The Advisory Circle - Other Channels
'What the 70s really looked like' goes the tagline for "The 70s Dimension", the idea being that the utter marginalia of a time (the disc compiles inane TV commercials) speaks more truthfully than a run-through of iconic images. The DVD is a release off of Craig Baldwin's label - Other Cinema - and these are indeed the very frequencies of Other Channels, the same broadcasts of memory & archival delirium. Channels, as in changing by remote, heading into an unreliable past left indistinct & disproportionate. Childhood here is diffuse and roaming - a string-section swoon (equally applicable to spy romance or an ad for a furniture sale), might be followed by oscillators and blown bottles (i.e. John Barry *click* John Baker). Fixations of prequel EP Mind How You Go also get a renewed season: those public information films - here the disquieting "Frozen Ponds PIF" - and a lot of Roger Roger style library synths. Probably the most diverse Ghost Box record so far, maybe even the first in a marked departure w/ its Penguin book-cover traded in for a polychromatic 16mm dissolve. What would a widening spectrum imply - examination of a less specified collective unconscious? Or maybe just a later one, w/ a vague chronological drift forward/backwards alongside present time. A speculation is haunting me.
ABN - Still Throwed
From what might be the year's best rap album. Many effective pairings here: electric guitar crunch across glimmering synth, tuneful drawl across rapid-fire flows, elegiac Still masking hostile Geto Boy 'Still' (...waters run deep), Z-ro and Trae - two really rich weathered voices, experience-stained w/ all the varnish peeled off.
Ashanti ft. Robin Thicke - Things You Make Me Do
For anybody who didn't find themselves inexplicably skipping through The Declaration: a modest bit of cooing from the Venusian space-pod subgenre of R&B. Certainly slight (having flashbacks to old Christina Milian ballads here) but I have a hard time resisting. Never mind, ignore this.
Beyonce - Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)
Seemed to go nowhere on first listen, but 'going' ends up hardly the point. Relentless snake-charmer video is helpful because impossible to unsee - Beyonce The Iron Woman plus careening, teetering backing of synth whiplash & engine-that-could up in your face.
Big Boi ft. Andre 3000 & Raekwon - Royal Flush
Heard this on the radio a couple times which was weird. It feels tossed off but in the best way - Akai improvising & casual dart tossing - as if taken off some random mixtape. Andre's verse is also afforded twice the airtime (& memorable lines) to help reassure people like my old roommate who never recovered from The Love Below (*solemn blank stare*).
Bun B ft. Rick Ross, David Banner, 8Ball & MJG - You're Everything
Show of unity - stunning, hair-raising - could've come off as defensive but instead it's about devotion, the pathos behind what it means to belong. "We all different but we all rep the same thang." Production is baroque & lugubrious: choirs, doom bass, spidery keys (not too proud to say I was reminded of this). That Jodeci hook (an unusually intact sample) materializes like some phantom EVP recording - latent lovesickness, make the song cry.
Busta Rhymes - Don't Touch Me
Stodgy fall between stools notwithstanding, Busta's still really adept at stretching his flow through the gears of a beat. Syllables scuttling through every crevice, "Be water, my friend", adaptable motion is his forte. Vast improvement here on "Touch It"'s stiff slash/bust scheme, more organic, slow burning and nimble w/ tension built around the simple removal/return of the snare. Not bad. Gets some A+ verses out of the remix lineup too (Kane, Nas, Game, Wayne, etc.).
Ciara ft. Ludacris - High Price
"Oh" by way of "You Don't Want Drama" or Oh-M-G or Quetzalcoatl-riding banshee bloodbath if that's your thing. Really befuddling, the chorus a mere breathing space between those garish stentorian shrieks (e.g. 'YOU KNOW ME!'). Ludacris's verse splat in the middle is also oddly long (and pretty good) but imbalance seems to be the order of the day.
Keyshia Cole - Heaven Sent
Very pretty and measured ballad. Something about the way that ethereal "sent from heaven" finishes her more sober lines & later just softly persists under a third climactic register (string-section crescendo & all that). Video blatantly highlights stuffy MJB lineage but a little indeterminacy is detectable & it seems to suit her better (is that A Different Me?).
Cheri Dennis - Pretend
Lovely - Cheri patient, optimistic but then caveating in nervous double-time, finally allowing herself to openly pine for her guy. Floodgates over ripplets of descending toms - nice underpinning along w/ that unusually low-key bridge as if she's in contemplation or just out of speech.
Stacey Epps - Floatin'
All glimmering milky-ways & divine reverie - exceptionally unearthly for neo soul type stuff. More permeation of downtempo - see also Solange looking to Zero 7/BOC, Sa-ra, beatsmith names like Ras G & the Afrikan Space Program, etc. Sort of washes over you which is typical but agreeably lush & effortless feeling.
John Legend ft. Andre 3000 - Green Light
Is this the first Outkast-related thing that might actually pass as an honorary drum & bass track (this one somewhere between liquid-funk & boutique labels like Subtle or Covert Operations)? And what kind of criteria is that? Well... the kind that gets me writing blurbs about John Legend songs apparently.
Lil Wayne - A Milli
Undercooked passed off as raw - a Weezy specialty - and nowhere more at home than over this Bangladesh scribble. Forerunning germ - a kooky bit of Kelis filler - left on loop, now breeding and growing smarter each day (vocabulary of four words if we count "Diva"). Boring, as in into the skulls of your children.
Lloyd ft. Lil Wayne - Girls Around the World
Lloyd, new romantic elven androgyne, on a relaxed 90's style groove. Takes its time but not its space - sauntering "thin" break is a welcome relief & the detailing is all twinkly vibraphone and billowing strings. Also Lloyd, heartthrob falsetto on the verge of evaporation, sounds pretty good here. Light flatters light.
Ne-Yo - Closer
"I know her face, I just don't know who you are." Works on two levels, in the club catching a glimpse of some missing encounter, or anywhere at all at the precipice of a desired relationship (4x4 perhaps internal as heartbeat). References to becoming owned & captive but there's a sense that it's an unwitting seduction, that is to say, formulated by him alone. "The more I get, the more I want." He is the one, but in this case so is she.
Scarface - High Powered / Emeritus
Bookends of what may be the last Scarface album. "High Powered" - something like the grandeur of Game's "One Blood" but senior, unconcerned w/ proving itself, distant from the rowdiness of youth but still within earshot. "Emeritus" - the formidable ending note too boss for a chorus - "to the critics analyzing my shit, thinking so-and-so is better, you can suck my dick" plus the final lines are killer but I won't spoil it here.
Termanology ft. Bun B - How We Rock
Termanology's sort of gawky & unconvincing like he's geeking out in real-time over his own multisyllabic rhyme schemes. You, sympathetic listener, are invited to commingle into the geekiness. I have to admit, he is pretty scrappy. Basement Primo beat & a solid cast-against-type Bun B certainly help.
T.I. ft. Kanye West, Jay-Z & Lil Wayne - Swagga Like Us
Hard to ignore the fact that only T.I. sounds up to the task but kind of thrilling anyway. Starts by swooping in and detonating into war-drums - already the sound of an expensive trainwreck - the entire thing swollen, oversized, & half-choking on its own autotune. M.I.A., of all people, floats around as larger-than-larger-than-life rallying cry. "Pay no attention to those men behind the curtain..."
Trina ft. Killer Mike - Look Back At Me
Like the sun, like a flower. Not-so-intimate club (and whip and chain and cattle prod) music. The baddest: Trina's maniacal laughter, the pong-paddle ratatat, those outrageous, uh, screwing fx. Seriously nasty.
V.I.C. - Wobble
Prefer this to "Get Silly" actually - less catch-line but the 'wobble' rhythm is fairly outlandish (i.e. a ringtone of it had me at bar two). Style cues from Idlewild but the whole thing was probably both too specific and dispersed to have really caught on like its crank donk brethren.
Young Jeezy ft. Kanye West - Put On
Rapper once accused of coasting off adlibs now accused of exploiting political/economic climate for self-promotion. The shift is to Jeezy's credit & he does have a knack for blowing things up in scale if not w/ matching resolution. Every puffed up 'AYYY' needs its matching minor-chord IMAX stage ("Soul Survivor", then "Go Getta") so why not a move towards public address? As for Kanye Digital, his new vocaloid thing works well as a timbre - viridian cityscapes & glass - but I still have no idea what he's 'putting on' other than a long face.
From what might be the year's best rap album. Many effective pairings here: electric guitar crunch across glimmering synth, tuneful drawl across rapid-fire flows, elegiac Still masking hostile Geto Boy 'Still' (...waters run deep), Z-ro and Trae - two really rich weathered voices, experience-stained w/ all the varnish peeled off.
Ashanti ft. Robin Thicke - Things You Make Me Do
For anybody who didn't find themselves inexplicably skipping through The Declaration: a modest bit of cooing from the Venusian space-pod subgenre of R&B. Certainly slight (having flashbacks to old Christina Milian ballads here) but I have a hard time resisting. Never mind, ignore this.
Beyonce - Single Ladies (Put a Ring on It)
Seemed to go nowhere on first listen, but 'going' ends up hardly the point. Relentless snake-charmer video is helpful because impossible to unsee - Beyonce The Iron Woman plus careening, teetering backing of synth whiplash & engine-that-could up in your face.
Big Boi ft. Andre 3000 & Raekwon - Royal Flush
Heard this on the radio a couple times which was weird. It feels tossed off but in the best way - Akai improvising & casual dart tossing - as if taken off some random mixtape. Andre's verse is also afforded twice the airtime (& memorable lines) to help reassure people like my old roommate who never recovered from The Love Below (*solemn blank stare*).
Bun B ft. Rick Ross, David Banner, 8Ball & MJG - You're Everything
Show of unity - stunning, hair-raising - could've come off as defensive but instead it's about devotion, the pathos behind what it means to belong. "We all different but we all rep the same thang." Production is baroque & lugubrious: choirs, doom bass, spidery keys (not too proud to say I was reminded of this). That Jodeci hook (an unusually intact sample) materializes like some phantom EVP recording - latent lovesickness, make the song cry.
Busta Rhymes - Don't Touch Me
Stodgy fall between stools notwithstanding, Busta's still really adept at stretching his flow through the gears of a beat. Syllables scuttling through every crevice, "Be water, my friend", adaptable motion is his forte. Vast improvement here on "Touch It"'s stiff slash/bust scheme, more organic, slow burning and nimble w/ tension built around the simple removal/return of the snare. Not bad. Gets some A+ verses out of the remix lineup too (Kane, Nas, Game, Wayne, etc.).
Ciara ft. Ludacris - High Price
"Oh" by way of "You Don't Want Drama" or Oh-M-G or Quetzalcoatl-riding banshee bloodbath if that's your thing. Really befuddling, the chorus a mere breathing space between those garish stentorian shrieks (e.g. 'YOU KNOW ME!'). Ludacris's verse splat in the middle is also oddly long (and pretty good) but imbalance seems to be the order of the day.
Keyshia Cole - Heaven Sent
Very pretty and measured ballad. Something about the way that ethereal "sent from heaven" finishes her more sober lines & later just softly persists under a third climactic register (string-section crescendo & all that). Video blatantly highlights stuffy MJB lineage but a little indeterminacy is detectable & it seems to suit her better (is that A Different Me?).
