Headphone bleed is a blog primarily centered on my relationship to music and music listening. In a strange way, though, it is also about my experience living in a surprisingly interesting city: Minneapolis. These two purposes seem incongruous, but I think that the social nature of music appreciation means that we have to talk about place, community, and so on. In other words, I think these are related somehow even if I'm not clear exactly how...yet. In short, I want to talk about music and my city--I want to do so in a spirit of enthusiastic embrace and criticism. I want to have this space to talk about the aesthetic appreciation for and the difficult politics of sound as I live in/through the Twin Cities. Since I am just starting this out, things could change, but I'm going to start there...
copeland657. I don't know much about this other than it was on a compilation CD of new music put together in part by the organizers of the Unsound Festival 2014 in NYC. Lots of great stuff on there, but I keep returning to this track
It felt so unfair that I didn't get around to Tim Hecker's release last year that I thought if it passed muster I would definitely have to give it a full review. As evidenced by this very post then, (you may have noticed I only review records I think are good, even if I have criticisms of them. If I'm going to have my own blog I'm not going to waste my time writing about music I don't like) his latest is a compelling success, and among his best work. Virgins seems to follow the footsteps of his previous release, Ravedeath, 1972 but surpasses it in its overall quality, and more specifically in its ability to contrast harsh, dense, seemingly chaotic noise, with a sense of haunting hollowness and deep space. With this release he has refined his ability to not only contrast terror with beauty, but manages to fuse them so completely that they coexist in the same sounds. As a listener, I'm left unsettled, but can't help wanting to spend hours with this piece.
Hecker's work played an important role in the evolution of my own musical tastes, ushering me into a world of sound not beholden to melody, melodic development, or the inherent structures that accompany this mode of music making. (People get very territorial about these things so let me be clear: I love melodic music, but I can't see why you would want to restrict yourself to that tradition.) More than just serving as an introduction to what was, to me at the time, an entirely new world of sound, Hecker's music has always been made of stuff that defiantly resists categorization. It might be related to the Ambient tradition, or in its most broad terms you could call it electronic music, but just one listen to the stuff though will leave you with the impression that these terms are wholly inadequate to describe the music.
I have always felt like Hecker is very conscious about creating spaces with sound, rather than narratives that progress through time. This, of course, is a feature of a great deal of non-melodic work, but Hecker understands this on a level that goes beyond many of his peers. Though the work maintains a unified feel as an album with motifs that appear throughout, and similar instrumentation or effects used on several tracks, he manages to sculpt a diversity between them, exploring different aspects of their character giving them a realness that so much other work in similar territory lacks.
On its own, this wouldn't be enough to make compelling music, but happily this album takes us far beyond a simple curio exploring the distinctions between heavily processed and acoustic sound, or battering waves of noise and delicate piano lines. It's the depth of relationship that Hecker draws between the contrasts instead that create the cumulative affect. The primary strategy to achieve this seems to be that even in the most dense moments the sound is very open. Large, but not heavy, a feeling partly created by layering of lighter sounds on top of the density, or featuring them more prominently in distinct tracks as the album moves along.
Unfortunately this does mean that some lighter tracks do not stand well on their own without surrounding context, and even within it they sometimes endanger the overall tone of the album. But luckily the music always takes us to more interesting territory quickly, and at least one of these predominantly quieter tracks is quite lovely ("Amps, Drugs, Harmonium") on its own terms.
Another way Hecker achieves the feel of the record is through the physical spaces where he chooses to record. I'm not as familiar with the specifics of recording locations for all of his work, but in both Ravedeath, 1972 and Virgins Hecker or his collaborators at least partly record in large resonant spaces--a church in Iceland for his previous release, and a concert hall for this one. It gives a concrete element to that sense of space he is trying to create, and adds a specifically haunting aura to the overall tone of the work. This is particularly well captured on the tracks "Live Room," "Live Room Out," and "Stigmata II." Somewhere along the way in the prior two mentioned you can actually hear a cough (someone in an audience? A musician?,) elsewhere some people muttering in the background. It actually adds to the sense of grand scope that permeates the entire work.
