Long removed from the dominance of post-rock in instrumental music, and pleased to bring you four (mostly) vocal-less albums from the year. These'll melt, massage and mangle in equal measure, and ya know, we need all three food groups.
Lea Bertucci, A Visible Length of Light (Cibachrome Editions)
Been following Lea Bertucci's work for a while, since the 7" on I Dischi Del Barone I guess, and everything I've heard so far appears on this LP in some form, but nothing previous approaches the way things are pared back to the nerve-tingling essentials. The music itself is stunning, moving gracefully from droning notes to squirming tape loops, or field recordings to modern classical. It's a miniature still life of contemporary life, ever-so-lightly lifting the existential dread of the everyday and instead offering a snapshot of empty streets and open, unburdened wilderness. The title track makes me equal parts thankful and depressed, the former because it is an aural scalp massage and the latter because I know that this version of America that is documented (inferred from the liner notes) cannot exist for much longer. I don't think the intention was to get all The Air Conditioned Nightmare on the listener, but the effect is there, though A Visible Length of Light gives some hope that this is a country for artists at least. The three and a half minutes of "The Beacon" whips wind past your head while the creaking, groaning architecture looms, no bodies in sight. "An Arc of the Horizon" has a hopeful, trilling saxophone emerging from the horizon, and "Grasslands" conjures the spirit of Arthur Doyle's "Market Street to Make My Money," letting the woodwind softly stand alone in a quiet moment. I could go on and on but this record's been a balm and a steady arm during this turbulent year, and I'm still trying to find the words to say why eight months later. Amazing stuff, and one of the year's finest. Buy yourself a copy and try to find a time of day where it doesn't fit.
Body/Dilloway/Head, s/t (Three Lobed)
There's an extensive writeup for this record by Matt Krefting that dives deeper than I can and will, but suffice it to say that Aaron Dilloway did a pretty good job slicing up Kim Gordon and Bill Nace's recordings. There are a lot of worthy blink-and-miss-it moments on the very subdued Body/Dilloway/Head, and on "Goin' Down," there's a truly stunning and surprising six minutes of shimmering guitar and celestial loops that oughta have Tom Carter and Bill Orcutt steamin'. I'm certainly enamored with Dilloway's work, especially recently, and he's particularly adept at picking out weird noises and looping them to accent, overwhelm or prod at the proceedings, and this record's no exception. The way things wheeze into winding, whirring action on the sidelong opener "Body/Erase" is a pretty stellar example, something you could imagine on a future Dilloway album, but on such a subtle, quiet track, volume is paramount. "Secret Cuts" follows a similar path, and I love the looping with Kim's vocals on top, starting around the 5:40 mark. But the clunky way the "big" guitar slices into the action (you'll know) leaves me a little cold; it should be a stunning entry but it's only a bit jarring the first time around. I felt/feel similarly satisfied and wanting about Dilloway's collaboration with Lucrecia Dalt, so maybe I'm just pining for the follow-up to The Gag File. Baby boy stomps and pouts.
Jean-Luc Guionnet & Will Guthrie, Electric Rag (Ali Buh Baeh/Editions Memoire)
Did you hear Both Will Escape five years ago and get sucked into a vortex of collaborative improvisational records and get spit out feeling let down and underwhelmed? The moment I immersed myself in that world felt like a revelation, but I quickly became overwhelmed and everything started to sound the same. Improvisation can be life-affirming live, but on a recording it often feels like a reinforcement of you weren't there, bro. Luckily Jean-Luc Guionnet and Will Guthrie have the antidote, and that's to play as hot as possible for nearly 40 minutes. This is a pretty ugly, scraping version of free improv, and with no easy entry point the duo just dive right in on "Bounce" with a shit-eating grin. Kinda sounds like Lightning Bolt if they hated riffs, like on "Diggers," but the lack of recognizable sounds from Guionnet makes this hard to pin down and especially easy to take in on multiple listens. Guthrie plays the drums like a maniac throughout; if you need proof skip to "Glassed Mirror." His contributions help things lurch forward and reach perfectly damaged peaks, but more often churn satisfyingly into the muck. Body music for people who thought they could never dance again; shake and seizure to these negative grooves. Zero bad tracks, straight heat, please buy a copy for you and your loved ones ASAP.
Emily Robb, How To Moonwalk (Petty Bunco)
Of course this is on Petty Bunco, home of King Blood and Robb's Astute Palate, but this solo guitar outing is probably better than both of 'em. There's a Bo Diddley and bloozy bent to the guitar damage on How To Moonwalk, both familiar and genuinely surprising with how high it hits on the Scoville scale. On the two best and longest tracks, things get red hot. The steady riff on "Live at Friendship Speedwell" gives a semblance of sure footing, and everything else shoots forth like a volcano explosion, steady but unpredictable, something you can't look away from. "Arrows of Fortune" is even more damaged, an insistent bassline jackhammering down while the sparks fly free. Be careful where you tread. This ain't no one-trick pony, though; "News From a Fog" sounds like the title says, bleary eyes taking in the day as a gentle haze, and the disjointed "Where Is the Foot of the Bed" sounds like the stumbling glory days of Wormwood Grasshopper and Breakdance the Dawn. Sounds like it might be same old same old, but you try and square the angles and you'll find yourself flummoxed by the density of Emily Robb's guitar. This record sounds like Emily Robb would be a solo guitarist that I'd actually love to go see live, so raw and damaged that I can't deny it's power. Sick silkscreened covers, sold out from the source, happy hunting.