Cheri Dennis - Pretend
Lovely - Cheri patient, optimistic but then caveating in nervous double-time, finally allowing herself to openly pine for her guy. Floodgates over ripplets of descending toms - nice underpinning along w/ that unusually low-key bridge as if she's in contemplation or just out of speech.
Stacey Epps - Floatin'
All glimmering milky-ways & divine reverie - exceptionally unearthly for neo soul type stuff. More permeation of downtempo - see also Solange looking to Zero 7/BOC, Sa-ra, beatsmith names like Ras G & the Afrikan Space Program, etc. Sort of washes over you which is typical but agreeably lush & effortless feeling.
John Legend ft. Andre 3000 - Green Light
Is this the first Outkast-related thing that might actually pass as an honorary drum & bass track (this one somewhere between liquid-funk & boutique labels like Subtle or Covert Operations)? And what kind of criteria is that? Well... the kind that gets me writing blurbs about John Legend songs apparently.
Lil Wayne - A Milli
Undercooked passed off as raw - a Weezy specialty - and nowhere more at home than over this Bangladesh scribble. Forerunning germ - a kooky bit of Kelis filler - left on loop, now breeding and growing smarter each day (vocabulary of four words if we count "Diva"). Boring, as in into the skulls of your children.
Lloyd ft. Lil Wayne - Girls Around the World
Lloyd, new romantic elven androgyne, on a relaxed 90's style groove. Takes its time but not its space - sauntering "thin" break is a welcome relief & the detailing is all twinkly vibraphone and billowing strings. Also Lloyd, heartthrob falsetto on the verge of evaporation, sounds pretty good here. Light flatters light.
Ne-Yo - Closer
"I know her face, I just don't know who you are." Works on two levels, in the club catching a glimpse of some missing encounter, or anywhere at all at the precipice of a desired relationship (4x4 perhaps internal as heartbeat). References to becoming owned & captive but there's a sense that it's an unwitting seduction, that is to say, formulated by him alone. "The more I get, the more I want." He is the one, but in this case so is she.
Scarface - High Powered / Emeritus
Bookends of what may be the last Scarface album. "High Powered" - something like the grandeur of Game's "One Blood" but senior, unconcerned w/ proving itself, distant from the rowdiness of youth but still within earshot. "Emeritus" - the formidable ending note too boss for a chorus - "to the critics analyzing my shit, thinking so-and-so is better, you can suck my dick" plus the final lines are killer but I won't spoil it here.
Termanology ft. Bun B - How We Rock
Termanology's sort of gawky & unconvincing like he's geeking out in real-time over his own multisyllabic rhyme schemes. You, sympathetic listener, are invited to commingle into the geekiness. I have to admit, he is pretty scrappy. Basement Primo beat & a solid cast-against-type Bun B certainly help.
T.I. ft. Kanye West, Jay-Z & Lil Wayne - Swagga Like Us
Hard to ignore the fact that only T.I. sounds up to the task but kind of thrilling anyway. Starts by swooping in and detonating into war-drums - already the sound of an expensive trainwreck - the entire thing swollen, oversized, & half-choking on its own autotune. M.I.A., of all people, floats around as larger-than-larger-than-life rallying cry. "Pay no attention to those men behind the curtain..."
Trina ft. Killer Mike - Look Back At Me
Like the sun, like a flower. Not-so-intimate club (and whip and chain and cattle prod) music. The baddest: Trina's maniacal laughter, the pong-paddle ratatat, those outrageous, uh, screwing fx. Seriously nasty.
V.I.C. - Wobble
Prefer this to "Get Silly" actually - less catch-line but the 'wobble' rhythm is fairly outlandish (i.e. a ringtone of it had me at bar two). Style cues from Idlewild but the whole thing was probably both too specific and dispersed to have really caught on like its crank donk brethren.
Young Jeezy ft. Kanye West - Put On
Rapper once accused of coasting off adlibs now accused of exploiting political/economic climate for self-promotion. The shift is to Jeezy's credit & he does have a knack for blowing things up in scale if not w/ matching resolution. Every puffed up 'AYYY' needs its matching minor-chord IMAX stage ("Soul Survivor", then "Go Getta") so why not a move towards public address? As for Kanye Digital, his new vocaloid thing works well as a timbre - viridian cityscapes & glass - but I still have no idea what he's 'putting on' other than a long face.
THE ADVISORY CIRCLE - OTHER CHANNELS
'What the 70s really looked like' goes the tagline for "The 70s Dimension", the idea being that the utter marginalia of a time (the disc compiles inane TV commercials) speaks more truthfully than a run-through of iconic images. The DVD is a release off of Craig Baldwin's label - Other Cinema - and these are indeed the very frequencies of Other Channels, the same broadcasts of memory & archival delirium. Channels, changing by remote, heading into an unreliable past left indistinct & disproportionate. Childhood here is diffuse and roaming - a string-section swoon (equally applicable to spy romance or an ad for a furniture sale), might be followed by oscillators and blown bottles (i.e. John Barry *click* John Baker). Fixations of prequel EP Mind How You Go also get a renewed season: those public information films - here the disquieting "Frozen Ponds PIF" - and a lot of Roger Roger style library synths. Probably the most diverse Ghost Box record so far, maybe even the first in a marked departure w/ its Penguin book-cover traded in for a polychromatic 16mm dissolve. What would a widening spectrum imply - examination of a less specified collective unconscious? Or maybe just a later one, w/ a vague chronological drift forward/backwards alongside present time. A speculation is haunting me.
BLEVIN BLECTUM - GULAR FLUTTER
Turns out the octopus is drawn by China Mieville who recently wrote of the creature's "taxonomic transgression" in an essay on Weird fiction. Why this choice for sui generis glitch artist Blevin Blectum? Gular flutter is apparently the "pulsation of the upper esophagus in some species of birds in response to heat-stress" & the song titles contain references to birds, feathers, swans, but also snails. It doesn't add up - contradicting or irreducible anatomies, a body left unrecognizable or even imperceptible through dashing diagonals & skewed processing. There's a voice, a violin, perhaps a nanolooping Gameboy and then the rest, none of which sounds purely CPU-generated but all of which is mangled, flipped, stuttered, crunched, elongated, or morphed by Max/MSP-style granular recombination. Tracks develop through restless shifts and scatters, impossible to draw a bead on but still riveting & pursuable. It's an odd record and an odd time for it - released after a four-year hiatus like an abnormal growth from an old antiseptic experiment - "glitch" not as edgy beat-sharpener but as idiosyncratic index of personality (there's a nameless but quietly enduring subsubgenre here perhaps spanning the Blectums, Sonig, Active Suspension, DAT Politics, et al. 'Clicks' never really cut it for them).
THE CARETAKER - PERSISTENT REPETITION OF PHRASES
"Persistent repetition" works on a couple levels - inexorable return of the past (as usual, signified by 30's jazz, Al Bowlly, etc.), but also the Caretaker's own compulsion to produce unending variations on a single idea. The Caretaker - as in, of the Overlook Hotel - makes memory audible, but a deliberately impersonal memory (i.e. not somebody's prom-night set to Chris De Burgh) safely tucked away in the distance so as to appear collective. Name-checks 'The Shining' & its ballroom scenes, but uncanny use of song is a common scary-movie device - Lynchian Roy Orbinson, 'Jeepers Creepers', or 'Room 1408''s forewarnings by way of the Carpenters, to name a few. The releases are difficult to assess because not crafted 'albums' but more akin to spectacles enabling one to "see dead people", the repeating excess (last was a sextuple album) meant to hold claim to memory's permanence over linear timelines. This edition in particular seems to emphasize how songs prolong & reverberate (echoes of dub or Akira Rabelais' Eisoptrophobia) w/ each note hanging frozen in the air for hypothetical eternity. As for those track titles, the jury's still out.
CLARK - TURNING DRAGON
Three tracks in, I was enthusiastically anticipating a severe wall-to-wall assembly line of deconstructed dance music. Then the familiar flooded in - those detuned watercolor melodies splitting the difference between cerebral & sensitive. Initially frustrating but not altogether unwelcome (or unexpected), it's the first in a series of complications undergone by this slightly misshapen set. Clark can be underrated for his ambiguity (stylistic shifts, once 'Chris Clark'). He's received as a minor Warp auteur with a signature less legible or idiosyncratic than those of his peers. Turning Dragon provides a scant program - modestly put forth as a left-over collection of 'danceable' material, title/cover evokes J-cyberpunk but tossed off 'ancient sex position' reference is also plausible. Ultimately, it's not much of a problem or even a skewed asset since elusive/anonymous matches the compiled trackiness of the material (tracky IDM, oxymoronic). The usual 'bedroom' warp and woof - derangement, disruption, detail (championed & maligned in equal measure) - but now contending w/ a larger unambiguous pulse.
DJ SPRINKLES - MIDTOWN 120 BLUES
DJ Sprinkles is an early 90's dance incarnation of Terre Thaemlitz before he moved towards electroacoustic/ambient/avant music (deepness runs between Moodymann & Pauline Oliveros). The return is serendipitous as this plays like smoke clearing from the minimal-deep house tussle of the last couple years: stripped down, a surfeit of subtleties, probably mixes well w/ the Dixon/Schwarz/Cassy line. On the other hand, the narrative is explicitly its own - "House isn't so much a sound as a situation" goes the opening salvo followed by a righteous embittered call to retrace the erase-marks left by forgotten struggles of the disenfranchised. Particular ire is reserved for the deterritorialization of NY club culture by pop vocals, Madonna and other accessibility cash-ins; tacky flash which, in a different scene, might invert as the very sign of local vitality (e.g. UK garage, dancehall, etc.). The case is made for 'minimal' working as a historically specific term - not a "style" or a floating globalized IKEA surface - but a lost rooted vibe, as dreamy or refined as the story went. Situation ends up inscribed in sound as well - "to preserve the full dynamic range of the original recordings this album was mastered without compression..." - again, staunchly withdrawn from the market-ready standard because gentle & spacious. Sleeve by Laurence Rassel - slightly ghastly portraits of jouissance - suggests affinity w/ today's other mournful dance autobiographies (Shedding the Past, Untrue). This is more didactic but more gorgeous.
DOUBTFUL GUEST - ACID SAUNA
Interesting how Planet µ could sidestep the 'IDM problem' & foster burgeoning sounds-of-now (breakcore, dubstep) precisely because the scenes grew sufficiently delocalized. The likes of drill-n-bass are a persistent poltergeist (subtext: cautionary tale against pulverized vitals) but the knot between brutal functionalism and beatnik dissertation only grows tighter. As for the old guard, in the best cases - when everything is an ultra-knowing, studious retooling - rogues (Paradinas, James, Jenkinson, etc) become relics, their siphoning almost ennobled into an act of salvaging. Acid Sauna is Doubtful Guest's debut but she 'still kills the old way' twisting classic acid through the distortions of a (surprisingly dark, wicked) personal memoir. The preference is to unfurl & sear rather than pummel, evoking the stark 303 spirit of Phuture but w/ all the dingy warehouse reverberation & chiaroscuro burnt in. Edges towards gabba at times but a crass affront to subtlety/propriety is 1) refreshing when not the solitary MO, and 2) entirely appropriate - it's "Aciiiiiid!", some raucousness is called for.