Ultimately what I think makes Virgins an even better release than Ravedeath, though they deploy similar methods, is the way in which Hecker at his best moments is able to provoke a simultaneous, rather than discrete, horror and sense of beauty from the listener. The music, especially at a decently high volume, can feel almost scary and imposing at times, but almost always is pitted against shimmering tones, beautiful simple piano, or haunting clarinet in a way that feels like these contrasting emotional provocations are actually working in harmony rather than against each other. In its finest moments, it's quite astounding to listen to.
Virgins certainly leaves me with lingering questions, too. Why is it called Virgins, first of all? The music and track titles, save two simply called "Virginal I" & "Virginal II" don't offer much help. It does seem significant to me that one track is called "Incense at Abu Ghraib," referring to the Baghdad prison where a great deal of officially sanctioned torture of prisoners held by the US military took place during the Iraq war. I think this is particularly the case when you take a look at the cover art, pictured above. It seems to be a grouping of inanimate objects draped in some kind of sheet or curtain on a short pedestal. Yet it instantly recalls, for me even before seeing that track title, the well known picture of a prisoner being tortured at Abu Ghraib. Does the title mean to suggest a kind of commemorative ceremony, burning incense in a place of such horror as a kind of reflection of the sounds of music destroyed and horrifying in character that you encounter on this record? Or maybe does it even mean "incense" as a verb? Angering at the injustice perpetuated there? Is this connection related to the title of the album at all? And if so, how? I really don't know the answers to any of this, but as a text this album at least seems to present this as a possibility, and ultimately it becomes another reason to keep returning to it.
Maybe I'll lightheartedly suggest that if any of you do read this and haven't really explored music that doesn't utilize "songwriting" in any kind of traditional sense or rely on melodic development, and if you have any interest at all in listening to something like that, Virgins would be an excellent place to start.
I’m listening to Tim Hecker’s Virgins from last year & taking notes to write a review. Incidentally it’s 50 degrees here in Minneapolis. This is always a momentous ocassion here but given the brutal and continuous cold of this winter it feels especially amazing. I opened the windows for the first time since October I’m guessing. I completely forgot the smell of fresh air. I mean, first of all, it’s warm enough for the air to have a smell (which tells you that it gets cold enough here for the air to stop smelling like anything.) Second, that smell is now accompanying Hecker’s dense soundscapes, and it completely changes the experience of listening to this record. Like any drug, your musical experience is shaped and altered by set and setting. A recording and the act of playing/listening to it never exists in isolation.
Sound like liquid. This is from patten's Eolian Instate EP not to be confused with the more recent full length release and anagram, Estoile Naiant.
Sexy too, no? Like, I should go find my boyfriend...
Previously on this blog, I may have mentioned that I don't really care for music videos, and that's still the case here. Take or leave the visuals as you wish. The song, however, is worth your time!
This is "Reach You On The Phone" by Blank Realm. It's the closing track from their recent release Grassed Inn, which is filling a gap in my record collection. I needed some infectious simple-but-not-simple rock, and I got it. It'll plaster a smile on your face
Richard Skelton, one of my favorites, discusses the impulses and thoughts surrounding the practice of burying and later recovering instruments. Worth reading.
A rare bit of local news from me. Now, I've had mixed experiences at The 400 Bar, I don't want to mythologize it here or anything, but this strikes me as odd. It does not appear to be a joke, either. The 400 Bar, closed in 2013, is to re-open...at the Mall of America, the fuck? That's right the mall. This is so ridiculous, but also so hilarious and kind of logical when you think about capitalism. CBGB died in Las Vegas, why shouldn't The 400 Bar die at the Mall of America?
If anyone is reading this and is not from or not familiar with the Twin Cities area and the splendor that is the mall, let me just say that I really hate that fucking place. The place you go (I only go for cheap shoes, that's it) and while walking through one of the immense parking garages you realize you're seeing all kinds of out-of-state license plates which means that this must be some kind of road-trip tourist destination which means people are spending all kinds of money to come to a god damn mall. The place that nearly gives me panic attacks. The place with roller coasters and crap in the middle. The only thing I liked about the rides was after they stopped being Peanuts themed. There was a brief period when the ride where you get in a plastic log in water with a big drop at the end was called "Paul Bunyan's Log Chute" (I am not kidding, it was) but now it's Nikelodeon themed so it's all very boring.
