We’re back for another round of LP swapping, covering artists from Steve Gunn through Venom Prison. Although we don’t agree on much around here, a plurality of Dusted writers really liked the Mdou Moctar album; it’s not as dominant as Heron Oblivion was a couple of years ago, but it definitely drew praise from a lot of different people. If you missed Part 1, check it out here.
Steve Gunn — The Unseen in Between (Matador)
The Unseen In Between by Steve Gunn
Who recommended it? Jennifer Kelly
Did we review it? Yes. Jennifer said, “It’s hard to say whether Gunn is paring back or building out. He’s getting better at constructing songs that are as easy and as complicated as life itself.”
Ian Mathers’ take:
There’s something unfussy and unassuming about Gunn’s songwriting, in a good way. He’s clearly a good guitarist (although, again, far less flashy than he probably could be, and its an aesthetic choice that works for him) but he might be an even better observer. Many of the best songs on The Unseen in Between stem from topics that often aren’t covered in songs like this, whether they’re art installations (“Lightning Field”) or bodega cats (the gorgeous “Luciano”). It’s not that Gunn’s adverse to taking on weightier things, as on “Stonehurst Cowboy,” about his father’s passing. He’s also not afraid to rip it up, but when he does as in “New Familiar,” he doesn’t lose one bit of his eye for detail and emotional nuance. On the quieter, more mysterious moments like the mostly acoustic “Morning Is Mended,” Gunn more than proves that he doesn’t need any fireworks to put on a satisfying display.
Hand Habits — placeholder (Saddle Creek)
placeholder by Hand Habits
Who recommended it: Patrick Masterson
Did we review it? Not this one, but Jennifer Kelly wrote about Wildly Idle in 2017.
Andrew Forell’s take:
Singer/songwriter Meg Duffy weaves delicate and delicately wrought songs about the voids — of dialogue, of trust, of intimacy, of love — within relationships. placeholder frames these tales in the often-gorgeous melodies of Americana. Acoustic and lap steel guitars, intricate picking, gentle harmonizing, Duffy’s vocals high in the mix. At times it hoves close to the most wounded moments of The Cowboy Junkies. There is a palpable sense of bewilderment at the slippery nature of love and the frustrations of (mis)communication. These are small roses — beautiful, prickly — at once enticing and disconcerting, disillusioned by confinement to a vase on the shelf, whispering for attention. Listen and respond, dialogue takes two.
Dustin Laurenzi — Snaketime: The Music of Moondog (Astral Spirits/Feeding Tube)
Snaketime: The Music of Moondog by Dustin Laurenzi
Who recommended it? Bill Meyer
Did we review it? No
Patrick Masterson’s take:
Chicago-based tenor saxophonist Laurenzi assembled quite the supporting cast of locals one night in January of 2018 at Hungry Brain to take on the music of Louis Hardin, Jr. for this compelling full-length. Some context for those of you just joining us: The Viking of 6th Avenue was a true mid-century icon of Weird New York before his eventual departure and subsequent death in Germany, and if you’re wondering how to tie Julie Andrews, Arturo Toscanini and T. Rex together, Moondog’s one way to do it. Laurenzi’s fascination with the man’s work eventually led to this recording, which interprets Moondog’s many facets for a jazz setting to great effect. Including some players you’ll recognize on the strength of their own records if you follow the Windy City scene at all, the natural energy of the ensemble shines on the not wholly unfaithful highlights of “Lament 1 (Bird’s Lament)” and “Fiesta Piano Solo,” though I’m partial to the soft chant of “All Is Loneliness” and escalating madness of “Lullaby” that closes out proceedings. Laurenzi says in the record’s notes that he thinks this feels like a very Chicago record; I’d agree, though that got me wondering what a footwork full-length sourcing Moondog would sound like. Some other snaketime, perhaps.
Martha — Love Keeps Kicking (Dirtnap / Big Scary Monsters)
Love Keeps Kicking by Martha
Who recommended it? Isaac Olson
Did we review it? Yes. Jennifer Kelly said, “Martha’s music may be good for you or good for the planet or good for society, but at its heart, it is just damned good.”
Bill Meyer’s take:
It doesn’t matter how good you are if the listener’s just not receptive to what you do. While Jennifer Kelly is well tuned into what this young English combo does, I’ve been trying to avoid this stuff for longer than the people in Martha have been alive. Tight, earnest, and sung at a pitch that dogs will notice, this music provokes visceral dislike followed by the thought that yes, rock and roll without chaos and heft is just not worth playing. I’m glad they want to make the world a better place, I just don’t want to hear them singing about it.