FLUTER & DISSIDENT - OCCULTURED BOX
When are you going to let me out of this box? To my mind, something of an unofficial expansion pack to Paradox's "I Get a Kickback" - shades of Pandora as in emanations of virulent evil but most of all, the ensnarement into madness found in Lovecraft. Pulpy (it's not above the moody vocal snippet or the vortex of CG tentacles on the sleeve) but utter ruination remains an etched omen, articulated in offscreen implication & w/ unexpected nuance ("Fluter in Hell" - unlikely title & a more unlikely followthrough). "Only a dancer with 8 legs / drummer with 8 arms, can keep up with this beat" - Cthuloid abundance thwarts the scope of cognition on the floor. Drums like corridors, rhythms, their traversals in attempt to map impossible entireties of space. Finally, "Everything old is new again", the paradox of ancient-beyond or (more fanfictional but no less grandiose): a parallel world's Wormhole back to drumfunk's future in encounter w/ 96 Source Direct. Well, almost that good.
FLYING LOTUS - LOS ANGELES
Trip hop is back? Or it never left if you care to trace the thread from Entroducing to Donuts to the choice between Ghost Dog soundtracks to a widened net spanning the likes of Prefuse 73, Chocolate Industries, or Riow Arai. The distinction of today's beathead seems to be an upgraded electronic circulatory system - cue from Madlib & Dilla sampling Raymond Scott, the cosmic touch of Sa-ra, rave/chiptune-plundering Timbaland, etc. - but digital precision ill-suits the subterranean vibe. Hence, 'wonky' & its claim over the offbeat as corrective to quantized programming, eventually overcompensating, pushing contingency past 'humanization' to the point of woozy meltdown. Los Angeles goes adrift w/ druggy viewfinder in rotoscope - unstable liquefied kicks and distant claps provided as tenuous contours but otherwise an amorphous haze of light and color. Drums are panoramic, melodic snippets sound reversed, scribbles are in oscillation rather than vinyl; there's very little resembling the reliable looping sample or break. That said, texture & THC remain central values along w/ an oblique nod to jazz (a la Jelinek though much is made of Flying Lotus's relation to Alice Coltrane). It's like trip hop.
GANG GANG DANCE - SAINT DYMPHNA
Eclectic but through an alchemy approaching divergent genres like polyvalent sparks of color. There is a guiding light - a kind of generous Dionysian intuition - which aligns drum-circles, electronics, & song along an easy continuum (Yamataka Eye might be a kindred spirit). Sound & rhythm are sculpted - there's a clear amount of studio-care taken - but the arrangements feel free-form, sprinkled, dripped, splashed through a bold will to amorphousness. Audible engagements include house, grime, even reggaeton - perhaps a map of postulated space where post-punk's devotion to dub/world/etc. was a point of view that never fizzled or consolidated. Liz Bougatsos' vocals also stretch backwards - comparable to Siouxsie Sioux but think primarily along the percussive path of The Creatures or the Basement Jaxx collaboration i.e. extensions & windows of possibility over establishment. Had a slight spit-take moment when Ruff Sqwad's Tinchy Stryder shows up to spit some bars & another at the stock "scream" keyboard sound in "Inners Pace" (I can't help it), but the nagging tug of stretching-it works in service of the loose inclusive perimeter. Arts and crafts, affable cheapness, "it's all music" and a small miracle that it doesn't feel too lost or labored.
THE GASLAMP KILLER - I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE
For the weird - no tracklisting but the coordinates should be familiar to the borderline-Pavlovian type of hip hop fan whose ears perk up at the off-kilter. Unorthodox in the sense of Def Jux's various sacrileges (Company Flow appear) but gentler, fuzzier, because more lost in its crosscuts between trip hop bedding (Vadim, Krush) & electronic undercurrents (Oizo, Broadcast re-calibrated for the context). Rap anomalies like Roots Manuva's "Witness" & Edan's psych get fostered under a shelter where they can finally pass as normal, be themselves w/ their chums, etc. Forefathers (as evinced in previous mixes) also lean trippy w/ the roadmap tracing back to krautrock & the early use of analog electronics in bands like USA & Silver Apples. Absence of mainstream tracks semi-conspicuous given the alleged impact of crunk/hyphy on The Wonk (or ask The Outsider), but then again, 'weird' is pretty much every non-rap/r&b fan's way in, possibly calling for a refusal of "Mr. Me Too" & the like for slightly more rarified territory. Surrounding antagonisms aside (purism/otherness and this Snoop filler = proto-wonky, yes?), I think fixation wins over self-consciousness here.
GEENEUS - VOLUMES: ONE
Lovely little line walked here between auteur production showcase and a more representative scene overview (Sceeneus?). I mulled about for an afternoon trying to figure out what 'Yellowtail' reminded me of only to realize it might be the theme to 'Jaws'. Works best mid-mix - bass lurching in from below before the big attack (that amazing discord of cascading synths like a singularly punishing 'game over' sound effect). Jarring stuff but a genuine plurality of modes show up here - yes the dubstep nod & the sinister Green Velvety "In To The Future", but also a portion of female vocals, sensuousness, "Emotions" as in yearning or even unabashed rapture. Mix on disc 2 is as good a summary as any w/ full attendance of anthems & the multifaceted vibe one always hopes to find in a fledgling style. As for 'Funky House' - not JB obviously but would a Fela angle be stretching it? Something other than "2-step retread w/ training wheels" or "Funky?... House?" anyhow.
AKIKO KIYAMA - 7 YEARS
Recourse to 'sound design' in defense of minimal was always a little backhanded: sumptuous surfaces but a minor, indulgent, finally empty pleasure (everybody: "cause that music got no groove..."). Surface & emptiness - elsewhere hallmarks of Japanese culture & Kiyama's music mirrors the austere techno of Fumiya Tanaka & Riou made a decade earlier, as well as the more outre experiments by people like Ryoji Ikeda. Her rather SAW II myspace page (Band Members: frayed fabric, Influences: more fabric, Sounds Like: some fur) attests to a softer focus - still a bit clinical but untidy like cellular traffic or perhaps a more grayscale Cadenza rhizome. Makes sense that she showed up on the recent DE9 mix (M_nus palette - "Ant" like a microcosm of "Bay of Figs") - a very Live anatomy to her track-structures & modulated interwoven strands. Individual fragments are also feasibly interchangeable (notation mostly restricted to mysterious/paranoid semitone steps), but there's a nurturing sense of alchemy here - a rippling blip for a sublow throb, the tickle of a delayed clipping kick - minutiae for days & substantially complementary. Somewhere an astonishing shakuhachi plays over the concréte and I didn't think of "Fizheuer Zieheuer" but Toru Takemitsu. Is it just me?
THE MOLE - AS HIGH AS THE SKY
Five-turntable loop management experiment - "Starchy Root Machine" as the Mole calls it - sounds like the sort of heroic old school science one would exhibit for the case against all things Ableton. This is studio work (SRM is a live-performance incarnation) but also firmly organic - 'The Mole' w/ actual dirt once allegedly used for chance vinyl-skip grooves. More likely here is a load of masking tape marking custom extracts of percussion, bare vocals, or modular synths. Texture & composition bring to mind Motorbass - the by-hand analog touch (recall the turntablism of "Flying Fingers"), compartmentalized space for each ingredient, looping phrases awkwardly abridged for tension but also the musicality of repetition. Lots of faith in the incremental as well, ebb & flow w/ remarkably patient EQ moving through the gradations of a bassline over the course of several minutes. Highlights are many but I especially like how "Alice, You Need Him" makes the least generous case for minimal - "bunch of plip plop" - sound actually pretty great.
ALEX MOULTON - EXODUS
If there is justice in the world, why couldn't this be The One. Oh Human After All, come answer for your youthful & numerous progeny w/ their piercing thrills and their injunctions to enjoy. A solid link exists between Exodus and Daft Punk except this one threads through the luminosity of Discovery, the sci-fi saga of 'Interstella 5555', & the thoroughly 70's aesthetic of 'Electroma'. Moulton is a contemporary here w/ a heart set in the same yesteryear of Tangerine Dreams & Moroders, Logan's Runs & Barbarellas. He's particularly keen on the faded era of the Album; those bygone days of sweeping journeys and conceptual storytelling (his background is in film). Behold the awesomeness of that cover (credit: fantasy artists Julie Bell & Boris Vallejo) - "Sizzling Galactic Romance" and it's for real, this dance so lovingly stuffed w/ peaks and valleys - dynamics! - & moment-to-moment dramatic cues. A score of electro-grooves, ambient downtime, plus live drumming excursions - ambitious & certainly more expansive than immediate but at the moment I think that may be the righteous path.
PORTISHEAD - THIRD
"You turn myself to me" - a line characteristic of this remarkably bleak album, deadlocked upon the splits and chasms which undermine self-perception; the 'you', maybe a man, but fundamentally a shadowy impalpable outside somehow always there to pull the rug away & shatter all certitude. Aches & ruminates along the lines not of 'what did you mean' but 'what did I mean', a despair of being without any bearings or ways of translating contingency into coherence - the next line "recognize the poison in my heart" suggests only an unwanted or even traumatic truth of oneself as something monstrous. Tempting to think of Beth Gibbons' voice - forever frail & anguished - as a 'pure' expression of such themes, except Portishead remains a very stylized act, if no longer trip hop, then still brimming w/ studio effects, Radiophonic texture and cinema quotes (the Schifrin loop now traded for a synth coda reminiscent of Carpenter or Fabio Frizzi). It's not an unaffected approach & there's particular interest in blurring between the voice & the sounds - e.g. the gasping processed drums in "Plastic", the sunken barbershop in "Deep Water", the mantra-like epilogue, the way the word 'follow' bleeds into eternity on "The Rip" & gets anxiously echoed by a sustained string in "Threads". Presence but denaturalized because tampered w/ or merely recorded (recall Barrow & Utley sampling vinyl-pressed sessions of themselves). But also - "I can't divide or hide from me" - a performance losing to voice, in antagonism & withering away.
PYHA - HAUNTED HOUSE
Extreme unlikelihood of the source - Korean, 14 years old - ends up as an excellent argument for the subgenre. Black metal: universal force of horror, beyond cultural or terrestrial bounds, insidiously possessing any given person of the proper depressive temperament. Similar sort of meditative malevolence as Burzum but where Vikernes' story fell to irredeemable real-world violence, Pyha allegedly mourns for a peace forever lost. It's difficult to tell but cryptic works better for it. Snippets of wartime speeches, snapshots of a nation's shame, Haunted House as in a kind of return-of-the-repressed ghost story - all clues rife w/ historical political resonance but told through the wailing of the abandoned. Tempo is uncommonly slow, crawling, deadened, the production values coarsely lo-fi & stained w/ emulsion grain. 'Peace' in this case is undoubtedly an anarchic pre-lanugage zone, darkly pure, suggesting a teen angst & nihilism that's disturbingly lucid. Is he really who he claims to be? Maybe, maybe not but it doesn't really matter.