Point is: what the hell? I can't imagine it will be open all that long.
40 minute performance by Tashi Dorji at the New Grass Center for Underground Culture, Nov. 2013.
You can get his newest self-titled release either on cassette or for download on his Bandcamp page. Enjoy!
I know I haven't been terribly active here this year, there are reasons for that including getting a puppy and making said puppy not a terror to live with. So far success (relatively) on that front! She's a good dog! Just because I have not posted on here doesn't mean I haven't been doing my fair share of listening though! You didn't think I could go a year without indulging in my favorite problematic pastime, did you?
2013 was an odd year, with a great deal of oddball music to reflect it. It was a year full of music that challenged notions of what an album should do. How musicians did this varied considerably. Some created restless, uneasy atmospheres by slowing down their music, others managed to fuse beautiful and lush songs with chilly solitude, and at least one dove into the very mechanisms of sound and hearing themselves. It was a year not just about searching for new possibilities, but about injecting that search with disquiet urgency. And as a result, whether it was intentional or not, I couldn't help but feel that music felt jittery. This isn't a criticism, merely an observation. I feel like artists are searching for new languages, which is exactly the kind of thing we need given the state of the world. We need new imaginaries.
As usual, there was too much to listen to. There are still releases I am dying to hear, particularly Tim Hecker's latest, but I have to cut it off at some point or I'll never get this done. I already had to re-arrange the whole thing due to a severely delayed delivery that ended up landing on the top 10! So what are you waiting for? Read on for the entire list, plus 10 additional honorable mentions!
10. Svævninger by Else Marie Pade & Jacob Kirkegaard
This is one of those records that reminds you why you don't just talk about the music impacting you with friends, you show them. Words begin to fail almost immediately in trying to convey what this album is about or tries to do. I'll give it a stab anyway. Else Marie Pade is a Danish composer who, though often unrecognized at the time, was at the forefront of the development of electronic music--both in Denmark and more broadly. Jacob Kirkegaard, also a Danish composer who works with electronic music (51 years younger than Pade, incidentally,) teams up with her here to delve into the mechanics of sound and hearing. The pairing makes sense. In their respective work each of them have explored the strange acoustic phenomena that occurs when particular soundwaves interact. The title of this record, Svævninger, translates to "beats" in English and likely refers to the beating tones that feature prominently throughout, created by producing tones extremely close in pitch. Pade's compositions are paired alongside recordings from inside Kirkegaard's ears. The recording thus both captures autoacoustic emissions--soundwaves generated in the ear itself-- from Kirkegaard's ears and produces them in the listener. While certainly not an every day listen, the result is haunting, compelling, and thought-provoking. How much of what I'm hearing, I can't help but wonder, is really just an illusion? How much of what I think is happening here is actually not on the recording at all, but simply a result of how the soundwaves produced by the recording interact--with each other & with my ear canals--once they leave my speakers? If the nature of this experiment seems overly technical it is worth remembering that the ultimate conclusion reinforces the subjectivity of the musical experience itself. Each of the track titles are named after cloud formations ("stratus" or "altocumulus," for example.) It suggests cloud watching, the distance and connection between the technical name for the cloud itself, and the human tendency to see familiar shapes in their forms. Svævninger might have a strong technical base, but at its heart it asks the listener to relax, to let go, to indulge in an illusory, and quite beautiful, experience. A unique project, and a treasured part of my collection.
9. Earth, Heat, Sound by First Communion Afterparty
I very nearly didn't get to this one this year due to a problem with the mail. But it finally did arrive at my doorstep (with two extra records to make up for the delay! Very cool!) and I've listened to it multiple times since. The entire atmosphere on Earth, Heat, Sound is gloriously majestic in scope, managing to both feel infused with buzzing energy and deliberately unhurried in its pace. The music references a broad range of rock music styles, but this band manages to tie threads between them all resulting in a consistent sound that could easily be more scattered in less capable hands. A good deal of credit for this goes to the vocals, with nearly every member of the band contributing their voices at least some of the time. It mirrors the way First Communion Afterparty is able to effectively deploy a broad range of rock music structures. There's quite a lot of variation in the vocal delivery across the album, but they manage to skillfully use this to their advantage, creating big, audacious tracks still unified at the core. "Field of Flowers/Spring Rite" particularly comes to mind here. Finally, in a field where a good deal of music that could be called "psychedelic" is an exhausting experience, it is refreshing to hear something so energizing. A well timed, and truly excellent release from a local band to get us through the brutal Minnesota winter.
