We're great together, I enjoy the company, and we are so in sync. No, this is a different kind of animal, with the characteristic dissonance of French black metal suppressed and compressed into a compact and ferocious package. On more than one occasion I've walked through a Japanese bookstore, sorely tempted to re-purchase all new copies of the novels which still sit unread on my shelves back home because the North American editions are too bloated and overweight to fit neatly into any of my shoulder bags. The father and son team of guitars squall together in a psychedelic freak-out that makes the song's 3:39 length too short. Who hasn't made bad long-term choices in pursuit of short-term pleasures? Occasionally something resembling beats emerges to accompany P-Orridge's atonal, ritualistic chanting. Despite an uber-talented cast, one could reasonably argue that Lelio's characters are too unremarkable or loosely drawn to leave much of an impression.
Williamson isn't telling us so much as he is showing us, and in this respect, he most resembles Mark E. French album titles denoted neofolk. The tempering with all these materials has enhanced the sardonic attitude of the duo, and it shows from the rhythmic component to the choice of samples. The vinyl, in particular, has much to recommend it, having been handled by the inestimable Chris Bellman, the man responsible for several Joni Mitchell Rhino reissues that were either better or as good as the first American pressings. In fact, it's the emotional toll on the listener can be heavy if one pays full attention absolutely all of the time. What did people expect to see from me? Sometimes she burrows into her throat and her voice emerges a little deeper and duskier than before. Its songs don't typically dally much past three minutes, and those that do end up far from where they began.
The ritual noise artists drew upon arcane magickal terminology. This provoked an interesting conundrum for a band like Throbbing Gristle: they were entirely plausible musically, and even enjoyable for those who could cultivate a taste of the unusual and experimental, yet it was hard to fully understand what they were about without having the background context of their daring performances and art actions. That shift opens up new possibilities for what a listener might expect from Cabana Wear, indicating the depth of the sources they might draw from should the band continue to record. This song matches that achievement stride for stride, offsetting the ethereality of the vocals with the plasticity of the instrumental arrangement, and the almost sticky tactility of the drum sound that comes across as a stuttering kind of pulse that almost feels as if it might be coming from inside the listener rather than the performer. Its thesis is that astronauts are susceptible to many unexpected stresses that will drive them into psychosis. The Solstice Award, a sort of lifetime achievement in the field, goes to James Tiptree, Jr. Do you heed the madman's warnings or not? But that band's records set such a high bar that Mietz' Cabana Wear bandmates, drummer Eric McConathey, bassist Dan Saraceni, and guitarist Alec McVey, are to be credited with creating a sound world here that is every bit as satisfying as It's a King Thing.
Drastus's take on the genre oozes with impact and immediacy, conjuring imagery of a hellish Vantablack train plowing through an icy, snowy landscape at full speed. An unnamed mother and her daughter are at its center, both first-person narrators; there are no chapters, and the story flits between the characters' perspectives to slowly accrue the atmosphere of family life at the intersection of state and patriarchal oppression. Really, there isn't a moment on the record that isn't compositionally enrapturing no matter how faint it is. Ambient electronic bands seemed to love astronomical references. This kind of fluctuation between restraint and assertion is reflected equally deftly in the lyrical dynamic. Of course, they all flounder hopelessly, but seem to enjoy the thrill of trying to keep their heads above water. Electronic chirps and beeps and hums emerge spontaneously from the humming darkness of ambient space.
We're in an age now where tastemakers are desperate to sanitize art, and that's the wrong approach to take in a world of turmoil. It was one of the first Throbbing Gristle albums I ever listened to, and today it packs just as much power as it did then. Anyone using German in their work must be on to something good. The pair's use of the title phrase shifts from the hope of aesthetic expression to the recognition of a domestic muse that sparks a fullness. And it might also be to say that Sleaford Mods are neither a polemical band or an art-rock construct, but that they might exist somewhere between the Specials and the Fall on the popular culture continuum. Endangered by blasphemous fusions with shoegaze and dissonant avant-experiments, quality raw black metal became endemic.
This collection was, sadly, the least enjoyable speculative fiction anthology I have read over the past 53 years. It can be difficult, however, to keep track of the film's perspective simply because its scenes so often jar between comedy and drama. The script, unfortunately, is less successful on this front, despite moments of laugh-out-loud mordant humor and poignant sincerity. In this extraordinary overture, they project an image of a world that has succumbed to the overwhelming presence of Matmos' source material and has become completely unrecognizable. Reviews are a crapshoot—are bad reviews worse than no reviews? One gets the impression that Malkmus doesn't take himself all that seriously, and while there is merit to that, layers of detachment can be hard to poke through when searching for the heart of a song. On the cassette version I had of it, the cover was a dark, ritualistic image that perfectly conveyed the experience of the album. We all wake up not knowing what's going to happen.
He listens to her and understands her, attuned to the harsh realities of divorce and lost love. He carried this sound through to his last creations with the Bet She'an Valley Hillbillies, who steadily began to stumble upon inklings of worldwide success. But then, at the chorus, the guitar slams down and the drums explode, and the singer takes charge of the song. This is much more extreme, grating, offensive, and terrifying than anything happening in even the most serious metal of the 1990s like Godflesh or Morbid Angel. When the albums arrived, they were more often than not cassettes.
This album is also misleadingly titled since there is nothing at all provisional about these songs. The photocopied catalogue was usually a chart listing band names, album titles, and prices. It just seems worth asking if there's more to them than that, and more pleasure that can be derived from them than just presenting them as the carnival barkers to what is already a political sideshow. Umut Adan may not be the only one for this time and place, but his use of musical forms so closely associated with some of Turkey's most radical political changes in recent memory show just how seriously he takes his role. It was fun to see that Harlan Ellison is still writing stories and winning awards after all these years.
Within the ritual circle is the band; simply you and they, enveloped in the throbbing pulses and noise, losing yourselves in the droning buzz of the cosmic vastness and the warm, seductive chanting of P-Orridge's voice. French album titles denoted neofolk. Their legacy, in the post-internet era of identity politics and postmodern ethics, continues to offer a broad landscape of questions, controversies, and potential. Drummer Derrick Bostrom turned out not to be interested, making the reunion only two-thirds successful. Any advice for the kids behind her who are thinking about starting bands? He listens to her and understands her, attuned to the harsh realities of divorce and lost love.