SKULL DISCO - SOUNDBOY'S GRAVESTONE GETS DESECRATED BY VANDALS
Connoisseurship of erosion; the dubstep's almost incidental. Skull Disco's totems - sleeves by Zeke Clough - all mythic abomination and coral-like skeletons w/ attendant fuzz of bacterial life. Presumably life as in undeath as well - "Death Is Not Final", each necrotic burble and tick doubling as drums in ritualistic resurrection. Unsettling touches like a tape recorded voice deteriorating into garble and swathes of Basic Channel - signpost du jour for refinement - but here w/ macabre purpose, hovering like the inevitable creep of John Carpenter's fog. As for desecrating vandals (i.e. remixers), 'they were never to be seen again...' which is to say chilly atmosphere wins across the board, leaving vapor trails between the (somewhat) divergent malefactors (Brendon Moller's Force Tracks style microhouse, Pole's renewed dubtronica, DJ Rupture, etc.) Nothing as promising as the Villalobos remixes but the expansion is compelling. The crossroads - 'turning', infecting; crossbones - not final but pretty certain.
TOBACCO - FUCKED UP FRIENDS
The same flourishing retro-synths as parent band Black Moth Super Rainbow but honed in & streamlined across less varied architecture. Drums are now explicitly, exclusively based in hip hop. The Boards of Canada comparisons are warranted, but the tone is less elegiac than lightheartedly dazed & rollicking - more authentically "70's" - w/ sun-baked consistency (or distilled sameyness) throughout. Feels almost decadent to enjoy, like a balm spun from some lost Gemm holy grail, L'Illustration Musicale multiplied by a gold mine of breaks or some other bit of make-believe prescience. All those luxurious timbres - Mellotron flutes, buzzing bass, sparkling bloops - transposing like a sequence of petals in bloom, also bringing to mind the Tomita convert who finds poetry in a sawtooth retracing the steps of a triangle. Wallpaper at the end of the day, I suppose, but what patterns & possibly your favorite colors too. (Final note: a lonely Aesop Rock blips up midway but it just wasn't meant to be).
ZOMBY - WHERE WERE U IN 92?
Similar angle to Burial but as carny instead of melancholic. The gRavediggaz, maybe. Significantly, this generation Dead is too young to have witnessed the consensus peak-time of the continuum. Remnants & mementos are second-hand - cassettes from older siblings, discarded flyers, pirate radiowaves held for ransom. "I was not there." Sound is replete w/ period detail - rave-horns, crude pitch-shifting divas, protojungle breaks - special FX of yesterday, now slightly risible (the vintage vocal-science of old Reinforced tracks once got a spontaneous howl from a friend of mine) but of course, deeply cherished. Elision of the actual experience only serves to heighten the imaginary and missed sense of subcult (be)longing. The step backwards suggests that destination was always disappointment. Credit for use of anachronistic samples (Daft Punk, Aaliyah, Gucci Mane, Street Fighter II) not as punch-lines but as faith in the subsuming power of glorified chaos - phantasy rave forever unmindful or even innocent of the politics of taste. (Extra credit for also producing some blinding 08-in-08 12''s).
NICO NICO DOUGA RYUUSEIGUN
Nippon hype ticker: Fame for 15 minutes to 15 people vs. 30 seconds to 300,000. Influences: invasive banner ads, 2ch memes, twitter updates, animated gifs, RSS feeds, rapidshares of anime OPs, ASCII art, one too many clicks, lolcats, staying indoors. The parody of a parody in an insular vortex of references of references. 8/08, C74 - 35,000 manga/anime/game vendors vs. 500,000 ravenous consumers. "[The game] contains considerably fewer glitches, but, objectively, is still very poorly-made, and virtually unplayable." Virtual idol Hatsune Miku signs to a major & charts at #5 on Oricon. T-pain's Thr33 Ringz reaches #4 on Billboard. At #1 is the 'Akiba-kei' electropop zeitgeist of Perfume* - three seemingly average girls awkwardly declared the highest charting J-techno in history (a record last held by YMO). Japan falls into recession as culture industries wither across the vine. Footage appears of none other than Kamen Rider performing a popular viral dance. Trancecore, breakcore, speedcore, ravecore, J-core, et al. form a 180 BPM+ constellation. Rabid fans give birth to over 9000 remixes & interpolations of songs originally composed for a home-made "bullet-hell" PC game. Ronald Mcdonald gabba edits storm the net. Rockman 9 debuts but Airman remains undefeated. Anonymous subcultural belonging, brainswells of recognition, gasping for air, nice boat.
*worth mentioning svengali of the moment Yasutaka Nakata - something like Donna Summer, Kraftwerk, & Alan Braxe by way of DDR. Could also be described as the sugar to Ed Banger's sweat - same formula of savagely compressed rectangles of distorted bass except here tweaked w/ glitter & J-pop robo-ditties. Trackier material tends to be better (i.e. unbound by the strictures of idol-mastery as w/ his own group Capsule) since the ostensible pop hooks mostly hang like deadweight, 'anthemic' in bludgeon but rather variable for memorability or catchiness. Intermittently dazzling will have to do for now.
'What the 70s really looked like' goes the tagline for "The 70s Dimension", the idea being that the utter marginalia of a time (the disc compiles inane TV commercials) speaks more truthfully than a run-through of iconic images. The DVD is a release off of Craig Baldwin's label - Other Cinema - and these are indeed the very frequencies of Other Channels, the same broadcasts of memory & archival delirium. Channels, changing by remote, heading into an unreliable past left indistinct & disproportionate. Childhood here is diffuse and roaming - a string-section swoon (equally applicable to spy romance or an ad for a furniture sale), might be followed by oscillators and blown bottles (i.e. John Barry *click* John Baker). Fixations of prequel EP Mind How You Go also get a renewed season: those public information films - here the disquieting "Frozen Ponds PIF" - and a lot of Roger Roger style library synths. Probably the most diverse Ghost Box record so far, maybe even the first in a marked departure w/ its Penguin book-cover traded in for a polychromatic 16mm dissolve. What would a widening spectrum imply - examination of a less specified collective unconscious? Or maybe just a later one, w/ a vague chronological drift forward/backwards alongside present time. A speculation is haunting me.
BLEVIN BLECTUM - GULAR FLUTTER
Turns out the octopus is drawn by China Mieville who recently wrote of the creature's "taxonomic transgression" in an essay on Weird fiction. Why this choice for sui generis glitch artist Blevin Blectum? Gular flutter is apparently the "pulsation of the upper esophagus in some species of birds in response to heat-stress" & the song titles contain references to birds, feathers, swans, but also snails. It doesn't add up - contradicting or irreducible anatomies, a body left unrecognizable or even imperceptible through dashing diagonals & skewed processing. There's a voice, a violin, perhaps a nanolooping Gameboy and then the rest, none of which sounds purely CPU-generated but all of which is mangled, flipped, stuttered, crunched, elongated, or morphed by Max/MSP-style granular recombination. Tracks develop through restless shifts and scatters, impossible to draw a bead on but still riveting & pursuable. It's an odd record and an odd time for it - released after a four-year hiatus like an abnormal growth from an old antiseptic experiment - "glitch" not as edgy beat-sharpener but as idiosyncratic index of personality (there's a nameless but quietly enduring subsubgenre here perhaps spanning the Blectums, Sonig, Active Suspension, DAT Politics, et al. 'Clicks' never really cut it for them).
THE CARETAKER - PERSISTENT REPETITION OF PHRASES
"Persistent repetition" works on a couple levels - inexorable return of the past (as usual, signified by 30's jazz, Al Bowlly, etc.), but also the Caretaker's own compulsion to produce unending variations on a single idea. The Caretaker - as in, of the Overlook Hotel - makes memory audible, but a deliberately impersonal memory (i.e. not somebody's prom-night set to Chris De Burgh) safely tucked away in the distance so as to appear collective. Name-checks 'The Shining' & its ballroom scenes, but uncanny use of song is a common scary-movie device - Lynchian Roy Orbinson, 'Jeepers Creepers', or 'Room 1408''s forewarnings by way of the Carpenters, to name a few. The releases are difficult to assess because not crafted 'albums' but more akin to spectacles enabling one to "see dead people", the repeating excess (last was a sextuple album) meant to hold claim to memory's permanence over linear timelines. This edition in particular seems to emphasize how songs prolong & reverberate (echoes of dub or Akira Rabelais' Eisoptrophobia) w/ each note hanging frozen in the air for hypothetical eternity. As for those track titles, the jury's still out.
CLARK - TURNING DRAGON
Three tracks in, I was enthusiastically anticipating a severe wall-to-wall assembly line of deconstructed dance music. Then the familiar flooded in - those detuned watercolor melodies splitting the difference between cerebral & sensitive. Initially frustrating but not altogether unwelcome (or unexpected), it's the first in a series of complications undergone by this slightly misshapen set. Clark can be underrated for his ambiguity (stylistic shifts, once 'Chris Clark'). He's received as a minor Warp auteur with a signature less legible or idiosyncratic than those of his peers. Turning Dragon provides a scant program - modestly put forth as a left-over collection of 'danceable' material, title/cover evokes J-cyberpunk but tossed off 'ancient sex position' reference is also plausible. Ultimately, it's not much of a problem or even a skewed asset since elusive/anonymous matches the compiled trackiness of the material (tracky IDM, oxymoronic). The usual 'bedroom' warp and woof - derangement, disruption, detail (championed & maligned in equal measure) - but now contending w/ a larger unambiguous pulse.
DJ SPRINKLES - MIDTOWN 120 BLUES
DJ Sprinkles is an early 90's dance incarnation of Terre Thaemlitz before he moved towards electroacoustic/ambient/avant music (deepness runs between Moodymann & Pauline Oliveros). The return is serendipitous as this plays like smoke clearing from the minimal-deep house tussle of the last couple years: stripped down, a surfeit of subtleties, probably mixes well w/ the Dixon/Schwarz/Cassy line. On the other hand, the narrative is explicitly its own - "House isn't so much a sound as a situation" goes the opening salvo followed by a righteous embittered call to retrace the erase-marks left by forgotten struggles of the disenfranchised. Particular ire is reserved for the deterritorialization of NY club culture by pop vocals, Madonna and other accessibility cash-ins; tacky flash which, in a different scene, might invert as the very sign of local vitality (e.g. UK garage, dancehall, etc.). The case is made for 'minimal' working as a historically specific term - not a "style" or a floating globalized IKEA surface - but a lost rooted vibe, as dreamy or refined as the story went. Situation ends up inscribed in sound as well - "to preserve the full dynamic range of the original recordings this album was mastered without compression..." - again, staunchly withdrawn from the market-ready standard because gentle & spacious. Sleeve by Laurence Rassel - slightly ghastly portraits of jouissance - suggests affinity w/ today's other mournful dance autobiographies (Shedding the Past, Untrue). This is more didactic but more gorgeous.
DOUBTFUL GUEST - ACID SAUNA
Interesting how Planet µ could sidestep the 'IDM problem' & foster burgeoning sounds-of-now (breakcore, dubstep) precisely because the scenes grew sufficiently delocalized. The likes of drill-n-bass are a persistent poltergeist (subtext: cautionary tale against pulverized vitals) but the knot between brutal functionalism and beatnik dissertation only grows tighter. As for the old guard, in the best cases - when everything is an ultra-knowing, studious retooling - rogues (Paradinas, James, Jenkinson, etc) become relics, their siphoning almost ennobled into an act of salvaging. Acid Sauna is Doubtful Guest's debut but she 'still kills the old way' twisting classic acid through the distortions of a (surprisingly dark, wicked) personal memoir. The preference is to unfurl & sear rather than pummel, evoking the stark 303 spirit of Phuture but w/ all the dingy warehouse reverberation & chiaroscuro burnt in. Edges towards gabba at times but a crass affront to subtlety/propriety is 1) refreshing when not the solitary MO, and 2) entirely appropriate - it's "Aciiiiiid!", some raucousness is called for.