8. Nihil Obstat by Jozef van Wissem
Six minimalist compositions written and played on a "14 course ebonized baroque lute" by Jozef van Wissem. If this makes you skeptical, let me put you at ease: Nihil Obstat is breathtakingly gorgeous. Not only do van Wissem's compositions fit his instrument of choice here perfectly, but the characteristic vulnerability of the lute makes this music feel intimate and close to the listener. The credits on the record sleeve don't make it clear if this was recorded in the same place where the photographs that appear on it were taken, but the dimly lit Our Lady of Lebanon Church in Brooklyn provides a perfect visual setting for this music. Not that this music sounds churchy or religious--far from it--merely that the setting of playing alone in a large open, resonant space fits perfectly the mood of this music. It is indeed beautiful music, but infused with a deep sorrow. The song titles dispense with any ambiguity about the mood with names like "Apology" or "Patience In Suffering Is A Living Sacrifice," yet the effect is never depressing. Reflective, sometimes even somber, but always strikingly lovely. The title of the record has connotations related to the Catholic church, but I don't think that's the intended meaning of the term here. In fact, Nihil Obstat roughly translates to the title of the first track on side B, "Nothing Stands Between Us." That's exactly what listening to this sounds like.
7. Live at Cafe Oto by The Sealed Knot
London is definitely a place I would like to visit. When I go there, one of the things I am going to do is go see a show at Cafe Oto. This live, improvised, performance was actually recorded there in 2009 as part of the "Another Timbre" festival, but it was only released this year. If my description of this music as improvisation has already given you some ideas of what to expect, discard them now. The credits on the CD case give us some better clues: "burkhard beins, percussion & electronics; rhodri davies, harp & electronics; mark wastell, tam tam & electronics." I actually posted my initial thoughts about this record on this blog right after I finished hearing it for the first time, and I think my basic point there still stands. That is, what is so impressive about this performance is the confidence these players have in moving slowly, quietly, and deliberately. They force us to reset our expectations, they challenge the standard narratives we've received about not only composed music, but the scripts that even improvisers often follow, purposefully or not. And the results are stunning. Recorded in late January, I can't help but picture being nestled in the small setting at Cafe Oto, escaping from the (presumably) chilly day to take in these strange yet inexplicably compelling chain of sonic events. This record comes close to capturing what Laurel Halo said in an interview earlier this year. She draws attention to the qualities that make music "timeless" and "worth listening to" by calling out "this gut feeling when you listen to a piece of music and it cleanses you, or makes you feel in a heightened state of awareness..." Music, when you boil it down, isn't about notes and scores and what instruments you use, but about expressing ideas. Improvised music has always brought that concept to the forefront, but is often about expressing a lot of ideas loudly and in quick succession. I think you could argue that slowing things down creates a much more challenging environment, and it's one that these three musicians thrive in.
6. Time Off by Steve Gunn
Outwardly a straightforward collection of guitar-based songwriting, Time Off is actually a far more complicated affair. As has been pointed out elsewhere, listening to this record reveals not only the influence of American songwriting, but also music traditions around the world, particularly gnawa music and carnatic music. It should be stated that this formula certainly has the potential for a disastrous outcome. Too many musicians and bands continue to put out work that bills itself as experimental or creative but reeks of appropriation. Cultural exchange is a well-worn, and more often than not poorly executed exercise that merely reinforces stereotypes and false divisions. Of course my knowledge of Steve Gunn as a musician is limited but from listening to this record here it strikes me as unique in its distinct lack of a sense of cultural appropriation. Not only does Gunn demonstrate technical skill, but rather than fetishize gnawa or carnatic traditions as "different" or "other" they work as composition devices, not as the point of the composition itself. In other words, these musical structures serve the songwriting, they don't function as objects of exoticism. As you should expect, then, from a record that doesn't focus its efforts on the spectacle of appropriation, the music stands on its own. This record has a breezy, summery feel that is a more than welcome shot of warmer weather during the past month or so (though I cannot wait to listen to this record in the summer, it will be perfect for it.) Gunn's vocals are doubtlessly one of the main reasons for this. Lazily delivered and sticking to a tight dynamic range, his hazy performances are simultaneously relaxing and alluring. My favorite track is the last one, "Trailways Ramble." Oddly enough it's the only one without any vocals. A steady but complex guitar rhythm guides the piece that swells with flurries of amorphous flute, cello and guitar. It is simply irresistible, a compelling end to a fantastic set of songs. Time Off's creativity lies not in re-branding the musical achievements that other historical societies and cultures have already produced. Instead, Gunn uses his knowledge of these achievements in service of writing songs that do not, in my view, reproduce a logic of exoticism. It's a refreshing thing to hear, then, in more ways than one.