Mdou Moctar — Ilana (The Creator) (Sahel Sounds)
Ilana: The Creator by Mdou Moctar
Who recommended it? Isaac Olson
Did we review it? Yes. Isaac Olson wrote, “Ilana, in its hunger to be heard, political urgency, sonic temerity, seriousness of intent and commitment to pleasure, back to basics simplicity and willingness to experiment, is a piece of pure, subversive pop in the tradition of Catch a Fire or The Clash.”
Peter Taber’s take:
Mdou Moctar clearly loves some psych and classic rock, but by the time the music travels to Niger and finds its way back to these North American ears, much of its baggage has mercifully been lost. The centrality of the snare, which insistently gallops or shuffles throughout, unambiguously differentiates it from blues-derived idioms that obviously serve as one artistic resource for the band. Moctar can of course wrangle a pentatonic scale with the best of them, and manages to sound epic (maybe thanks to a great, layered recording) and highly precise, with turns and slides dancing ornate figures around the rhythm section at every break between stanzas. For me, Ilana becomes precipitously less interesting the closer it gets to ringer-tee-sporting 1970s rock fetishism (e.g. Tarhatazed), but the brilliant sequencing means that vibe never sticks around for too long. I literally don’t remember the last time I really enjoyed an unabashed Big Guitar Album, but there’s something infectious about a vision so richly realized.
Over the Rhine — Love & Revelation (Great Speckled Dog)
Who recommended it? Justin Cober-Lake
Did we review it? No
Patrick Masterson’s take:
Sitting on my floor is Carolina Ebeid’s You Ask Me to Talk About the Interior, a collection of poems I was making my way through, albeit slowly, just as I was also delving into Over the Rhine’s 15th studio album in three decades of ever-maturing Americana, Love & Revelation. The way Ebeid utilizes nature imagery to convey the difficult fog of human emotion amid loss or sadness had me drawing unconscious parallels to the lyrics found across this record, which grapples smartly with matters of the heart and shifting relationships at a later-life crossroads. Karin Bergquist and Linford Detweiler, the married couple at the core of the Ohio group, very clearly know what they’re about here and come ably assisted by the restrained touches of the Band of Sweethearts, a trio that have lent some stability to the operation after years of drifters. And while I could tell you that there are plenty of beautiful moments where Bergquist’s slightly burnt vocals meld ideally with Detweiler’s or slide guitar or rich piano lines or brush-stick drum work, the one I keep coming back to is “Given Road.” In the second verse, she sings, “Like the holes bored into the old ash tree / I’m not really sure what’s eating me.” But virtually the entire rest of the song makes plain what gnaws away on a drive with no clear end, and if you’ve been there or something near to it, you’ll know this contradiction well. Sometimes the best way to talk about the interior is by letting yourself drive right into it.
Pile — Green and Gray (Exploding in Sound Records)
Green and Gray by Pile
Who recommended it: Patrick Masterson
Did we review it? No
Isaac Olson’s take:
The world needs more songs like “The Soft Hands of Stephen Miller.” Sure, they won’t stop the ongoing atrocities at America’s southern border (donate to Raices! or No More Deaths!), but goddamn is it spiritually edifying to have that “translucent lizard” with an “inferiority complex,” attacked with such bile. The short, single riff stomp of “The Soft Hands of Stephen Miller,” despite its glottal, mucus-flecked rage, is among the more accessible songs on Pile’s Green and Gray. More indicative of Pile’s house style are “A Labyrinth With No Center” and “Lord of Calendars,” which stitch the lumbering, dissonant riffs of Jesus Lizard to the vulnerability of early 2000’s emo in a jumble of softly plucked guitars, post-rock swells, Moore/Renaldo clanging, and MacKaye/Picciotto riffing. Making music that reflects the disjointed, febrile experience of anxiety is a worthy aesthetic project, but, as someone who is mostly immune to the lugubrious charm of post-Slint indie/hardcore and therefore less willing to do the work of piecing these tunes together, my favorites, besides “The Soft Hands of Stephen Miller,” are the almost hummable, almost redemptive “Bruxist Grin” and spiralling “A Bug on Its Back,” where (relatively) straightforward structures and (relatively) melodic lines subsume and process the panic attacks that inspired them.