FLUTER & DISSIDENT - OCCULTURED BOX
When are you going to let me out of this box? To my mind, something of an unofficial expansion pack to Paradox's "I Get a Kickback" - shades of Pandora as in emanations of virulent evil but most of all, the ensnarement into madness found in Lovecraft. Pulpy (it's not above the moody vocal snippet or the vortex of CG tentacles on the sleeve) but utter ruination remains an etched omen, articulated in offscreen implication & w/ unexpected nuance ("Fluter in Hell" - unlikely title & a more unlikely followthrough). "Only a dancer with 8 legs / drummer with 8 arms, can keep up with this beat" - Cthuloid abundance thwarts the scope of cognition on the floor. Drums like corridors, rhythms, their traversals in attempt to map impossible entireties of space. Finally, "Everything old is new again", the paradox of ancient-beyond or (more fanfictional but no less grandiose): a parallel world's Wormhole back to drumfunk's future in encounter w/ 96 Source Direct. Well, almost that good.
FLYING LOTUS - LOS ANGELES
Trip hop is back? Or it never left if you care to trace the thread from Entroducing to Donuts to the choice between Ghost Dog soundtracks to a widened net spanning the likes of Prefuse 73, Chocolate Industries, or Riow Arai. The distinction of today's beathead seems to be an upgraded electronic circulatory system - cue from Madlib & Dilla sampling Raymond Scott, the cosmic touch of Sa-ra, rave/chiptune-plundering Timbaland, etc. - but digital precision ill-suits the subterranean vibe. Hence, 'wonky' & its claim over the offbeat as corrective to quantized programming, eventually overcompensating, pushing contingency past 'humanization' to the point of woozy meltdown. Los Angeles goes adrift w/ druggy viewfinder in rotoscope - unstable liquefied kicks and distant claps provided as tenuous contours but otherwise an amorphous haze of light and color. Drums are panoramic, melodic snippets sound reversed, scribbles are in oscillation rather than vinyl; there's very little resembling the reliable looping sample or break. That said, texture & THC remain central values along w/ an oblique nod to jazz (a la Jelinek though much is made of Flying Lotus's relation to Alice Coltrane). It's like trip hop.
GANG GANG DANCE - SAINT DYMPHNA
Eclectic but through an alchemy approaching divergent genres like polyvalent sparks of color. There is a guiding light - a kind of generous Dionysian intuition - which aligns drum-circles, electronics, & song along an easy continuum (Yamataka Eye might be a kindred spirit). Sound & rhythm are sculpted - there's a clear amount of studio-care taken - but the arrangements feel free-form, sprinkled, dripped, splashed through a bold will to amorphousness. Audible engagements include house, grime, even reggaeton - perhaps a map of postulated space where post-punk's devotion to dub/world/etc. was a point of view that never fizzled or consolidated. Liz Bougatsos' vocals also stretch backwards - comparable to Siouxsie Sioux but think primarily along the percussive path of The Creatures or the Basement Jaxx collaboration i.e. extensions & windows of possibility over establishment. Had a slight spit-take moment when Ruff Sqwad's Tinchy Stryder shows up to spit some bars & another at the stock "scream" keyboard sound in "Inners Pace" (I can't help it), but the nagging tug of stretching-it works in service of the loose inclusive perimeter. Arts and crafts, affable cheapness, "it's all music" and a small miracle that it doesn't feel too lost or labored.
THE GASLAMP KILLER - I SPIT ON YOUR GRAVE
For the weird - no tracklisting but the coordinates should be familiar to the borderline-Pavlovian type of hip hop fan whose ears perk up at the off-kilter. Unorthodox in the sense of Def Jux's various sacrileges (Company Flow appear) but gentler, fuzzier, because more lost in its crosscuts between trip hop bedding (Vadim, Krush) & electronic undercurrents (Oizo, Broadcast re-calibrated for the context). Rap anomalies like Roots Manuva's "Witness" & Edan's psych get fostered under a shelter where they can finally pass as normal, be themselves w/ their chums, etc. Forefathers (as evinced in previous mixes) also lean trippy w/ the roadmap tracing back to krautrock & the early use of analog electronics in bands like USA & Silver Apples. Absence of mainstream tracks semi-conspicuous given the alleged impact of crunk/hyphy on The Wonk (or ask The Outsider), but then again, 'weird' is pretty much every non-rap/r&b fan's way in, possibly calling for a refusal of "Mr. Me Too" & the like for slightly more rarified territory. Surrounding antagonisms aside (purism/otherness and this Snoop filler = proto-wonky, yes?), I think fixation wins over self-consciousness here.
GEENEUS - VOLUMES: ONE
Lovely little line walked here between auteur production showcase and a more representative scene overview (Sceeneus?). I mulled about for an afternoon trying to figure out what 'Yellowtail' reminded me of only to realize it might be the theme to 'Jaws'. Works best mid-mix - bass lurching in from below before the big attack (that amazing discord of cascading synths like a singularly punishing 'game over' sound effect). Jarring stuff but a genuine plurality of modes show up here - yes the dubstep nod & the sinister Green Velvety "In To The Future", but also a portion of female vocals, sensuousness, "Emotions" as in yearning or even unabashed rapture. Mix on disc 2 is as good a summary as any w/ full attendance of anthems & the multifaceted vibe one always hopes to find in a fledgling style. As for 'Funky House' - not JB obviously but would a Fela angle be stretching it? Something other than "2-step retread w/ training wheels" or "Funky?... House?" anyhow.
AKIKO KIYAMA - 7 YEARS
Recourse to 'sound design' in defense of minimal was always a little backhanded: sumptuous surfaces but a minor, indulgent, finally empty pleasure (everybody: "cause that music got no groove..."). Surface & emptiness - elsewhere hallmarks of Japanese culture & Kiyama's music mirrors the austere techno of Fumiya Tanaka & Riou made a decade earlier, as well as the more outre experiments by people like Ryoji Ikeda. Her rather SAW II myspace page (Band Members: frayed fabric, Influences: more fabric, Sounds Like: some fur) attests to a softer focus - still a bit clinical but untidy like cellular traffic or perhaps a more grayscale Cadenza rhizome. Makes sense that she showed up on the recent DE9 mix (M_nus palette - "Ant" like a microcosm of "Bay of Figs") - a very Live anatomy to her track-structures & modulated interwoven strands. Individual fragments are also feasibly interchangeable (notation mostly restricted to mysterious/paranoid semitone steps), but there's a nurturing sense of alchemy here - a rippling blip for a sublow throb, the tickle of a delayed clipping kick - minutiae for days & substantially complementary. Somewhere an astonishing shakuhachi plays over the concréte and I didn't think of "Fizheuer Zieheuer" but Toru Takemitsu. Is it just me?
THE MOLE - AS HIGH AS THE SKY
Five-turntable loop management experiment - "Starchy Root Machine" as the Mole calls it - sounds like the sort of heroic old school science one would exhibit for the case against all things Ableton. This is studio work (SRM is a live-performance incarnation) but also firmly organic - 'The Mole' w/ actual dirt once allegedly used for chance vinyl-skip grooves. More likely here is a load of masking tape marking custom extracts of percussion, bare vocals, or modular synths. Texture & composition bring to mind Motorbass - the by-hand analog touch (recall the turntablism of "Flying Fingers"), compartmentalized space for each ingredient, looping phrases awkwardly abridged for tension but also the musicality of repetition. Lots of faith in the incremental as well, ebb & flow w/ remarkably patient EQ moving through the gradations of a bassline over the course of several minutes. Highlights are many but I especially like how "Alice, You Need Him" makes the least generous case for minimal - "bunch of plip plop" - sound actually pretty great.
ALEX MOULTON - EXODUS
If there is justice in the world, why couldn't this be The One. Oh Human After All, come answer for your youthful & numerous progeny w/ their piercing thrills and their injunctions to enjoy. A solid link exists between Exodus and Daft Punk except this one threads through the luminosity of Discovery, the sci-fi saga of 'Interstella 5555', & the thoroughly 70's aesthetic of 'Electroma'. Moulton is a contemporary here w/ a heart set in the same yesteryear of Tangerine Dreams & Moroders, Logan's Runs & Barbarellas. He's particularly keen on the faded era of the Album; those bygone days of sweeping journeys and conceptual storytelling (his background is in film). Behold the awesomeness of that cover (credit: fantasy artists Julie Bell & Boris Vallejo) - "Sizzling Galactic Romance" and it's for real, this dance so lovingly stuffed w/ peaks and valleys - dynamics! - & moment-to-moment dramatic cues. A score of electro-grooves, ambient downtime, plus live drumming excursions - ambitious & certainly more expansive than immediate but at the moment I think that may be the righteous path.
PORTISHEAD - THIRD
"You turn myself to me" - a line characteristic of this remarkably bleak album, deadlocked upon the splits and chasms which undermine self-perception; the 'you', maybe a man, but fundamentally a shadowy impalpable outside somehow always there to pull the rug away & shatter all certitude. Aches & ruminates along the lines not of 'what did you mean' but 'what did I mean', a despair of being without any bearings or ways of translating contingency into coherence - the next line "recognize the poison in my heart" suggests only an unwanted or even traumatic truth of oneself as something monstrous. Tempting to think of Beth Gibbons' voice - forever frail & anguished - as a 'pure' expression of such themes, except Portishead remains a very stylized act, if no longer trip hop, then still brimming w/ studio effects, Radiophonic texture and cinema quotes (the Schifrin loop now traded for a synth coda reminiscent of Carpenter or Fabio Frizzi). It's not an unaffected approach & there's particular interest in blurring between the voice & the sounds - e.g. the gasping processed drums in "Plastic", the sunken barbershop in "Deep Water", the mantra-like epilogue, the way the word 'follow' bleeds into eternity on "The Rip" & gets anxiously echoed by a sustained string in "Threads". Presence but denaturalized because tampered w/ or merely recorded (recall Barrow & Utley sampling vinyl-pressed sessions of themselves). But also - "I can't divide or hide from me" - a performance losing to voice, in antagonism & withering away.
PYHA - HAUNTED HOUSE
Extreme unlikelihood of the source - Korean, 14 years old - ends up as an excellent argument for the subgenre. Black metal: universal force of horror, beyond cultural or terrestrial bounds, insidiously possessing any given person of the proper depressive temperament. Similar sort of meditative malevolence as Burzum but where Vikernes' story fell to irredeemable real-world violence, Pyha allegedly mourns for a peace forever lost. It's difficult to tell but cryptic works better for it. Snippets of wartime speeches, snapshots of a nation's shame, Haunted House as in a kind of return-of-the-repressed ghost story - all clues rife w/ historical political resonance but told through the wailing of the abandoned. Tempo is uncommonly slow, crawling, deadened, the production values coarsely lo-fi & stained w/ emulsion grain. 'Peace' in this case is undoubtedly an anarchic pre-lanugage zone, darkly pure, suggesting a teen angst & nihilism that's disturbingly lucid. Is he really who he claims to be? Maybe, maybe not but it doesn't really matter.