5. Loud City Song by Julia Holter
More than most on this list, Julia Holter's latest release deliberately challenged the sensibilities of sequencing an album. Slowed in pace from her previous effort, the first track of Loud City Song, "World," is five minutes long, slow, and overall quite sparse. It feels no need to grab your attention, though you'd be rewarded if you did because it is, of course, quite a wonderful song. Earlier this year, I wrote:
Once accustomed to the aesthetic and timing, it becomes apparent how much possibility Holter is able to mine from it. The second track, “Maxim I”, is also in no hurry to get started. Merely a slow build of tapping cymbals, which eventually blossoms into a lazy-day tinged with psychedelia sounding set of chords. Rather than the music telling you how to feel, the patient builds that don’t even build all that far seem to draw the emotion from you. Evoking rather than instilling. The effect is strongest on “Hello Stranger,” a Barbara Lewis cover. With the tempo slowed down considerably compared to Lewis’ original, Holter allows us to dwell in the washes of gorgeous sound she pieces together, perfectly reflecting the emotional ambivalence of the lyrics.
The way that Holter uses sound is something I am certain she has spent some serious time considering. In the past she has also made field recordings and the skills she uses there are also clearly operating on this recording. The record’s use of what I assume are field recordings of various sounds is both subtle and powerfully affecting. Again on “Hello Stranger,” her inclusion of what sounds like gull calls quietly placed in the background evokes the peacefulness and contemplation of a solitary walk on a beach. Even if the song’s lyrics suggest a surprise visit, the sounds seem to suggest that this visit has already passed. It seems to be reminiscing about a friend or lover’s rare appearance instead of celebrating the actual event. The muddied sounds of conversation at the end of “This is a True Heart” is similarly powerful in its contribution to the unique emotional tug on this record.
...
In its patience and refusal grow too heavy-handed, the listener’s focus shifts to the minute, and Holter is a master of manipulating detail for affect. Here this seems to be aiming for a feeling of unease, loss, or emptiness within beauty itself. If her previous release, Ekstasis, exhibited a summertime feel, the beauty of Loud City Song is more melancholy. The kind of beauty that comes alongside the knowledge that nothing lasts forever.
4. Exit! by Fire! Orchestra
If The Sealed Knot, listed up above, approached improvisation from a less-is-more standpoint, Fire! would be getting pretty close to the opposite of that in my humble opinion. Clearly, though, this isn't a problem for me. Not only is this band consistently careful about their energetic and intense sound, but they also consistently create compelling music. Taking their habit of collaborating with other musicians to an extreme, this time the band gathered the usual trio plus 28 more artists to become Fire! Orchestra. In my review of this earlier in the year, I wrote:
The two side length tracks that make up Exit! are both divided into two main halves. The first three of these firmly anchored down by smart, infectious grooves delivered by the bass players. the last section is looser, focusing more on vocals and horns, yet the fact remains that bass holds this music together. In the March issue of The Wire, Gustafsson is quoted referring to [Fire! bass player Johan] Berthling’s talents: “Johan is one of the monsters when it comes down to locking a groove and just keeping it.” That is plainly evident and on superb display here; solid ground on which a huge array of sounds can sprout.
...
