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Ben Frost at Lincoln Center Unnerves Members in Tuxedos

Last night marked the commencement of New York's Unsound fest 2011, once again cooperatively executed by Polish Cultural Institute in New York and the Goethe-Institut New York. An important genre-defying event of modern composition, this year's festival began with a Lincoln Center performance by Ben Frost in collaboration with prepared pianist Daniel Bjarnson, "We don't need other worlds. We need mirrors" (originally performed at the same event in Poland last year). Frost had Sinfonietta Cracovia, the Royal Orchestra of Krakow, at his disposal and to many's surprise didn't lose himself in it, as everything was very contained, sustained, and minimal. A constant tension remained as the visuals supplied by Brian Eno (manipulated stills from the original Solaris film) were projected above the orchestra.

Below is the actual progression of the evening.

Keller and I find our seats and are amazed by their proximity to the stage. We sit, and I realize that my hands still smell like the pizza we ate. The audience abides by the light flash and shuts up, then the projector plays footage of a performance by Sinfonietta Cracovia of Fragment Koncertu (it is amazing). We applaud. "That sounded very fragmented," says a woman seated behind me. The evening proceeds with members of the Krakow orchestra playing pieces by Penderecki and Reich. All are performed magnificently, sychronized bows violently pumping and at times softly swaying but always damn fine.

Intermission. I am asked not to take pictures. The woman seated behind me is told by her husband that two years ago Ben Frost was a nobody, had only put out two albums (one of which he owns and hates because it's just noise), and look at him now, what a bunch of bullshit, he concludes.

Frost's performance begins, and the audience isn't sure if it has begun because it's so goddamn quiet. There are no swells of black static, but Frost is just as unnervingly noisy with the quiet tension he creates, sustaining, at times even swelling with massive depth, but mostly just faintly churning, like 50 squeaky sets of teeth being brushed, decorated by the scattered prepared piano. The projector displays a blue square, which becomes more squares, then more complex arrangements of pixels until one sees the Kris character, elderly-looking, from Solaris, age in reverse, then age back, then pixelate until just a square again.

I clap as solidly as I can, surprised it's already over. The woman seated behind me says, "It's pretty droney," as her husband murmurs swears under his breath, displeased with the evenings performance. His New York accent is thick, like someone at a Mets game. Keller and I take sometime to come out of the state we were put in and then get some donuts.

Bovine Fiction (double meaning win!)

Mathew Stokoe's 1997 shockfest novel, Cows, received a re-release this year through Dennis Cooper's Little House on the Bowery, and, whether revisiting the cult classic or taking your first venture into its unsettling storytelling, you (assuming you're not a teenage boy into smut) will be sadly disappointed, having wasted all that flinching at its grotesque scenarios for little payoff from the book's narrative or prose.  The book's meandering through a predictable sum of taboos reads like a checklist of gross-outs, seldom contributing to the books ultimate narrative and existing only as shock for shock's sake.  Now, such wouldn't be quite so seemingly amateurish and immature (and thus excruciating to read) if the prose were actually substantial or the character psychology remotely interesting.  Unfortunately, Stokoe fails to deliver as he lazily falls into hyper-masculine explanations and weak anecdotes to describe what motivates his amoral universe of characters.


What helps the novel remain somewhat interesting are its fantastical elements, such as the beast-like and surreal descriptions of his evil mother or the anthropomorphic, talking cow characters.  This is all, however, executed quite literally and driven straight into a wall almost immediately.  What could have worked as some edge-y fabulist fantasy of uncertain imagination remains an unsatisfying, vomit-drenched, horror version of Never Ending Story.

2011's Prematurely Most Preeminent: Tim Hecker

While serving in Germany during World War II, Fluxus artist Al Hansen pushed a piano off of the roof of a five story building, an act which would later become the foundation of one of his most popular performance pieces, the Yoko Ono Piano Drop, a piece that would be mimicked often, including one instance between several college students in 1972.  Such is the sentiment (and album cover) of Tim Hecker's sixth full length recording, Ravedeath, 1972, featuring the opening track, "The Piano Drop," alongside other anti-song titles such as "The Hatred of Music" and "No Drums."  Cooperating with other electronic composer-god Ben Frost (and in tracks like "In the Air," shit gets pretty Frosty), Hecker has completed his masterpiece.  The pulsating fire of damaged symphonic swells that have become his signature are perfected with the primary instrument being an organ of a church in Iceland (Frost's hometown these days).  The record as a whole, as a concept, as a commentary, as a progression of decaying music, is absolutely perfect.
And so the year is looking bright for music thus far, what with an amazing LP from Deerhoof (available on cassette from Joyful Noise), the upcoming new Danielson record (also available on cassette from Joyful noise), that Zs remix record,  and as of tomorrow, the day of love, the release of the record of the year, Tim Hecker's Ravedeath, 1972.  I know, it's only February, but Jesus Christ.  