SKULL DISCO - SOUNDBOY'S GRAVESTONE GETS DESECRATED BY VANDALS
Connoisseurship of erosion; the dubstep's almost incidental. Skull Disco's totems - sleeves by Zeke Clough - all mythic abomination and coral-like skeletons w/ attendant fuzz of bacterial life. Presumably life as in undeath as well - "Death Is Not Final", each necrotic burble and tick doubling as drums in ritualistic resurrection. Unsettling touches like a tape recorded voice deteriorating into garble and swathes of Basic Channel - signpost du jour for refinement - but here w/ macabre purpose, hovering like the inevitable creep of John Carpenter's fog. As for desecrating vandals (i.e. remixers), 'they were never to be seen again...' which is to say chilly atmosphere wins across the board, leaving vapor trails between the (somewhat) divergent malefactors (Brendon Moller's Force Tracks style microhouse, Pole's renewed dubtronica, DJ Rupture, etc.) Nothing as promising as the Villalobos remixes but the expansion is compelling. The crossroads - 'turning', infecting; crossbones - not final but pretty certain.
TOBACCO - FUCKED UP FRIENDS
The same flourishing retro-synths as parent band Black Moth Super Rainbow but honed in & streamlined across less varied architecture. Drums are now explicitly, exclusively based in hip hop. The Boards of Canada comparisons are warranted, but the tone is less elegiac than lightheartedly dazed & rollicking - more authentically "70's" - w/ sun-baked consistency (or distilled sameyness) throughout. Feels almost decadent to enjoy, like a balm spun from some lost Gemm holy grail, L'Illustration Musicale multiplied by a gold mine of breaks or some other bit of make-believe prescience. All those luxurious timbres - Mellotron flutes, buzzing bass, sparkling bloops - transposing like a sequence of petals in bloom, also bringing to mind the Tomita convert who finds poetry in a sawtooth retracing the steps of a triangle. Wallpaper at the end of the day, I suppose, but what patterns & possibly your favorite colors too. (Final note: a lonely Aesop Rock blips up midway but it just wasn't meant to be).
ZOMBY - WHERE WERE U IN 92?
Similar angle to Burial but as carny instead of melancholic. The gRavediggaz, maybe. Significantly, this generation Dead is too young to have witnessed the consensus peak-time of the continuum. Remnants & mementos are second-hand - cassettes from older siblings, discarded flyers, pirate radiowaves held for ransom. "I was not there." Sound is replete w/ period detail - rave-horns, crude pitch-shifting divas, protojungle breaks - special FX of yesterday, now slightly risible (the vintage vocal-science of old Reinforced tracks once got a spontaneous howl from a friend of mine) but of course, deeply cherished. Elision of the actual experience only serves to heighten the imaginary and missed sense of subcult (be)longing. The step backwards suggests that destination was always disappointment. Credit for use of anachronistic samples (Daft Punk, Aaliyah, Gucci Mane, Street Fighter II) not as punch-lines but as faith in the subsuming power of glorified chaos - phantasy rave forever unmindful or even innocent of the politics of taste. (Extra credit for also producing some blinding 08-in-08 12''s).
NICO NICO DOUGA RYUUSEIGUN
Nippon hype ticker: Fame for 15 minutes to 15 people vs. 30 seconds to 300,000. Influences: invasive banner ads, 2ch memes, twitter updates, animated gifs, RSS feeds, rapidshares of anime OPs, ASCII art, one too many clicks, lolcats, staying indoors. The parody of a parody in an insular vortex of references of references. 8/08, C74 - 35,000 manga/anime/game vendors vs. 500,000 ravenous consumers. "[The game] contains considerably fewer glitches, but, objectively, is still very poorly-made, and virtually unplayable." Virtual idol Hatsune Miku signs to a major & charts at #5 on Oricon. T-pain's Thr33 Ringz reaches #4 on Billboard. At #1 is the 'Akiba-kei' electropop zeitgeist of Perfume* - three seemingly average girls awkwardly declared the highest charting J-techno in history (a record last held by YMO). Japan falls into recession as culture industries wither across the vine. Footage appears of none other than Kamen Rider performing a popular viral dance. Trancecore, breakcore, speedcore, ravecore, J-core, et al. form a 180 BPM+ constellation. Rabid fans give birth to over 9000 remixes & interpolations of songs originally composed for a home-made "bullet-hell" PC game. Ronald Mcdonald gabba edits storm the net. Rockman 9 debuts but Airman remains undefeated. Anonymous subcultural belonging, brainswells of recognition, gasping for air, nice boat.
*worth mentioning svengali of the moment Yasutaka Nakata - something like Donna Summer, Kraftwerk, & Alan Braxe by way of DDR. Could also be described as the sugar to Ed Banger's sweat - same formula of savagely compressed rectangles of distorted bass except here tweaked w/ glitter & J-pop robo-ditties. Trackier material tends to be better (i.e. unbound by the strictures of idol-mastery as w/ his own group Capsule) since the ostensible pop hooks mostly hang like deadweight, 'anthemic' in bludgeon but rather variable for memorability or catchiness. Intermittently dazzling will have to do for now.
Howling through the streets, from the point of view of an anonymous driver, with only a revving car engine as a soundtrack, the film C'était un rendez-vous is shot in one thrillingly long single take. A short made in 1976 by Claude Lelouch in cinéma vérité style, the feat is common today on youtube, often duplicated by like minded speed junkies from the rice-rocket racing set to Ghostrider fans. Since these clips are not so much about destinations as riding, adrenaline freaks and shop heads alike are thrilled to watch like rebels without causes. Such adrenaline usually channels back into man-machine territory, the handicam shaking of a tricked out GTI racing to nowhere standing in for an honest testament to a violent testosterone urge of competition.In contrast, Lelouche's Truth about the motorway is revealed as something more akin to love and a graceful mastery of time and place. The director's technical skill, his eye for the beauty of the Parisian city, and the barest wisp of a plot make Rendezous, slight though the film is, more than just a throwaway rush. Instead, Rendezvous is a pheremonal rather than a glandular delight of movement, a joy likened inextricably to the seductiveness of romantic danger. Such an affair turns the familiar into an ordeal or a reckless journey into impulsive destiny, but foremost, getting there is as beautiful a moment as having finally arrived.
Jesus! It's Gackt's new single, with video set in a grungy murksome bunker where wacky military repentance occurs and Gackt screams the Lord's name in vain for salvation or perhaps disgust.For Gackt's inappropriate use of divine cognomen, I quote a sardonic wit who remarked rather dryly whilst I wrote the above description...
"he burrows into the names and delineates the divergent properties of its meaning."
Word.
As in great literature, book art has a self contained logic, one that is personal to the world of the book and the person that creates or inhabits such a world. An "art" book is part recycled fantasy and outsider logics, the resultant landscape imbued with Cornell-esque mysteries ripe for dramatic unlocking. While a certain level of escapism is undeniable, the lo-fi charm and familiarity of a cannibalized book is essentially confrontational when dealing with the acts of interpretation and meaning through the canonical. Artists transform books from one physical state to another, dissolving readable text into new narratives of objectification, content, authorship, etc, that refer to a whole body of literary theory a la Barthe, et al.
Below are literal takes and deconstructed fantasies of books by very different artists.
curved book. Nicolas Jones
evolution. Brian Dettmer
alice. Su Blackwell
birds. Su Blackwell
de baudelaire au surrealisme. Georgia Russell
installation. Su Blackwell
Below are literal takes and deconstructed fantasies of books by very different artists.
Literary art remains demurely contained within the spaces of the book bindings. The reveal of pages and their edges is a query of that boundary but also a question about how boundaries themselves can be reinterpreted.
curved book. Nicolas JonesBelow, Elliasson questions the fixedness of content, portraying interiority as a perceptibly malleable space, one where the personal space is all void and no wall. A kismet of architecture and english interdisciplinary studies that was my college miseducation.
your house. Olafur Elliasson
The remade object is a dialogue with the text that reframes subject as a constantly shifting body of knowledge - a conversation that at once edifies and questions language and cultural significance.
evolution. Brian Dettmer 
webster two point oh. Brian Dettmer
Imagination leaps to escape the constraints of the form, bringing the literal page to life.
alice. Su Blackwell
birds. Su Blackwell As curio and dissection piece, the physicality of the object and its content transcends the temporal life of the book, the reclaimed study of the reclaimed artifact being an act of entropy that also one that insists upon reincarnation as well.
de baudelaire au surrealisme. Georgia RussellHere, the physical object is completely obliterated, and the new object is also in the process of being likewise obliterated. Fragmented and scattered, a butterfly effect of knowledge.
installation. Su Blackwell
"Mr Potato head is PoMo." -- lionessa
Reformat the Planet (Paul Owens, 2008)
Lucky Star OVA (Yasuhiro Takemoto, 2008)
Mr. Freedom (William Klein, 1969)
Anime Series:
Kaiba (Masaaki Yuasa, 2008)
Code Geass: Lelouch of the Rebellion R2 (2008)
Not a huge handful of rappers from the 80's have made graceful career exits. A few, of course, have the musical productivity and GNP of a small (african) nation. And then Coolio, well he has Cooking with Coolio.
From this...
"I'm tryin' to find a place where I can live my life and
Maybe eat some steak with my beans and rice..."
To this...
"This here's a steak. This is not a prime cut of beef. It's not a choice cut of beef. It's not Kobe steak... This is some bullshit."
From this..."I'm tryin' to find a place where I can live my life and
Maybe eat some steak with my beans and rice..."
To this..."This here's a steak. This is not a prime cut of beef. It's not a choice cut of beef. It's not Kobe steak... This is some bullshit."
One day I would love to have a nice plot of land where I can grow vegetables, live lightly, and raise a small herd of llamas. Unfeasible as that dream is at the moment, I have my local CSA to tide me over. CSA stands for Community Supported Agriculture and basically means I pay some money to become a "shareholder" in a local farm and I get a portion of the crops in return. I'm not a true fanatic of the 100 mile diet (fermented tofu comes mostly from afar) but going to my local CSA for most of my vegetables means I contribute where I can.
For a year and a half, we've been using Two Small Farms, a collective of two growers, High Ground Organics and Marquita Farm in Watsonville, about 70 miles from San Mateo. While some CSA's deliver to a location of your choice and are really more of a grocery delivery service, I chose Two Small Farms because they grow organically and because they have a pickup location only two blocks away from me (closer then my nearest Farmer's market). That means a short walk once a week and less gasoline consumption overall. In a typical box we might get heirloom tomatoes and eggplant, leeks, unusual items like Agretti and sometimes herbs or fruit that are a just about right for two people. We do eat a lot more seasonal greens now though and I always have vegetable stock on hand. If you don't like this weeks squash, put it in the trading box and pick up something else. For those that can't commit to a subscription, Two Small Farms has "guerilla" pickups and provides vegetables to some of the finer restaurants all over the Bay Area.
A good source for finding a CSA is Local Harvest. Type in your zip code and state and a comprehensive list comes up. Look at the various websites for the nearest pickup sites, the subscription season length and the type of farming they do. Also check the types of produce they offer for variety and availability. Some farms even offer fresh eggs (goose, duck) or even flowers as part of their box, so make sure to do some research. Be prepared for a handsome collection of critters and dirt, and have fun figuring out how to use all your vegetables!
