#silver current

[doomandgloomfromthetomb]

All One Song - "Music Arcade" w/ Ethan Miller

More All One Song! I’ve been spending the summer doing one of my favorite things: talking about Neil Young! Helping me out are some of my favorite writers and musicians … so far, we’ve had Steve Gunn, Chris Forsyth, Jeff Parker, Meg Baird, Charlie Saufley, Steve Shelley, Ilyas Ahmed, Rosali and Jesse Jarnow … and we’re not done yet!

This week, our All One Song guest is Ethan Miller. Ethan has been a longtime fixture in the underground, first coming to my attention back in the early aughts as the co-founder of the psych noise pioneers Comets on Fire. But Ethan is nothing if not prolific — he’s played with an array of awesome bands over the years, from Howlin Rain to Feral Ohms to Odyssey Cult. Ethan was also one-fourth of Heron Oblivion with our previous guests Meg Baird and Charlie Saufley … and he’s one-third of the Orcutt Shelley Miller trio, with another previous guest Steve Shelley. It’s all a rich tapestry, right? At least when it comes to Neil Young.

The upcoming — and totally amazing — Orcutt Shelley Miller record is being released on Ethan’s own label Silver Current, which is one the most reliable purveyors of sweet sounds both new and old. In recent years, Silver Current has brought us excellent, bootleg-styled archival hauls from Sonic Youth, Galaxie 500 and Earthless, alongside fresh tunes from Magic Fig, Julie Beth Napolin, Growing and many more. Suffice it to say, the Silver Current insignia is a true trademark of quality.

For his All One Song appearance, Ethan selected a mid-90s deep cut — “Music Arcade.” This ghostly solo acoustic number showed up on the otherwise Crazy Horse-fueled Broken Arrow in 1996. It’s an enigmatic meditation on loneliness that doesn’t offer the listener any easy answers, like a comet in the sky. I loved having this conversation with Ethan and he really articulated some things that I’ve thought about Neil for a while but have never quite put into words. I hope you enjoy it too! Tune in wherever you get those podcasts.

Bonus Track: Neil played "Music Arcade" most nights as he was touring behind Broken Arrow throughout 1996 and '97 (and he hasn't played it since!). But it stayed more or less the same, arrangement-wise, an acoustic breather in between Crazy Horse onslaughts. So, here's a cool cover of the song from none other than Scott McCaughey (Young Fresh Fellows, Minus 5, R.E.M.), wherein Scott magically transforms "Music Arcade" into a Lennon-esque ballad — a terrific reinterpretation!

[dustedmagazine]

Bill Orcutt, Steve Shelley, and Ethan Miller — Orcutt Shelley Miller (Silver Current)

In a recent interview Ethan Miller offers a hilarious origin story. He imagined himself, Bill Orcutt, and Steve Shelley stepping into a teleportation pod together where they awkwardly fused together. That fused entity, he jokes, stumbles out and simply introduces himself with, “Hi, I’m Orcutt Shelley Miller.” It’s a hilarious thought, but it captures exactly what the trio’s recent album sounds like. Not three separate players taking turns, but a singular and unified masterclass in intuition, instinct, and improvisation.

On their much-anticipated album, the trio promised much and delivered even more. Remarkably, the story goes, the three had never played together before stepping into Eric Bauer and John Dwyer’s Los Angeles studio, where they recorded for just two days. Instead of returning to the studio for a third day, they performed live at Zebulon on April 14, turning this live performance into the album’s final recording.

Opening with “A Star Is Born”(probably no connection to Lady Gaga, Katharine McPhee, or Judy Garland)the group sends a powerful message concretizing themselves as leading figures in American avant-rock, as if there were any doubt. Here, Orcutt’s cosmic guitar runs alongside Shelley’s propulsive drumming all with Miller’s thick bass anchoring. “An L.A. Funeral” deepens the mood, an atmospheric meditation that nods to European free-jazz but remains rooted in American grit. The centerpiece, “Four-door Charger,” stretches to nearly nine minutes, a krautrock-infused burner that will almost certainly send you somewhere. It’s immersive and trance-like. “Unsafe At Any Speed” and “A Long Island Wedding” round out the set, oscillating between soaring escapism and optimistic groove.

At just five tracks, Orcutt Shelley Miller is lean but still intense. It’s a record that burns hot and fast and benefits from multiple listens.

