Laughing with the gods
A couple latecomers in 2023 that ought not to be missed. Happy New Year, in February.
Drifting, Dream Autopsy (Förlag För Fri Musik)
A welcome sign that the Discreet Music-adjacent actors continue to find grey skies and grimy alleys to haunt. Drifting is an overseas collaboration between Form Hunter's Weston Czerkies and Gothenburg's own Julia Bjernelind and Dan Johansson. Both Julia and Dan are in Amateur Hour, and Dream Autopsy ends up around the same neighborhood as the underrated Krökta Tankar och Brända Vanor double LP, but Weston reorients Drifting with a strong emphasis on tape hiss and mechanical noise. Within this space, Julia's voice acts more as a poltergeist haunting the proceedings; there are probably proper lyrics, but long song titles are colorful enough, and the keening vocals provide instrumental contrast to the rather bleak, often caustic rumblings below. A few brief respites are found across the album: the beginning of "Kill Them All at Once," for example, is a catchy yet eerie vocals-and-keyboard snippet, and the very end of "Narratives In Music Is a Fuck (In Two Parts)" rides distantly groaning tape loops with Julia's sickly-sweet vocals. The push-pull between the gentle vocals and the tape noise is presented as organically as possible, playing out as two sidelong tracks devoid of any clunky transitions or jarring cuts. Dream Autopsy doesn't come as much of a surprise in terms of the sounds within; the label's own "sublime tape music" descriptor fits. But how effectively the sounds are rendered makes it feel more intentional than just a meeting of the minds. Shocking how much this one sticks once it's over, and even more shocking that it's still widely available - scoop now and avoid regret later.
Mount Trout, Petrol Bush (Albert's Basement)
Praise be to Albert's Basement for putting the new Mount Trout album on wax, something I've daydreamed about doing for both Screwy and Shelter Belt but never had the connections, know-how or gumption to do. The warm-sounding, naturally imperfect vinyl format is readymade for Mount Trout's brand of detuned, shambling and spacious music, a tradition the guitar-bass-drums trio continues on Petrol Bush. This one feels like the most approachable of their three albums to date, with tracks like "Dan's Bar," "Aquatic Waltz" and "No Wrong" featuring sparkling guitars and gentle tempos that could slot in next to Devotion-era Beach House on a playlist. True to form, there's some grit and sinew buried in the mix, a couple curveballs lest you get too comfortable in the late day sunshine conjured by certain tracks. I'll let you decipher the lyrics to "Dreams," and "Find a Man" and "Shoveller" simmer with a nearly AmRep level of angst. "Find a Man" is particularly jarring, coming after the daydreaming "Aquatic Waltz,” where the lyrics ("Find a man, find a man/who can be my lover") become drawn out and more menacing as the song goes on. The lyrical efficiency on "Find a Man" is a new refinement for the band across Petrol Bush, and one need look no further than the first track here for proof. The lyrics are made up of little more than "Laughing with the gods/I don't know/if things are really good," slipping a splinter under the fingernail during some Dionysian afternoon. It's the space Mount Trout has always lived in, looking for comfort or peace (possibly found on "No Wrong") but embracing the pain, injustice and shame pervasive in the world. Petrol Bush, like Shelter Belt, puts me in a contemplative, somewhat melancholy headspace, but everything here feels warm, gently baked in the sun; it sits somewhere between Low and Palace Brothers, but with enough needling from the lyrics to sidestep any self-pity. The LP was released late last year, and didn't land here until late January, otherwise it might've taken the top spot in my year-end list for 2023. Highly, highly recommended; put it on and simmer in it while the great thaw beckons.
ssabæ, Le Roi Est L'oiseau (Few Crackles)
Blink-and-it's-gone release from mid-November 2023, courtesy of France's intriguing and selective Few Crackles label. ssabæ released Azurescens one year before and was favorably reviewed by some shops and writers I respect, and while I managed to grab a copy from Technique Street (fave shop/distro, big ups), at the time it felt a bit too refined and stately for my taste. Still, there was something present in the music that made it past the sparkling reviews and limited edition pressing, and stuck in my craw long enough to make checking out this new album a priority. Glad I did, because Le Roi Est L'oiseau is even better. The loose collective running about 12 members deep, according to all of the names on the sleeve, takes elements of jazz, folk, field recordings and chamber music to make this hushed, spare music that only works with the rapt attention of the listener. On one hand, this is a collection of influences and sounds that pops up a lot these days, either from contemporary outfits or reissues, and it's not really a priority for me to make space for all of it; on the other hand, a track like Le Roi Est L'oiseau's "Le Premier Soir du Monde" comes on, sits you down and makes apparent the potential of this amalgamation of sounds in the right hands. There is an almost alchemical, mystical element to ssabæ, the austere presentation giving the impression that these sounds are sacred and deeply spiritual. The sounds here live in darkness, stillness, away from any light pollution; where notable contemporaries use repetition to transcend this sphere, ssabæ conjure shadows and voices in isolation. The stunning title track could fit on the Twin Peaks soundtrack were it devoid of kitsch, and there've been more than a few late nights where the voices at the end of the track get under my skin. Quintessential late-night soundtrack, near-perfect in presentation and execution, and hopefully an album the label sees fit to make available again.
Stress Positions, Harsh Reality (Three One G)
I caught Stress Positions at a last-minute show booked here in Knoxville last December, knowing only that (a) Iron Lung reissued their demo on vinyl, and (b) the Chicago band was mostly made up of former members of C.H.E.W., who also had an LP and 7" on Iron Lung. The band went on to tear apart my flagrant indifference and put on one of the best sets I saw all year, drawing mostly from their just-released LP on Three One G, a label that I had no idea was still active. It's getting harder for me to differentiate hardcore punk, let alone get excited about analyzing why some bands are more convincingly pissed off than others. Stress Positions make it easy with acrobatic drumming courtesy of Jon Giralt (check "White Leech"), meaty riffs smeared with righteous anger, and the performance of Stephanie Brooks, a vocalist that can easily shift from rapid-fire to menacing. It doesn't hurt that the songs tackle politically-induced pervasive poverty, white privilege and police brutality with pointed lyrics and the appropriate high level of rage and indignation. The band does the fast stuff as effectively as they can do mosh-worthy: "No Sympathy (For the Police)" is the most fun you'll have stage-diving to hating cops, and "Performative Justice" fits an impressive number of movements in its grinding 25 seconds. It's after "Performative Justice" that things begin to depart from the norms of hardcore; "Sunken Place" has the same feel as the rest of the record, but the lyrics are more opaque ("Hell is a sunken place/in awe of its power/a subtle spasm flirts with desire"), and the crawling closer "Ode to Aphrodite" lumbers with a violent Life Time-era Rollins Band level of menace before the raging close. It's a jaw-dropping ending, both musically and lyrically anomalous for hardcore, the lyrics tackling the repression of sexual desire tangled within a hollow morality. Powerful record; here's hoping they stick together to tease out the ideas in the last two tracks into another recording.