For a year and a half, we've been using Two Small Farms, a collective of two growers, High Ground Organics and Marquita Farm in Watsonville, about 70 miles from San Mateo. While some CSA's deliver to a location of your choice and are really more of a grocery delivery service, I chose Two Small Farms because they grow organically and because they have a pickup location only two blocks away from me (closer then my nearest Farmer's market). That means a short walk once a week and less gasoline consumption overall. In a typical box we might get heirloom tomatoes and eggplant, leeks, unusual items like Agretti and sometimes herbs or fruit that are a just about right for two people. We do eat a lot more seasonal greens now though and I always have vegetable stock on hand. If you don't like this weeks squash, put it in the trading box and pick up something else. For those that can't commit to a subscription, Two Small Farms has "guerilla" pickups and provides vegetables to some of the finer restaurants all over the Bay Area.A good source for finding a CSA is Local Harvest. Type in your zip code and state and a comprehensive list comes up. Look at the various websites for the nearest pickup sites, the subscription season length and the type of farming they do. Also check the types of produce they offer for variety and availability. Some farms even offer fresh eggs (goose, duck) or even flowers as part of their box, so make sure to do some research. Be prepared for a handsome collection of critters and dirt, and have fun figuring out how to use all your vegetables!
The other day we got this crazy looking contraption in our CSA box. A type of heirloom cauliflower - not an alien birthing pod - the romanesco is also the answer to the question of the secret of life apparently. Here is a nice article on the vector phenomenon of this delectable vegetable. I would suggest serving "level 1" formations to geeks with an interest in mimetic phenomenon, or after the "brownies" at a seminar for architects.
The other day we got this crazy looking contraption in our CSA box. A type of heirloom cauliflower and not an alien birthing pod, the romanesco is also the answer to the question of the secret of life apparently. Here is a nice article on the vector phenomenon of this delectable vegetable. I would suggest serving "level 1" formations to geeks with an interest in mimetic phenomenon or after the "brownies" at a seminar for architects.
200 Pounds Beauty (Kim Yong-hwa, 2006)
Stolen Kisses (François Truffaut, 1968)
Santa Sangre (Alejandro Jodorowsky, 1989)
Night Watch (Timur Bekmambetov, 2004)
Feiern (Maja Classen, 2006)
Fine, Totally Fine (Yosuke Fujita, 2007)
5 of 7 shorts from Genius Party (2007)
- "Genius Party" (Atsuko Fukushima)
- "Shanghai Dragon" (Shoji Kawamori)
- "Doorbell" (Yoji Fukuyama)
- "Happy Machine" (Masaaki Yuasa)
- "Baby Blue" (Shinichiro Watanabe)
So, we finally bought a new vacuum cleaner to replace our beefy, retro upright from the 70's. The Hoover Windtunnel canister vac is mostly made of plastic, but has metal wands that extend easily as well as a reinforced hose. There's a 15" powered carpet head and a mini powered head that both do a pretty good job at edge grooming. The crevice wand stores expediently on top of the canister along with a tiny brush for filter scraping and a bare floor tool.The Windtunnel has two filters, Hepa and exhaust, which cost about $15 a piece, but there isn't a bag to purchase. Unlike other vacuums, the see-through collector bin has a lid so there's no fear of spilling the diligently removed dust on the way to the garbage. Even when the collector is filled to "max" the power head still seems to grab away at the carpet quite happily when I am using the vac from a central location in the middle of the room. I can also carry the canister easily in one hand and brandish the a wand in the other for crannies. I really like watching the dirt accumulating inside the collector as I mosey around and seeing the carpet turn "bright" again. (Really needed a new vacuum...)
Caveats: The small attachments are really short, maybe only 4" in length. On high settings, the vacuum isn't really "ultra-quiet". The canister itself isn't perfectly sealed at the collector connection. For the most part though, at $169 (from Costco in Sunnyvale) the dust escapees and minor quibbles aren't deal breaking. We live in a small apartment, so the compact size canister set-up, and great suction more than make up for it. Better yet, the vacuum breaks down into separate pieces for storage and can fit under cramped sink or large shelf when space is an issue.
While The Complete Book of Sewing from DK has nice photo images, The Reader's Digest: New Complete Guide to Sewing has better step-by-step instructions for various tasks, like trimming a neckline with piping, and includes more decor sewing projects, such as a small quilt. I probably reference the Complete Guide to Sewing most often and would recommend buying the newest edition rather then the older because of the improved clarity of the illustrations.
I also have the Coats and Clark's book, Garments for Beginners. This book has very, very detailed color photo instructions for a few specific projects like a basic T-shirt or elastic waist skirt. Not a whole lot of style but good for practicing knit fabric techniques. The more comprehensive Reader's Digest tome includes similar instructions for items like a dressy pant or blouse but the steps are less in-depth.
Finally, Donald McCunn's How to Make Sewing Patterns complements the fit and alteration sections of the "guide" books. The author thoroughly explains the concept of patternmaking in relationship to the body. He provides complete mini sample information on techniques for basic alterations or adding interesting details to existing patterns, such as a raglan sleeve or mandarin collar. While some of the steps and illustrations were mystifying at first, it helped to actually try a sample and see how it worked. After I make the design or fit changes on my paper pattern using McCunn's book, I look to Reader's Digest on how to finish the garment.
I also have the Coats and Clark's book, Garments for Beginners. This book has very, very detailed color photo instructions for a few specific projects like a basic T-shirt or elastic waist skirt. Not a whole lot of style but good for practicing knit fabric techniques. The more comprehensive Reader's Digest tome includes similar instructions for items like a dressy pant or blouse but the steps are less in-depth.Finally, Donald McCunn's How to Make Sewing Patterns complements the fit and alteration sections of the "guide" books. The author thoroughly explains the concept of patternmaking in relationship to the body. He provides complete mini sample information on techniques for basic alterations or adding interesting details to existing patterns, such as a raglan sleeve or mandarin collar. While some of the steps and illustrations were mystifying at first, it helped to actually try a sample and see how it worked. After I make the design or fit changes on my paper pattern using McCunn's book, I look to Reader's Digest on how to finish the garment.
An informative web compendium of interviews, reviews, and author bios for weighty contemporary literature.
"The Modern Word is a large network of literary sites dedicated to exploring twentieth century writers who have pushed the envelope of traditional narrative and structure. This includes many writers associated with Modernism, surrealism, “magical realism,” and postmodernism. Our mandate includes both writers who have experimented with prose styles and narrative conventions, such as Joyce, Burroughs, or Pynchon, and those who use literary techniques to frame alternate ways of perceiving reality, such as Borges and Philip K. Dick." -- from the Modern Word FAQI find the Scriptorium a good place to look for my reading lists. Man-centric but genre inclusive.
A collection of interesting shorts for designer and architects curated by Eames Demetrios and including some work by Charles Eames.
This late posting is what comes of not following Dears and Jrock Revolution as a daily sacrament... Gackt stars in Bunraku, a Hollywood film directed by Guy Moshe.
Info is scant on the samurai spaghetti western, but IMDB says the film is in post production and is set to release in 2009. The cast includes Woody Harrelson, Demi Moore and Ron Perlman. Below is Josh Hartnett and Gackt on set.
Gackt's last screen project was a historical Jdorama where he plays 16th century warlord, Uesugi Kenshin, with perfectly manicured and knit brows to seethingly stoic effect.
And before that... he starred with Hyde, of L'Arc en Ciel, in a film only a fan could love - a friendship story entitled Moon Child featuring bored vampires and silly slow mo yakuza gunfights. Outrageous.
Honestly, I can't wait.
Gackt's bishi bodhisattva warrior Vocaloid avatar.
Gackpoid - limited edition Dear's Version
From the Dust Returned: a Family Remembrance is a collection of short stories by Ray Bradbury written over the course of 50 plus years. Fleshed out and strung together in 2001, the resulting narrative is both Gothic and ghostly, the poetic style departing from Martian chronicle mode, but the spirit retaining a melancholy rumination on death and love that make the best Bradbury so touching. The Family in a story is an unnamed mix of creatures and immortals with supernatural abilities who, having haunted the world over, find themselves "dying" in a cynical modern world. For safe haven they retreat to the safety of an ancestral mansion, a House "beckoned... out of tumults of weather and excursions of Time" by a tree on a hill in an obscure town of Illinois. While the novel is really a lightheartedly macabre series of vignettes, I most enjoyed Bradbury's descriptions of place as character."...[the house] was of such magnificence, echoing facades last seen in London, that wagons, intending to the cross the river, hesitated with their families gazing up and decided if this empty place was good enough for a papal palace, a royal monument, or a queen's abode, there hardly seemed a reason to leave. So the wagons stopped, the horses were watered, and when the families looked, they found their shoes as well as their souls had sprouted roots. So stunned were they by the House up there by the lightning-shaped tree, that they feared if they left the House would follow in their dreams and spoil all the waiting places ahead." -- Ray Bradbury
"From the first, we just wanted to get out of this place. McMurdo has climate controlled facilities, its own radio station, a bowling alley. Abominations such as an aerobics studio and yoga classes. It even has an atm machine. For all these reasons I wanted to get out in the field as soon as possible." -- Herzog
A film maker who likes to pit the savage teeth of nature against the barbarisms of man, Herzog is also a curmudgeonly absurdist baffled as much by the inconsistencies of nature as the human animal. What makes a man so "deranged" as to undertake a journey to the Edge of the World? From the biologist, pensive on his last dive beneath the ice, to the man escaped from behind the Iron Curtain, backpack at the ready for any opportunity of freedom - there's an obviously spiritual answer. Herzog is a canny documentarian, asking the most insouciant questions to ellicit responses as unlikely counterpoints to his images, elevating both to breathtaking beauty and circus act. What, for instance, induces a fluffy penguin to commit certain suicide by conducting a similar jaunt towards some distant mountain range? While Herzog is often short with people who seem sure of their own ability to assess the unknowable, his lens is most generous with characters whose relationship to the dangerous frozen landscpae is much like his own - one of constant wonder and the "deranged" love of a moth for the flame.
The Harder They Come (Perry Henzell, 1972)
The Painted Veil (John Curran, 2006)
The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian (Andrew Adamson, 2008)
Midnight Movies: From the Margin to the Mainstream (Stuart Samuels, 2005)
Encounters at the End of the World (Werner Herzog, 2007)
In her novel of post WWI novel Germany, Anna Segher follows the frantic lives of seven men, political prisoners escaped from a Nazi camp. Segher portrays the insidious effects of the regime - the generational divide, the fear that replaces domestic normalcy, the dogma of eugenics - in a matter of fact prose effective in recreating a tone of oppressive brutality. The musings of the fugitives and the people they encounter drift dreamily between insight and despair, but without the power of self determination, it is clear that that consciousness betrays a collective apathy prefiguring the Holocaust."Only when nothing at all is possible any longer does life pass by like a shadow. But the periods where everything is possible contain all of life - and of destruction." -- Anna Segher
Result of my first assignment for Intermediate Clothing Construction... cleaning out my closet, determining what to make. From top left, clockwise...
1. Dry cleaning, alteration projects.
2. Worn out, stained, scratchy, thick and bulky, shiny and slippery, baggy, fussy and busy, overly frilly, sexy or cute. "Raving" clothes. Grungy beach chic.