Evan Mitchell Schares

[dustedmagazine]

Sonic Youth — Live in Brooklyn 2011 (Silver Current)

Photo by Eric Baecht

Few people would have known it at the time, but in August 2011 at Brooklyn's Williamsburg Waterfront, Sonic Youth played its final significant show. After 30 years together, the band would split up that November. The concert has been available for a while, but this release of Live in Brooklyn 2011 gives it a proper mastering job, and the sound quality is exceptional. The setlist was an odd one, seemingly prompted by Steve Shelley's whim. Rather than pull from recent albums (though The Eternal was two years old at that point), the band dove deep into its catalog, going not only far into the past but looking for surprising picks. The show has the feel of an alternate-universe career overview, tying recent releases into the group's earliest days while being almost constantly surprising and (not surprising) consistently intense.

The show starts off with a pair of tracks from 1985's Bad Moon Rising, “Brave Men Run (In My Family)” and “Death Valley '69.” Nothing feels retro or nostalgic about the cuts. While Sonic Youth continued to innovate throughout their career, the early material stayed fresh and of a piece with later work. The opener sets the tone for the show and stands out as a highlight, the mix of a heavy riff, the shift toward noise rock, and Kim Gordon's vocals make it a strange sort of classic. The band transitions smoothly into “Death Valley '69,” almost as if the two songs were parts of a suite (they were released together on a single a couple decades ago). That “Brave Men” hadn't been performed live since the mid-'80s makes it all the more impressive as an opening number.

From there, the group never lets up. Sonic Youth doesn't necessarily sound tight, but they do sound inspired, whether inspired by the novelty of the song selection or the finality of the show or, most likely, they just reach the heights they often attained as a live act. The joy of the album doesn't like simply in the rarities. The band played “Drunken Butterfly” a couple hundred times over their career, but it hits just as hard here as always.

After that, the band does a couple encores, breaking out “Flower” (another of the five Bad Moon Rising songs) and “Sugar Kane” for the first one. The second encore has the weirdest song choice of the night, Thurston Moore's solo piece “Psychic Hearts.” It's an odd shift to a song that's not particularly overwhelming nor connected to anything else the band's doing (though it fits in fine). They finish the show with “Inhuman,” going all the way back to debut album Confusion Is Sex. The song disintegrates into noisy static as the band takes its final leave from the city it's been so long associated with. The wails and feedback suit the moment, as if nobody wants to leave. Moore says, “With the power of love, anything is possible,” and with that Sonic Youth is effectively gone.

The group did play more, ending their career with a festival in Brazil that fall. Fans have, accurately or not, considered this Brooklyn set to be the group's finale, and it's certainly a powerful one to go out on. Fans will consider the show essential for its historical significance and the quality of the setlist, but the album's energy pushes it beyond a completist live album, making Live in Brooklyn 2011 a wonderful cap to one of experimental rock's greatest discographies.

Justin Cober-Lake

[dustedmagazine]

Magic Fig — S-T (Silver Current)

Magic Fig is gooey sweet but epic, marshalling tidal waves of Moog-buzzing pop with Moon-like drum fills spilling out at the sides. Songs lead through fanciful, multicolored, fairytale landscapes, the tootle of circus pipes running over muscular constructions of bass and drums.

The band is made of Bay Area regulars, not exactly a super group, but an ensemble with a track record. Inna Showalter of Blades of Joy and Whitney’s Playland sings, an enticing entrée into complicated, often near-prog song architectures. Michael Ferrara is the bass player; you might know him from The Umbrellas. And Muzzy Moskowitz, the guitar player, has played in Almond Joy and Froogie’s Groovies. I’m not finding much of a trail Jon Chaney and Taylor Giffin, but both are key, Chaney on the multi-hued keyboards turn these songs into carnival rides, Giffin on the fractious, exuberant drums that explode in the margins.

The disc opens with “Goodbye Suzy,” a careening flying carpet of a song, its four-four beat limned in various varieties of keyboard, all other instruments executing elaborate, psychedelic arabesques around it. Magic Fig is often compared to Canterbury scene bands like Soft Machine and Caravan, and indeed, there’s something like in the way they splice pop accessibility to sprawling ambition. You could also make a connection to latter day bands like The Essex Green and the New Pornographers. The music is as easy as guitar pop can be, but more intricate.

Consider, for instance, the way that “Labyrinth”’s thudding, Tangerine Dream pulse morphs into a carnival organ melody, Krautish discipline melting into psychedelic daydreams. Or the way that languid “Obliteration” shimmers and shifts with layered keyboards, a string-like Moog-tone and vocal counterparts. It’s as soothing as a sunny day at the beach, but with darker currents underneath.

“Do you think you’ll capture a cloud?” Showalter asks amid the throes of “Goodbye Suzy,” as drums crash and guitars flare and keyboards kick up a joyful noise, and sure, they pretty much did in the pretty, fuzzy, rampage of the melody. But it’s a complicated cloud, as clouds go, full of changes, exploding with drums, not quite contained by pop conventions.

