Dusted Mid-Year, Part 2
Anthony Pasquarosa’s imaginary Western soundtrack got a lot of love, too.
We continue our mid-year switcheroo with the second half of our favorites (in alphabetical order by artist name) covering DREAMDECAY through Slowdive. If you missed part 1, check it out here.
DREAMDECAY — YÚ (Iron Lung)
YÚ LP (LUNGS-085) by DREAMDECAY
Who recommended it? Tobias Carroll
Did we review it? No
Ian Mathers’ take:
When this record first comes brawling and blaring out of the gate with the title track, it immediately brought to mind a couple of certified Dusted Approved Acts; namely, it sounds a bit like a hybrid of the rougher ends of Liars’ and Protomartyr’s discography. What ultimately makes YÚ such a strong (and distinctive) record on its own merits, though, is the band’s ability and willingness to work in different registers while still maintaining the same deadpan, noisy pulse, whether that’s the squalling “BASS JAM” or the eerie tones of “WITNESS/ALLOW.” The result is that the really relentless moments (like most of “JOY”) hit even harder, and in a tight 34-minute package the listener gets a precisely balanced and always compelling album that never loses its sense of either menace or triumph, as on the unexpectedly epic post-punk odyssey of “IAN.”
Kleistwahr — Music for Zeitgeist Fighters (Nashazphone)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Pv8pAKXXkA
Who recommended it: Joseph Burnett
Did we review it? Nope
Eric McDowell’s take:
While it’s tempting — and entirely possible — to read Gary Mundy’s latest Kleistwahr project, Music for Zeitgeist Fighters, in light of its title as a soundtrack for the times, there’s also something otherworldly about these two side-long soundscapes. With its beautifully blinding tones and blistering textures, “Music for Dead Dreams” captures just the potent blend of pain and pleasure, gloom and hope that Dante witnessed on his journey through Purgatorio. Somewhere deep under the redemptive electronic roar a human voice lies buried, as tortured as it is awed. Bursting with cosmic paradox, the music seems on the one hand to speed ahead with the sensation of surfaces stripped away by immersive friction; on the other, it gives the listener that panned-back feeling of unutterable smallness, of being dwarfed by the infinite.
“Music for Fucked Films” sends us back down to earth, if not quite to reality. Where side one’s propulsive energy comes in part from its unwavering trajectory, side two is a more uncertain (and more distressing) affair. While like its counterpart the piece begins by building slowly, with a dull mass of vocals cut with electric guitar, abrupt shifts and directionless fragments — pooling organ, tinkling piano, oscillating sirens — breed tension and doubt. But we’re talking about “Fucked Films,” not Hollywood. Nor is Hollywood what we need right now.
Tift Merritt — Stitch of the World (Yep Roc)
Who recommended it: Justin Cober-Lake
Did we review it? No
Ben Donnelly’s take:
Fifteen years in doesn't tend to be an auspicious time in songwriting careers. It often falls in the sour spot between the charms of breaking through and coming around again to provide veteran respect. With this batch of songs, Merritt, who emerged in the turn of the century No Depression country peak, does a lot more than plug away. For one thing, her singing voice on Stitch of the World has more of a warble than before, breathy yet more controlled, and it seems like she's expanded into register that's slightly higher than before. Her singing takes on a Dolly-like focus, clear and emotionally controlled. Something similar develops with her writer's voice as well. The ballads "Heartache Is an Uphill Climb" and “Something Came Over Me" feel like they've been around forever, with refrains that get to the heart of the matter and verses that leave enough imaginative space that one can sense them being covered in the future. The honky-tonk rockers are just as natural. "Proclamation Bones" shuffles along with whining slide guitar and chunky telecaster rhythms, capturing the rough melancholy of Exile-era Stones. And opener "Dusty Old Man" is the rare country song where the drumming is the lead. Stitch of the World captures a lifer presenting her best work yet, making the endurance look effortless.
Anthony Pasquarosa — Abbandonato Da Dio Nazione (VDSQ)
Who recommended it: Bill Meyer
Did we review it? Yes, Bill, who slipped it into the last Dust, called out “acoustic guitar figures that sound like they flew away from his 12 strings and up the walls of a canyon before they banked back and into your ears.”
Justin Cober-Lake’s take:
Guitarist Anthony Pasquarosa goes for a period piece with Abbandonato Da Dio Nazione. His godforsaken country lies partly in history and partly in myth, coming as much from Spaghetti Westerns as from the actual late19th century western lore (as if we can tell those apart anyway). Pasquarosa primarily focused on his solo guitar work here, so the disc is far more in line with his primitive work than his punk influences, but is primarily driven by world-shaping. If the early recognition of his experiment (aided by gunshots and hoofbeats) yields a smile, the growing structures and intricate picking lead to deeper reflection. The questing “What Makes a Man” moves out of showdown territory, but it's the lakeside picnic before the black hats come back with reinforcements. As a film genre exercise, the album holds up on its own; I'd watch this movie today. But it's exceptional in its musical qualities, both in structure and performance, and something far more than the novelty that its concept might suggest. Maybe most important, it's just plain fun.