The vocalists themselves deserve tremendous credit as well. Each of them exhibit commanding technical proficiency as well as a wide range of expression. The technical skill is probably most evident in the second half of part 2. But the first half of pt. 2’s incredible introductory solo is what really gets my attention every time. Rainy-day, contemplative, and powerful, and right as they begin to decay we’re thrown into another excellent Berthling style groove, which the singer matches perfectly. To expand on an earlier point, Fire! Orchestra figured out how to use their size to allow for a greater range of sound that would be possible with just a trio + guest. It makes for some truly exciting work. Exit! is electrifying and riveting music.
3. Coin Coin Chapter Two, Mississippi Moonchile by Matana Roberts
As the title suggests, this is the second installment of a projected 12 part cycle. I'll admit that I haven't heard the first chapter, but I aim to after hearing this one. If this kind of music keeps up, I may have to invest in some more space to hold the next 10 parts as well. In an extensive article in The Wire (issue 356, all the quotes here are from this issue) about Roberts and her work she discusses how the project engages with, as she puts it, "a post-Obama America, which is really exciting, but it also requires a different way of cracking the idea of culture, class and the problems that still exist," including racism. Indeed, Roberts goes on to link her project drawing off African American history to struggles around "immigration, LGBT rights, and human trafficking," drawing lessons from this history to articulate struggles for justice now. Her reach stretches into official and unofficial histories to remind us how these pasts are still with us, connecting herself personally as a descendant of slavery to the issue human trafficking in New York City today. Roberts is able to make this feeling come alive with uncanny clarity. This music feels present, right in front of you, but is also infused with powerful, living pasts, made particularly salient by the inclusion of Roberts reciting answers her grandmother gave her from an interview about growing up in Mississippi. She also uses a method she calls "panoramic sound quilting" which involves "stitch[ing] together fleeting scraps of different musical styles to create something bigger and more coherent" to create her music. As a result, Coin Coin Chaper Two takes on the persona of a singular work, rather than a series of distinct tracks. What comes across instead is Roberts' grand artistic vision. Though it's been classified as a modern jazz record, it's really not accurate to think of it as bound to that tradition. Instead, Roberts is using various sound languages (you might call it "jazz," or "opera," or "traditional spiritual" or whatever) to tell a story that not only remembers the trauma of injustice, that not only points to the continued fact of inequality today, but that strongly affirms the identities, the humanness, and the resilience of peoples borne of trauma, violence, and bigotry. What an amazing project, I am so excited to witness this take shape over the next several chapters.
2. R Plus Seven by Oneohtrix Point Never
The last three albums released by Daniel Lopatin as Oneohtrix Point Never (say it like it's a radio station) including this one have made it on my top 10 list. Pretty safe to say I'm a fan. Though he is known for using analogue synthesizers, samples of TV commercials from the 80s and so on as his source of sound material it's always been unfair, in my view, to characterize him as part of the nostalgia-mining cadre of musicians so prevalent the past few years. His work has always been about concepts more complicated than that--more about the failure of memory than relishing in melancholy reminiscence. True to 2013's jittery nature, R Plus Seven is OPN's most active music to date. It's impossible to listen to this without realizing that Lopatin will not allow you to sit still for long. As soon as you think you've settled into a quirky set of hollow analogue staccato tones, you're thrown into a sea of synthesizer waves, only to be jarred to your senses again by something new. What's so interesting about this is not only how it reflects our consumption of media and information in the 21st century--songs on shuffle, no not that one, next, next, new website, sign in, log out--but how it instills such an unsettling affect. The word "cold" is often used in a negative sense when talking about electronic music. It implies music so machine-like that it has no feeling in it whatsoever. But here I would use the term to refer to the feeling of chilled air on your skin, and there's certainly a lot of feeling there. These songs don't feel machine like, but neither are they terribly comforting. This isn't to say that the music here isn't often beautiful. It most certainly is, but the warmth these moments provide is always working against the cold, a force consistently rearing its head. Even in the record's final, loud, major-chord loving, organ pounding joyous moments ultimately end up emphasizing its own isolation in the context of the rest of the album. And yet despite this, Lopatin ends up making these contrasts an absolutely captivating experience. The best Oneohtrix Point Never record yet.