Sunwatchers — Illegal Moves (Trouble in Mind)
Illegal Moves by Sunwatchers
Who recommended it: Ian Mathers
Did we review it? Yes, Ethan Covey said, "Sunwatchers have come scratching back from their outer-borough lair packing a fresh blast of psychedelicized punk/jazz splatter.”
Justin Cober-Lake's take:
Sunwatchers don't like to slow down. Illegal Moves, with very few exceptions, doesn't let up at any time as the quartet makes as much ruckus as possible. Even closer “Strollin' Coma Blues” builds to alarming wake-up rather than remaining sedentary (possibly the ideal of a “strollin' coma”). The blend of psych and jazz would be enough to start the day without percolation, but the group's ability to hold a melody within the surging sounds suffices to steady the sonics, at least long enough for the spaceships to find a spot to land. Jim McHugh's tones — particularly his use of the phin and saz — give the group a distinct overall feel. They may ostensibly looking back to understand music as resistance, but Sunwatchers are more clearly pushing toward a strange but vibrant future.
Rian Treanor — ATAXIA (Planet Mu)
Who recommended it: Peter Taber
Did we review it? No
Justin Cober-Lake's take:
On his debut full-length ATAXIA, producer Rian Treanor makes music that's meant to be heady but not simply for headphones. He's explained that these tracks should “make people’s bodies move in unpredictable ways.” He tends to lean more toward the brainy side, his syncopated structures turning more into self-reflection than calls to the dancefloor. The sequencing of the disc serves it well, as it, loosely, opens up as it goes on. The album opens heavy into computer territory, a digitized voice making brief statements about bodily functions, among other things, but it closes almost into house territory. Along the way Treanor pulls from a variety of genres, leaning into his glitch a little. He achieves his goal. It's hard to see much of this album leading to rave ups, but it pulses enough that listeners won't quite sit still. You'll likely find ways to move to it, but possibly not in ways you'd like to demonstrate in public.
Vanum — Ageless Fire (Profound Lore)
Ageless Fire by VANUM
Who recommended it: Jonathan Shaw
Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan called it, “a thrilling, draining performance of explosive, heroically-scaled black metal.”
Andrew Forell’s take:
First up a confession: this is the first black metal album I’ve ever listened to all the way through and then listened to again. It’s about as far out of my musical comfort zone as it gets. Yet Ageless Fire is kind of mesmerizing for Vanum’s complete dedication to their vision. The relentless wall of guitars and onslaught of drums create a storm into which Kyle Morgan and Mike Rekevics roar like the angriest Joseph Campbell acolytes on the planet. Vanum pummel you mercilessly into submission, the effect is literally physical which is probably the point and a great part of the appeal. What light and shade there is results from the subtle dynamics Vanum construct within their songs. Ageless Fire is a little like an overwrought drunk with a very important but obsessive point to make and little time for disagreement.
Venom Prison — Samsara (Prosthetic Records)
Samsara by Venom Prison
Who recommended it? Jonathan Shaw
Did we review it? Yes, Jonathan said, “With Samsara, Welsh band Venom Prison has accomplished two things that are hard to hold in your head simultaneously: the band has recorded a deathgrind LP that legitimizes the use of critically loaded terms like “brutal” and “pummeling”; and they have made a record charged by an uncompromisingly feminist politics.”
Jennifer Kelly’s take:
It’s a good time to be in a rage about reproductive rights, and though Venom Prison is Welsh and somewhat removed from the battle over forced birth bills enacted all over the Republican south, they are definitely channeling the zeitgeist. Opener “Matriphagy” takes its name from a term for the tendencies of certain species to eat their mothers (up your game alt-right, nature is even crueler than you), and howls with demonic intensity, the enflamed cookie monster voice, in this case coming from a woman, one Larissa Stupar. “Uterine Industrialisation” jacks its blasted-earth views on procreation up on giant shimmering riffs, the drums brought up to the front in continual battering assault. The drums dominate, too, in “Dukkha,” a cut that buries a violent 911 call under a pile of precisely articulated aggression. “Naraka,” at the end, is the pause that lets you breathe again, with nearly lyrical intervals framed by obliterating guitar play. Jesus Christ, I thought I was mad about people having to have rapists’ children. Venom Prison’s anger is bottomless and cathartic.
Treanor instrumentally scans each bodily organ, plunges into each orifice, scuttles down blood vessels and follows each limb to its nerve endings; Tolmie approaches corporal exploration with exhilarating detachment, curiously wondering, whimsically pondering, finding routes to oneself that I’d previously not considered.
