further inspection, I realized that this wasn't a print but the band had simply thrown blank white jackets onto a hot eye of a stovetop, burning the design onto the cover. The album credits were then written out in ink pen on the back. There were no song titles listed, simply the band name, Picks and Lighters, where they were from, Knoxville, and the band members names. The record was recorded in 1997, and the band had unfortunately already broken up in 1999 before I had even purchased the record, being sold on consignment at Last Chance for $6.99.

What's truly fucking depressing about this record is how goddamn good it is, and how under the radar it still remains. The band created a warm, bluesy brand of instrumental rock at a time before idiots started saying "post-rock" to describe their teary-eyed bullshit. The only currently available piece of recording from Picks and Lighters today is their last album from 1999, re-released by Ecstatic Yod in 2006 (Update: found a spot, but I'm unsure of their stock: Laboratory Standard).

The music occurs without too many rules but doesn't bore you with nonsense. It breathes but doesn't get too jammy. It's a home recording, but doesn't rub the lo-fi idea in your face like new wannabes such as Wavves. It's simply a sincere and brilliant offering, and modestly so.

Retrospective #2 - mom supports my noise habits

Why am I reviewing a bunch of old media? Because none of these current lazy nonchalants that you fuckers love so damn much are making anything worth a shit!!! So you go to your little Pitchdork and read reviews of the latest irony soaked indie-dance Casio keyboard monstrosity to fill your hunger for newness. Come back and see me when you're ready for quality. Oh, you'll be back. You will.

Today I lust for my youth through a little gem that I like to credit for making me who I am today. America is Dreaming of Universal String Theory by Azusa Plane changed me. At the time of its release, I was merely an impressionable 15 year-old in a small town in Tennessee.

"Mom, can you write me a check for fifteen dollars and mail it to Colorful Clouds for Acoustics?"

"Well, I suppose, since you made all A's..."

"Yay!!!"

I remember placing the disc in my bass-y stereo from Wal-Mart, and drifting away in the thick, crunchy-smooth walls of warm, womb-like fuzz-drone. The satisfied smile on my face could not be removed until my mother would barge in and ask in sincere concern if my stereo was broken.

Azusa Plane was lone member Jason DiEmilio, who sadly ended his life in 2006.

Retrospective Series #1 - welcome to the (dot) matrix

This is the first installment of many, where I look back on my dusty shelves in remembrance of those great records of yesteryear, and what better way to begin than with the music of obsolete technology! This morning while eating my Trader Joe's quiche, I am pulling from the vault my favorite release of 2002 (that is now eight years ago... god...), symphony #2 for dot matrix printers by [The User]. I purchased the LP back when I had a habit of collecting cool album covers (and ended up getting many shit records as a result), and the simplistic and nostalgia-inducing cover of this particular record, decorated merely by a low-res photograph of the original 8 inch floppy disc, had me sold.

The symphony, as the jacket explains it, "...is a performance for fourteen dot matrix printers played by an orchestra of personal computers from the early nineties and conducted by a similarly obsolete file server." Basically, certain text files were created to exploit the noisy operation of dot matrix printers and synchronize the printers' printing of these files into what I consider a highly danceable trip down memory lane.

[The User] is a Canadian art collective, consisting of architect/installation artist Thomas McIntosh and sound artist Emmanuel Madan, and they are still going strong.

The Lock to My Heart Opened by One Thousand Locked Grooves

Several records to review. Hidden, the newest release by These New Puritans, proves that the retrospective wink to classic post-punk isn't always a bad idea, unlike earlier acts such as Interpol, who are still yet to write two distinctly unique songs. The band's brand of epic electronic pop grandeur continues to inventively improve with their second record for the Domino label, with their signature use of electronic tribal beats reminiscent of the chase scene of a cop show topped with quirky orchestra synths and melodramatic subject matter. Closest and most pleasing thing to Robot Ate Me, whom we all rightfully adore (R.I.P. 5RC).

So I went by Hospital Productions the other day because I was getting some tailoring done in the Lower East Side and needed an excuse to buy records, and the nearby location of the shop in addition to the nearby occurrence of my birthday seemed a perfect combination of justification (writes down for straight-edge band name idea). It was at Hospital that I began talking to Anthony about RRRecords, a label that I haven't spoken about on the blog before, and it is just that I do so. Based out of Massachusetts, where you assume there is no noise scene, RRRecords resides, operated by founding father, Ron, who has probably the most elaborate and extensive library of noise known to man. I have yet to visit this palace of avant archives, but it's at least on my bucket list. His label is responsible for a lot of NY bands, such as the low-fi bliss of Can't, and great noise compilations such as my special treasure find at Hospital that day. RRR-1000 consists of 20 artists (Aaron Dilloway, Thomas Dimuzio, Kevin Drumm, more) , each assigned to 50 grooves of the LP. Okay. But here's why this is so fucking cool. The vinyl disc is mastered in 1000 locked grooves, 500 per side, meaning wherever you drop the needle, a fixed loop begins to play endlessly. At no time will you probably ever hear the same noise record or remember what and/or where on the disc you heard something else, for that matter. It's such a playful experience and an endlessly fun interaction with the album. I am in love and am thus cutting this post short so I can go back to experimenting with it.