1. Chance of Rain by Laurel Halo
Last year Laurel Halo released Quarantine, an album that has grown on me but that I still have mixed feelings about. The best parts of that album really were quite remarkable, but as a whole it just didn't leave much of an impact. Despite that, I was actually hoping that Halo would continue exploring using her voice, thinking that some more time might yield better results. Well, whether or not she has abandoned using vocals for good, this time around on Chance of Rain there is hardly a voice to be found except for a few well-placed samples here and there. Whatever instincts she followed to make that choice were good ones, as Chance of Rain is a tremendous demonstration of Halo's talents and growth. Her productions here are often odd and quirky sounding, but always tied together often with nothing more than an intricate hi-hat sequence, propelling the motion forward. Elsewhere the tracks are more lush, relying on a muddy 4/4 thud alongside jazzy minor chords, but the emphasis remains on forward momentum. Halo has spoken about techno music as a "meditative force" and that outlook shapes the structure of these working, moving compositions. One of the reasons this ranks at the top of my list this year is how well Chance of Rain works to link emotional and visceral responses to music. These tracks feel anxious, but they also propel you to move, or at least feel a response in a physical way. Maybe that is what Halo means when she refers to music as a "meditative force." A way to reveal the connections between the emotional and the visceral. When the last two chords of the record sound, I think I get pretty close to seeing that.
Honorable Mentions (alphabetized by musician/band)
Mercury by Marisa Anderson
Fluorescent EP by Appleblim
HD by Atom™
Nocturnes by William Basinski
Factory Floor by Factory Floor
Now while it's still warm let us pour in all the mystery by Keiji Haino, Jim O'Rourke, Oren Ambarchi
Live in Sounds of the Universe by Hieroglyphic Being
Shaking the Habitual by The Knife
The Current by Midday Veil
Joy One Mile by Stellar Om Source
That's it for 2013! Hope everyone has a happy new year! Here's to seeing more live shows and posting here more next year. :-)
One big question that keeps ringing in my head after many listens to Julia Holter's latest record is, "for an album called Loud City Song, why is it that this music never strikes me as loud?" The question itself is not one I feel like I have a great answer to for now. Perhaps this is more about a reaction to "the city" than being about the city itself? No matter, the question itself is indicative of the depth of thought and feeling that Holter has brought to this effort. Pop songwriting that demands patience and attention, this record is filled with lyrical motifs, oblique symblos, references to bourgeois Parisian culture, and more. It is complicated multifaceted, and because it is also spectacularly composed, amenable to multiple listens and readings. Loud City Song is not a record that aims to stun you. It works its way into your head & heart by inviting you back, rewarding you by revealing deeper meaning.
That description might sound like a risky proposition for an album. After all, there is a kind of expected logic from a pop songwriter record, even if Holter is a somewhat underground, experimental figure in that arena. The first track, "World," is not a conventional hook in any way. I'd even go so far as to say that I can absolutely see people listening to it and completely giving up on the record ("This is what I'm in store for? Snooze!") It's a lovely song, but yes also quite slow and sparse (again, especially if you're expecting a loud city song) But stick with it! This project is more about the arch of the album than being radio friendly.
Once accustomed to the aesthetic and timing, it becomes apparent how much possibility Holter is able to mine from it. The second track, "Maxim I", is also in no hurry to get started. Merely a slow build of tapping cymbals, which eventually blossoms into a lazy-day tinged with psychedelia sounding set of chords. Rather than the music telling you how to feel, the patient builds that don't even build all that far seem to draw the emotion from you. Evoking rather than instilling. The effect is strongest on "Hello Stranger," a Barbara Lewis cover. With the tempo slowed down considerably compared to Lewis' original, Holter allows us to dwell in the washes of gorgeous sound she pieces together, perfectly reflecting the emotional ambivalence of the lyrics.
The way that Holter uses sound is something I am certain she has spent some serious time considering. In the past she has also made field recordings and the skills she uses there are also clearly operating on this recording. The record's use of what I assume are field recordings of various sounds is both subtle and powerfully affecting. Again on "Hello Stranger," her inclusion of what sounds like gull calls quietly placed in the background evokes the peacefulness and contemplation of a solitary walk on a beach. Even if the song's lyrics suggest a surprise visit, the sounds seem to suggest that this visit has already passed. It seems to be reminiscing about a friend or lover's rare appearance instead of celebrating the actual event. The muddied sounds of conversation at the end of "This is a True Heart" is similarly powerful in its contribution to the unique emotional tug on this record.