Demystifying Goodiepal

In the tiresome task of discovering left-field rarities, there is often the risk of a misinterpretation here, an ignorant assumption there, but I hereby promise to correct those as they come to my attention. This brings me back to a previous post, where I credited a mysterious work to Sprinintgut, to which the oddly packaged sleeve was labeled. Upon another recent visit to Other Music's "experimental" vinyl section, I discovered a similarly packaged gem, and from the view of the packaging, I could already tell that the vinyl was also cut in a puzzle-shaped fashion, as the one I had found before. This time the jacket's label credited The Drift, from Temporary Residence. Baffled, I took the piece over to the counter and asked the gentleman what was up. If you recall last time, they weren't so helpful, but this particular member of staff knew a thing or two. I explained to him that I had purchased a similarly packaged item, of which I thought was performed by Springintgut, and asked if this was some sort of special series of various artists, blah, blah, blah. I was informed that most of the packaging was just recycled promo jackets from other music (which were later doodled on), and that these were all the same Dutch artist. I obviously felt like a fool. While Springintgut is great, he was not responsible for the lecture on the previous disc, and I have thus misinformed you. So as we open up the new bag of goodies, we will figure this out once and for all.


Simply inspecting the outside plastic's barcode can tell you the actual artist: Goodiepal, a.k.a. Parl Kristian Bjørn Vester, who according to Wikipedia is M.I.A. and wanted by the Danish police for "an unsolved theft from the Royal Academy of Music in Aarhus." He had taught at the academy until 2008, when he quit his position and declared "intellectual war against the stupidity in modern computer music and media art." Such sentiment is expressed in his lecture on the tiny, odd-shaped vinyl discs that I've gathered, a part of what Vester refers to as the "five steps in a Gentleman's War on the stupidity of modern computer music and media based art."  This expensive venture over the past 3 years has led Goodiepal to bankruptcy, but all the details of the man can be found on his seemingly autobiographical Wikipedia page.  

Also to note, this particular package included on additional 7-inch of very European-esque electronic music sans lecture and a small, hand-decorated, hardbound book of images and blank pages (perhaps a journal, but I can't read any of the content and have no idea of its purpose).

We're Running Out of Geniuses: RIP Milton Babbitt

Yesterday, due to unknown causes (perhaps simply from old age), avant-garde composer and innovator of the first synthesizer, Milton Babbitt, passed away. Babbitt was known for his brilliant and complex compositions and musical theories extremely advanced for his time.  In fact, Princeton didn't honor his dissertation on the 12-tone system of modern composers until 46 years after the fact, awarding him his doctorate at 75 years old in 1992 (Princeton admits retrospectively that they were unable to properly evaluate something so ahead of its time).  As one of the first electronic composers with over 60 compositions under his belt, Babbitt will be remembered and missed.

What to Expect in 2011

This may be our last peaceful year before the onset of Armageddon in 2012.  Here's some pleasantries to look forward to in the meantime.


Deerhoof "Deerhoof vs. Evil"
This one is slowly being leaked, technically already out in Japan, and officially in American stores on the 25th (I think).  I haven't heard all of it yet, but it's very... clean.  Polished.  This could be good or bad.


Belong "Common Era"
It has already been 5 years (god, I'm old) since Belong first gifted us with their debut, October Language, recorded in the flood of New Orleans (or something), and now more of their Tim Hecker-inspired beautifully damaged swellings of orchestration will be available on their sophomore offering due out March 21.


Danielson "Best of Gloucester Count"
It has also been 5 years since Danielson's Ships, which was absolutely brilliant.  This record may or may not be as good.  I don't know.   Out February 22nd.


Tim Hecker "Ravedeath, 1972"
Ah, and speaking of Tim Hecker, here he is!  Tim Hecker and I share a love/hate relationship with music, consisting of mostly hate.  Hecker channels that hate into his new drone-y masterpiece, featuring the wonderful "Hatred of Music."  Due out February 14th, the day of love/hate.


The Rum Diary - Bruce Robinson
Johnny Depp in another Hunter S. Thompson adaptation.  Worked last time.


A Dangerous Method - David Cronenberg
This film could very well be terrible. I'm not a big Cronenberg fan; I think Videodrome sucked. Please don't email me about that. Despite my skepticism, and perhaps the historically inaccurate Hollywood exaggeration of how much Sabina Spielrein ruins the relationship of Freud and Jung (and not instead the fact that they came to a crossroads of psychodynamic theory), I have to see this potential dump of cinema as a huge fan of both men and a student of psychology.

2010's Best List of the Best of 2010

2010 had its moments, along with a few inevitable disappointments, the greatest disappointment being most publications' choices for what they deemed the best of the year.  It's always frustrating to read the year-end best-of lists, I know, thus I have compiled an elite best-of-the-best-of-2010 list, including selections from the year's music, film, and literature, as well my personal favorite art exhibits.  I also have refused to apply ordinal rankings to these, as such is a simplistic and cheap approach to the art of a best-of list.  It is important to note, as is always the case with this blog, that I only included what I personally experienced in 2010 and that ultimately the list is entirely subjective and somewhat autobiographical (as a few of my friends may appear in the list).  This list will be lengthy, so for the first time ever on The Esoterrorist, you must continue reading after the jump.

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
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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.