3. Sentimental. Saved only those items that have unique details, favorite fits, fabrics, etc.
4. Tanks, tees, boxers, pilfered medical scrubs, and an unmatched variety of pajamas. My typical uniform.
5. Clothes to keep. Comfortable. Easy to layer. Work on multiple occasions, outfits, coats and shoes. Most of these staples seem to have a clean lined, simple, lean silhouette with a bit of layered volume and some quirky architectural details built into the cut of the garment. A touch of gritty urban casualness and a standing collar always seem to work for me. My denim is all trouser style, but I think that's partly because I can never find or alter any slim jeans to fit me.
This color palette integrates what I already have in my closet with some future outfit ideas involving chunky organic accessories, a leather doctor's bag, and my ubiquitous plastic framed library glasses.
Since people seem surprised by my age, I'm going to work on more "mature" pieces for my fall semester projects and keep the sporty, street gear to a miminum. I have a beautiful red silk with black weft that I bought in Thailand and I have just enough fabric to make this pleated tank top from Vogue Wardrobe.
I also want to make this tuck sleeve McCall's jacket and matching pants in a textured wool - perhaps a dark gray shot with white and lined in something bright. I'm toying with the idea of making the collar a little stiffer and lining the underside of the lapel with a bright color too.
The suit set could be worn with the above tank (cinched with a belt) or perhaps over a slim, long wristed cotton turtleneck.
1. Dry cleaning, alteration projects.2. Worn out, stained, scratchy, thick and bulky, shiny and slippery, baggy, fussy and busy, overly frilly, sexy or cute. "Raving" clothes. Grungy beach chic.
3. Sentimental. Saved only those items that have unique details, favorite fits, fabrics, etc.
4. Tanks, tees, boxers, pilfered medical scrubs, and an unmatched variety of pajamas. My typical uniform.
5. Clothes to keep. Comfortable. Easy to layer. Work on multiple occasions, outfits, coats and shoes. Most of these staples seem to have a clean lined, simple, lean silhouette with a bit of layered volume and some quirky architectural details built into the cut of the garment. A touch of gritty urban casualness and a standing collar always seem to work for me. My denim is all trouser style, but I think that's partly because I can never find or alter any slim jeans to fit me.
This color palette integrates what I already have in my closet with some future outfit ideas involving chunky organic accessories, a leather doctor's bag, and my ubiquitous plastic framed library glasses.
Since people seem surprised by my age, I'm going to work on more "mature" pieces for my fall semester projects and keep the sporty, street gear to a miminum. I have a beautiful red silk with black weft that I bought in Thailand and I have just enough fabric to make this pleated tank top from Vogue Wardrobe.
I also want to make this tuck sleeve McCall's jacket and matching pants in a textured wool - perhaps a dark gray shot with white and lined in something bright. I'm toying with the idea of making the collar a little stiffer and lining the underside of the lapel with a bright color too.The suit set could be worn with the above tank (cinched with a belt) or perhaps over a slim, long wristed cotton turtleneck.
Perfectly proportioned reuben served with tartly dressed salad greens and a tall chilly glass of Delirium Tremens. The buttery-textured pastrami and charcuterie are house-made with a balanced flavor. Absolutely worth the ride out from the city, though next time, I might bring my own bread for the cheese plate.
A sometimes overly whimsical but always informative portrait of American sushi by Trevor Corson. Freehanded in his dramatization of early cross pollination between Los Angeles culinary history and Japanese tradition, Corson's book offers tidbits of wisdom both gustatory and trivial. For instance, the science behind the flavors of fish in different development stages is demystified, while a Mack Daddy's frippery is likened to the glittering flick of a mackerel fins.Growing up in 1980's LA, the scenes described in the book are wonderfully familiar (eating for the first time at a conveyor belt sushi joint in J-Town), but the knowledge (that the advent of conveyors allowed Japanese women to finally eat sushi alone) is refreshingly new. Mostly, this book makes me hanker for fresh Tai and a trip to Tsujiki Market.
The Warriors (Walter Hill, 1979)
The Flight of the Red Balloon (Hsiao-hsien Hou, 2007)
Rough Magic (Clare Peploe, 1995)
Hellboy II: The Golden Army (Guillermo del Toro, 2008)
I just bought this iron at Joann's based on brand recognition among sewing circles. The Rowenta Power Duo 6650 is fairly sturdy, feels nice when pressing and the buttons are smooth. However, since the iron doesn't have an auto-off feature, I find it very curious that there isn't even a basic on/off switch. Instead, you have to plug and unplug the cord whenever you want a break. Furthermore, the thing doesn't seem to stay on continuously nor steam on command - horizontally or vertically. After one rotation, the iron clicks a couple of times and the light near the cord goes off. Finally, the twisting fabric dial is beneath the handle so it's annoying to adjust.What I should have gotten is the Black and Decker iron Canada Community College uses for sewing classes. All the same features plus, the controls are on top, along with the digital fabric window, so adjustments are easy to monitor. Although the iron has the auto-off feature, at least you can always tell if it is sleeping or ready to use. The caveats; the trap door is chintzy and the cord doesn't swivel. The pros; the auto-off feature seems to have a longer shut down period then other irons.
Jim and Neil are consummate dirt bike cowboys - two riders with campfire narratives whose tales are occasionally and blatantly tall. But, for the most part, their outlandish stories are simply true beyond belief. I grew up imagining perilous gorges crossed by a single railroad tie and the adrenaline rush of ditching police cars across the desert of San Bernardino county. My first time really riding with them was spent on a tiny chain slapping Honda CRF 100 in the Sierras, pant legs wrapped up with duct tape and shifter falling off at every small hill. At the time, I was in a funk of blues and aimlessness. A four month trip meditating in Thailand had made nominal difference on my state of mind. I felt untethered, overwhelmed, probably more than a little bored. My Godfather, Jim, thought riding would boost my confidence and give me something I could lean on for the rest of my life. He was totally right.
My first bike was a used 2003 Yamaha TTR 125, without electric start, in perfectly cobwebby condition. The bike had unworn original knobbies and a small scrape on the left side fender. I rode as much as possible, every weekend practically, out in Desert Center or Big Bear or "Mentone Beach". On long weekends, we trekked to the Piutes or Nevada or damn near close to the state line at least. I learned how to swap the fishy fork oil, replace bearings that were ghosting my steering, adjust my suspension, check carburetors, change fluids, tires, handlebars. I lugged my first big purchase on and off trails, through sand and cactus, fields of rocks. I dropped it. I scratched it. I had a tremendous amount of fun. The camaraderie of the trail and the peace of the dusk fires made me forget the peccadilloes of day to day life that seemed suddenly inane out there with my face in the wind. On two wheels, testing my abilities against the earth but riding only against myself, I felt (a little sheepishly) free.
Moving back to the Bay Area last year I had to let the Yamaha go. No truck, no garage, no trailer, no tools... Without a single doubt but after a lot of contemplation, I started the process of getting a new bike. Easy for my small body to use as well as ridable on the street and in the dirt, the new bike needed to have a little more power then I was accustomed to. With emissions being so strict, there's not a whole lot of options in California for a small dual-sport bike. With it's low slung seat, the 2008 Yamaha XT250 is really one of two. The other is the new (for America) Honda CRF 230l with an extra gear then the Yamaha and updated brakes. I'm choosing the latter since the shop nearest my house is a tiny local garage filled with a bunch of white haired gentlemen who know Hondas, but foremost because all the cowboys I know wear red.
My first bike was a used 2003 Yamaha TTR 125, without electric start, in perfectly cobwebby condition. The bike had unworn original knobbies and a small scrape on the left side fender. I rode as much as possible, every weekend practically, out in Desert Center or Big Bear or "Mentone Beach". On long weekends, we trekked to the Piutes or Nevada or damn near close to the state line at least. I learned how to swap the fishy fork oil, replace bearings that were ghosting my steering, adjust my suspension, check carburetors, change fluids, tires, handlebars. I lugged my first big purchase on and off trails, through sand and cactus, fields of rocks. I dropped it. I scratched it. I had a tremendous amount of fun. The camaraderie of the trail and the peace of the dusk fires made me forget the peccadilloes of day to day life that seemed suddenly inane out there with my face in the wind. On two wheels, testing my abilities against the earth but riding only against myself, I felt (a little sheepishly) free.
Moving back to the Bay Area last year I had to let the Yamaha go. No truck, no garage, no trailer, no tools... Without a single doubt but after a lot of contemplation, I started the process of getting a new bike. Easy for my small body to use as well as ridable on the street and in the dirt, the new bike needed to have a little more power then I was accustomed to. With emissions being so strict, there's not a whole lot of options in California for a small dual-sport bike. With it's low slung seat, the 2008 Yamaha XT250 is really one of two. The other is the new (for America) Honda CRF 230l with an extra gear then the Yamaha and updated brakes. I'm choosing the latter since the shop nearest my house is a tiny local garage filled with a bunch of white haired gentlemen who know Hondas, but foremost because all the cowboys I know wear red.
Three utterly different lovers, all selfish in their own ways, rolling around together in a pell mell of apples and oranges while the world rots around them. I suppose "the painted veil" of Maugham's novel is a euphemism for ignorance, the kind that only an enduring 16 year old franchise can perpetuate. And then again, "the veil" is a metaphor for the painfully awakened honesty only to be found by lifting away cultural safety nets and scraping away at preconceptions accumulated on the psyche. In portraying the futilely sharp edge of spite, Maugham gives a nod to An Elegy on the Death of a Mad Dog.
The best moments are when Maugham's conflicted characters show their moral ugliness to the effect of revelation; Walter - locked in his anger and destroyed by his own self deception, Kitty - admitting, at last, to her own her pettiness, both - feeling and searching for some kind of restitution beyond the shame of their own desires.
Good people all, of every sort,
Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
It cannot hold you long.
In Islington there was a man,
Of whom the world might say
That still a godly race he ran,
Whene'er he went to pray.
A kind and gentle heart he had,
To comfort friends and foes;
The naked every day he clad,
When he put on his clothes.
And in that town a dog was found,
As many dogs there be,
Both mongrel, puppy, whelp and hound,
And curs of low degree.
This dog and man at first were friends;
But when a pique began,
The dog, to gain some private ends,
Went mad and bit the man.
Around from all the neighbouring streets
The wondering neighbours ran,
And swore the dog had lost his wits,
To bite so good a man.
The wound it seemed both sore and sad
To every Christian eye;
And while they swore the dog was mad,
They swore the man would die.
But soon a wonder came to light,
That showed the rogues they lied:
The man recovered of the bite,
The dog it was that died.
-- Oliver Goldsmith
The best moments are when Maugham's conflicted characters show their moral ugliness to the effect of revelation; Walter - locked in his anger and destroyed by his own self deception, Kitty - admitting, at last, to her own her pettiness, both - feeling and searching for some kind of restitution beyond the shame of their own desires."And now, throwing her head back wearily, she sighed: 'Oh I'm so worthless.'" --Kitty
While the structural tragedy of the ending is no great surprise, from the lip pursings of dry academians to the mythological anarchy of ancient faerie, two worlds of Victorian "magic" combine ambitiously to satirize human folly in a wittily gruesome yet wistful way. Susanna Clarke's writing is an entertainment (in a good way) and her ideas provoke beyond the tropes of genre fantasy. I really havn't enjoyed a book as much as this one in a long while."Umeboshi luv...
Salivary pains attack!
Little balls of joy..." -- M.N.