This creative usage of sound extends to the more strictly musical aspects of this work as well. In her singing, for instance, Holter is keenly aware of how the character of her delivery should change depending on the needs of the song. On "Maxim I" she sings with wide open vowels and quickly clipped consonants, sounding akin to the chattering birds she sings of in the lyrics. Elsewhere, on "In the Green Wild" she draws off Joni Mitchell's careful and rhythmically playful delivery alongside a jazz infused bass line before transforming into a gorgeous final half.
It was also on this song that I first noted Holter's interesting use of vocal harmony. It seems to me that she approaches her use of vocal arrangements as a tool for coloring and texturing rather than merely adding arrangement to a written melody. Harmonies splash like paint, emphasizing single words, or vowels. It often sounds like the melody will even entirely disappear for a few syllables before resurfacing again. They exist, in other words, because they fit the feeling of the song--an aesthetic reason for being instead of only a functional one.
Consequently these songs feel almost like lifeforms. Like creatures that contain specific properties and could not really exist any other way. This technique is most beautifully apparent on the final track, "City Appearing," where all of Loud City Song's elements come together. Building slowly from sparseness, it becomes warm and endearing, but also uneasy and bewitching by the final gasps of sound.
If there is a criticism I have it would be around the inclusion of "Maxim II." Certainly the loudest moment of the album, it provides a break from the quiet feel but strikes me as not terribly necessary toward the overall impact of the record. Holter seems to have a habit of reprising tracks. "Goddess Eyes" made an appearance on her first release, Tragedy, then twice more on last year's (also really great, but yeah come on) Ekstasis. And now we have "Maxim I" and "Maxim II" here. She is clearly gifted at the reprise, offering different arrangements and a new experience than the first go-around, but it's starting to feel like a crutch and it would be nice to see her pull of a great record without filling space this way.
On the whole, though, this is a quibble. It's gorgeous and rewarding upon repeated listening. In its patience and refusal grow too heavy-handed, the listener's focus shifts to the minute, and Holter is a master of manipulating detail for affect. Here this seems to be aiming for a feeling of unease, loss, or emptiness within beauty itself. If her previous release, Ekstasis, exhibited a summertime feel, the beauty of Loud City Song is more melancholy. The kind of beauty that comes alongside the knowledge that nothing lasts forever.
Initial Impressions, Live at Cafe Oto by The Sealed Knot
I'm thinking right now about an article in The Wire recently about Kazuo Imai. I am not familiar with his music but a particular statement of his struck me. He explains how even though the "passion of free jazz attracted" him, he couldn't help but feel a sense of "cliche," as he puts it, in the "screeching on saxaphones." A kind of vocabulary had developed, in other words, in a movement that was supposed to eschew such limitations.
Now not that there is a damn thing wrong with screeching saxaphones, but the point is even in the supposed liberations from category that improvisation promised there remained a set of expectations on how that was to be done. Part of that, in improvised music, seems to be the need to say something, say a lot, and say it all the time. Though of course this is not an accurate conception of the whole of improvised music it is an ingrained expectation of the genre.
So I thought I had it figured out when I received a just recently released live recording by The Sealed Knot at Cafe Oto in London. The recording itself is from 2009, but despite such an ancient age for music in the 21st century it feels ahead of its time. It is decidedly judicious and not eager to speak. And for just over 30 minutes it blew me away.
This track is too short! That's my one complaint here. The record this is from is worth checking out. Good, and promising, though not spectacular as a whole album. Keep this group's name in mind though. I have a feeling they'll just get better.
One of my favorite sounds of the summer is the sound of cicadas buzzing. It is extremely hot here today and a rather tepid summer seems to be entering its last phase with a punch of heat. Here's a (shitty mp3) minute of the cicadas basking in the heat. Oh, and then my boyfriend lets the dog out towards the end.
I read somewhere once, and I can't remember where, that it would be much more intriguing to take sounds from places instead of photographs. I like that idea. So here's some Minneapolis summer.
theartofmadeline
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
ellievsbear
romaincrisis
izzy806
dededos