Jennifer Kelly

[dustedmagazine]

Fuckwolf — Goodbye Asshole (Silver Current)

Goodbye, Asshole by Fuckwolf

Goodbye Asshole is a monster of megaton heaviness that somehow remains surprisingly light on its feet. The sheer density and obliterating weight of its riffage will put you in mind of all-timers like Blue Cheer and the Stooges. The boogie-ing restlessness of its blues-into-kraut-rock reiterating rampages may remind you, instead of Wooden Shjips, Oneida and the Psychic Paramount. A gothy psychedelic echo wraps around these hedonistic romps, shrouding them in phosphorescent glow. Fuckwolf bludgeons, haunts, pogos and gets lost in a transcendental roar.

Fuckwolf has been lurking around the periphery of the Bay Area garage scene for a couple of decades, playing warehouses and dive bars, its members turning up in bands like the Osees and Sic Alps, but steadfastly refusing to lay it all down on tape. These guys — Eric Park on bass, guitar and vocals, Simon Phillips on drums and Tomo Yasuda on guitar and keyboards — have been at it forever, but this is only their second album. They’ve had a long time to study heaviness and learn exactly how to make it dance.

And so, with Goodbye Asshole, Fuckwolf explodes right out of the gate, no throat-clearing, no warm-ups, no prefatory intervals. “Flaming Hot Cheetos” lights off a firecracker drum cadence then waits for the sirens though not for long. A ululating two-note guitar riff careening forward to assess the damage. You think it’s going to be abstract and rhythmic, but suddenly, you’re in a shout-along punk chorus, a guitar caterwauling in the foreground to keep everyone’s attention. It’s loud and messy but extraordinarily focused, the dirtiest kind of rock and roll distilled to raging essence.

Put “Flaming Hot Cheetos” at the Stooge-y, brickbat extreme. “White Claw” stands at the kraut-y, noddy, disco-prophet end of the spectrum, with its coruscating pulse, its agile bumps and percolations, its falsetto-soul vocals. It reminds me of Moon Duo’s last album, except it leaves a space for Park to whoop and yelp like a moon-dazzled coyote.

Later, feel the jet-plane lift-off of “My Life” stir your clothing like a hot wind, let the viscous bass-line of “Beef Broth” rearrange your innards. Fuckwolf makes sounds that act on your body as much as on your ears. My only qualm is that the album’s second half slouches a little into blues rock. “Nu Shooz” is too much of a boogie for my taste, while “Bats” rides the fuzz bass and wah-licks into cavernous, but conventional rock spaces.

For about six tracks, though, Fuckwolf brings the blinding scree, the monstrous thump, the head-butting groove and makes it sound new again. Turn it up. It sounds best  loud.  

Jennifer Kelly 

[dustedmagazine]

Growing — Diptych (Silver Current Records)

Diptych by GROWING

Joe DeNardo and Kevin Doria have been spinning out epics of their self-described “big amp ambient” since the early oughts. Diptych, released via Silver Current Records, is their first full length since 2017, and follows a few deep, delicious tracks which quietly appeared on their Bandcamp page during last year's pandemic daze. 

The album is split into two tracks of roughly equal length: the 22-minute opener, “Variable Speeds” and 20-minute flip, “Down + Distance.” The group’s tools of choice are guitars and electronics, although in most instances those signifiers end up bearing little meaning. The clouds of hiss and hum, the accompanying crackles and shivers, are instrument-less in their sound, transcending strings, pedals and dials.

“Variable Speeds” begins placidly, with layers of sustained notes piled like pastry and joined, in time, by percolating hints of melody and cosmos-warping bass plunges. As it builds, the track is overtaken by a dense, vibrating drone which heaves forward at maximum volume, receding in the final minutes in a way which makes the underlying shimmer glow like dampened grass following a thunderstorm. As the track ends, the layers fall fully away, revealing a final, solo buzz of amp-hum. 

“Down + Distance” begins similarly, following a puddling progression of rich notes which — although likely created with guitars — ring like someone taped the keys down on the world’s largest pipe organ. Eventually, a series of rawer waves pass like super-slow-mo windmill guitar strums. About six minutes in, all falls away rather abruptly, leaving a single elongated tone which soon twists and grows into a billowing bottom-end rumble. This ripe, deep space voyaging encompasses the second half of the piece, before it wraps amidst a sputtering atmospheric reentry. 

One of the group’s greatest skills has always been their ability to make these high-volume power electronics sound so organic and pretty. Whereas, say, a band like Sunn O))) has mastered sound as physical object, and well understands the transportive power of drone, Growing, by comparison, make music that more directly engages with beauty — even when an accidental slip of the volume knob proves that pillows of sound can threaten one’s speakers just as acutely as knives. 