Pharmakon — Contact (Sacred Bones)
Who recommended it: Olivia Bradley-Skill
Did we review it? Yes, Joseph Burnett called Ms. Chardiet “one of the most exciting noise artists currently pouring molten lead into the world’s blackened ears” in his review.
Mason Jones’ take:
At six songs and just 32 minutes, Contact is wisely kept at a manageable length, as Margaret Chardiet's latest missive is too intense for it to go any longer. The cover photo, showing hands grasping at a sweaty face and head as if they can't get enough, is the perfect representation of the album title and leads directly to "Nakedness of Need,” the first track. Slow, heavy tones and ominous thuds evolve into distorted, buzzing fields of anxiety as shrieks and ululations can't help but bring to mind early Diamanda Galas. Quieter, uneasy listening dwells in other songs, particularly the aptly-titled "Somatic,” a queasy interplay of tones that won't put you to sleep but may give you waking nightmares. Chanted vocals and pulsing electronics throughout the album make it feel like a blend of Master/Slave Relationship and SPK, among other early experimental forebears, but this is no retread of any sort. The fuzzy, pulsating sonics are like a modernized SPK, but it's Chardiet's tense vocals that are the core of Pharmakon's emotional power. That said, putting this album on requires a commitment, as that emotional output is aimed at the listener and you'll need to be ready to absorb it. While Pharmakon's previous album Bestial Burden had its share of powerful moments, Contact goes for the jugular more forcefully. At this rate listening to the next album will simply cause spontaneous combustion of the listener. Looking forward to it.
Stephen Riley & Peter Zak — Deuce (Steeplechase)
Who recommended it? Derek Taylor
Did we review it? Yes, Derek did, observing that “(T)heir partnership is every bit as deserving of close consideration alongside the classic tandem associations in jazz.”
Bill Meyer’s take:
Given that its title openly celebrates duality, it’s worth considering where this record fits on the spectrum bounded at one end by Matthew Shipp’s dictum that jazz is a verb and the other by the proclamation that jazz is dead. Saxophonist Stephen Riley and pianist Peter Zak aren’t pushing the boundaries that Shipp has, but there’s certainly nothing dead about their relaxed but entirely engaged explorations of material rooted in the aesthetics of the middle of the 20th century. Lightly blue-shaded but steeped more in love than melancholy, this music isn’t changing anyone’s life but it’s easy to enjoy.
Shadow Band — Wilderness of Love (Mexican Summer)
Wilderness Of Love by Shadow Band
Who recommended it? Ben Donnelly
Did we review it? No
Ian Mathers’ take:
From the gentle opening to “Green Riverside” on, it seems pretty clear what Shadow Band are up to, a type of folk-adjacent music that’s equal parts lysergic and medieval. Sure enough, much of Wilderness of Love succeeds on precisely those terms, with the likes of “Shadowland” and “Morning Star” presenting fine examples of the kind of work that’s akin to everyone from Espers to the Blue Rodeo/Sadies/Eric’s Trip side project The Unintended. Much of this record is successful in conjuring up a potent mood, which is maybe the most important concern. And between all the interesting instrumentation and stylistic choices scattered around the edges, that’s enough to make Wilderness of Love stand out, whether that’s giving a bit of Velvet Underground bite to the otherwise trad seeming “Mad John,” constructing “In the Shade” seemingly mostly out of room tone and drums that seem mic’d to capture mostly echo, or just doubling down on the sleek menace of the atypically long “Darksiders’ Blues.”
Slowdive — Slowdive (Dead Oceans)
Who recommended it? Ian Mathers
Did we review it? Ian's take went up earlier today, saying that "maybe more than ever before the band is concerned with manufacturing the purest, highest grade rush they can".
Tobias Carroll’s take:
There’s a part about two-thirds of the way into Slowdive’s “Catch the Breeze,” on their debut Just For a Day, where a booming guitar part enters the mix over the flow of washed-out melodies and the voices of Rachel Goswell and Neil Halstead. I heard it for the first time in the early 1990s, and Slowdive could have coasted on the accumulated goodwill that the utter bliss of that moment sparked in me, had they wanted to. Thankfully, they didn’t. Instead, the band’s kept up a remarkably solid record of making good music that’s explored interesting sonic dimensions. This eight-song album marks their first full-length since getting back together a couple of years ago. Not unlike fellow high-profile reunited bands like My Bloody Valentine and Sleater-Kinney, they’ve made an album that seems like a proper progression from their sound. It doesn’t hurt that you can also hear echoes of their work after they initially called it a day: “Falling Ashes” has plenty of echoes of Goswell and Halstead’s post-Slowdive work in Mojave 3, and there are traces of Halstead’s recent stint in Black Hearted Brother here as well. It’s a welcome return from this band, a subtle and compelling album that doesn’t settle for easy nostalgia.