On Diptych, Growing offer their purest yet distillation of this approach. This is deep headphone music for journeys from which one may not be meant to fully return. 

Ethan Covey

[complexdistractions]

Earthless : From The West

Earthless : From The West

As far as modern power trios go, there really is none more powerful than Earthless. With their epic improvisational pieces, album side-length tracks, and their seemingly endless jamming skills, this California trio put the “power” in power trio. Earthless consists of Isaiah Mitchell(guitar, vocals), Mike Eginton(bass), and Mario Rubalcaba(drums), and they’ve been blurring the line between psych…

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[dustedmagazine]

Howlin’ Rain — The Alligator Bride (Silver Current Records)

The Alligator Bride by Howlin Rain

Upon the release of 2015’s Mansion Songs, Howlin’ Rain sounded weary.  

Ethan Miller was 15 years deep into a career riding the fringes of American rock ’n’ roll. His band had been sloughed from the wounded back of the corporate music business. The Bay Area, his longtime home, had warped from the center of countercultural America to a VC playhouse of unimaginable wealth. Miller was back home, band-less, a lifer with all the badges and bruises that entailed.  

Decamping to Eric Bauer’s Mansion studio, Miller assembled his read on the times into what was the best album of his career—a ragged, poetic rustle of songs ripe with exhaustion, insight and—most importantly—hope. Describing Mansion Songs, Miller noted his intention for the album to be the first of a trio of records “track[ing] the journey from nothingness back to creation in musical form.”  

Somewhere during the process, Miller seems to have found the balm he needed. The last few years have seen a flurry of creativity: albums and tours with Heron Oblivion and Feral Ohms, a poetry chapbook, two LPs of guitar improv as The Odyssey Cult and even hints of a resurrection of the mighty Comets on Fire. And, now, The Alligator Bride, Howlin’ Rain’s first album released on Miller’s own Silver Current Records.  

While The Alligator Bride may only be album two of the proposed trio, Miller’s ascension sounds pleasingly full. Part of this is due to the strength of the current band — guitarist Daniel Cervantes, bassist Jeff McElroy and drummer Justin Smith. Howlin’ Rain has always featured crack players, but — as first evidenced during the Mansion Songs tour — this lineup is colossal. On stage, the quartet froth and foam like acid test evangelists while exhibiting a shiver-inducing level of groupmind interplay.  

And with The Alligator Bride, more than previous Howlin’ Rain albums, the breadth of the band’s scope shines in streaming color.  

Miller has christened the record — which was recorded live in a handful of takes, again at Mansion — “Neal Cassady rock… high energy, good-times adventure music, driving the hippie bus, shirtless and stoned.” Opener “Rainbow Trout” delivers from the first fire of the ignition, with a choogling swamp-blooze riff and bone chomping bass. Following the second verse, Miller and Cervantes jump into a dual solo, chasing each other’s tails with squalls of singing static. “Missouri” follows suit, alternating loping verses driven forth upon McElroy’s bass lines with choruses where the guitarists try to out-freak each other with leads that splatter like Pollack’s paints.  

The comedowns here — “Speed,” “In the Evening” — don’t always resonate with quite the bummer low of those on Mansion Songs. Yet, they provide necessary pacing for the album, splashes of cool darkening the edges of the lava flow.  

Flipping that coin, “The Wild Boys” and “Coming Down” elongate the band’s approach into a pair of 8+ minute epics. The former is Miller’s homage to William Burroughs’ novel, transplanting the work of the cantankerous chronicler of New America into contemporary California. Musically, the track begins with an evening-hued instrumental that reads like late period Sonic Youth before combusting into a racket of full-toddle thrust.  

“Coming Down” ends the record with a push onward — a call to keep the bus gassed and easing onto the road of an America where “on a distant diamond seashore / Your brains are rolling in the sand / Your fevered soul is kicking at the fire door / Knowing nothing ever goes as planned.”  

Which brings us to the title track… the moment more than any other where the scope of Miller’s art converges with a cathartic call that is the secret ingredient of his best work as both writer and performer. “Alligator Bride” summons the collective buzz of the album’s high points, hinging upon a screaming slide guitar riff and lyrics that celebrate life and love amidst the whorl of our days. “What a worldly heaven to live, what a joy to lay by thee / Everybody is pulling at the plug, free, free, free,” Miller sings as the band chugs on. The sentiment takes on additional resonance due to the fact that the band tracked the song on the night of November 8, 2016.

Here, again, is Miller’s redemption, or at least the catharsis that comes from knowing what we’re up against and believing in the hope of forward motion, in friends and love and art and the road and a hot band of weary heads firing shards of ecstatic notes against the stain of the day. 

Ethan Covey