Category Archives: Alternative
Praxis – Profanation (Preparation for a Coming Darkness) (Music Review)
Praxis
Profanation (Preparation for a Coming Darkness)
M.O.D.
Rating: 2.3 out of 5
Link: M.O.D. Technologies home page (currently inactive)
When this stuff was new (back in the early 90s, in the middle of the grunge revolution), Praxis was something of a revelation.
Keyboardist Bernie Worrell (Parliament-Funkadelic) was the mainstream anchor to a weird bunch of misfits that included famed producer Bill Laswell (Material), a session drummer who goes by the name “Brain,” and the enigmatic speed guitar virtuoso, Buckethead (who to this day performs wearing a featureless white mask and a bucket on his head). Transmutation (Mutatis Mutandis) explored the space where speed metal, hip hop, and free jazz met. It was a skronky, sprawling mess of a record that was nevertheless able to captivate the adventurous listener.
By 2005, thirteen years later, the Praxis project had apparently run its course with the recording of Profanation: Preparation for a Coming Darkness. The core lineup of Lasswell, Worrell, Brain, and Buckethead, was on board. High profile guest vocalists (Iggy Pop, Serj Tankian, Killah Priest, and Mike Patton) were brought in to breathe fire into several of the songs. And then… nothing. It took three years for the record to see any sort of release, and when it did, it was in Japan only. Although by 2009 the record was available digitally in the US, it wasn’t until this year that Laswell himself was able to physically release the record here.
One of the rules of rock and roll is if a record’s release gets held up for more than a year, there’s a reason for it. And if it’s held up more than five years, that reason will be painfully apparent when you finally get a chance to listen to it.
Profanation is not an exception to that rule. It’s a sprawling mess of ideas and unfocused execution, made listeneable by the sheer talent of the guys in the room. Not surprisingly, the strongest tracks are the cluster featuring the high profile guest artists. “Furies” would fit in nicely on any latter-day Iggy Pop record, as he croons over Buckethead’s aptly crunchy licks. Killah Priest rhymes over a fairly traditional funky/jazzy hip hop track that sounds entirely out of place as an intro to Serj Tankian’s wailing “Sulfur and Cheese” — which itself sounds like nothing more than a System Of A Down studio outtake. And therein lies the main problem with this record: it very much sounds like it was recorded in the mid-aughts, and its datedness is a distraction. A listener’s tolerance for this sort of wankery depends to a great degree on the nostalgia associated with the time and place it was first experienced.
Profanation suggests a seven year gap (even a cognitive one) is a bit too much to overcome.
Warm Ghost – Uncut Diamond (Partisan Records)
Warm Ghost
Uncut Diamond
Partisan Records
Rating: 3.8 out of 5
Link: http://www.warmghost.com/
When you listen to Paul Duncan’s creations, you can hear points of references coming from all angles of his musical ability. But what makes things interesting for Warm Ghost is that with all of these points coming together, you get this full sound of delightful synth delicacies that never over-cooks a style.
“Open The Wormhole In Your Heart” is not quite as askew as Autechre, but he makes a point to make the distorted stand out. Not as apparent with the rest of the album as this sound, the strange takes a back seat to glimmering synth-pop and haunting vocals. “Without A Dancer” is a fog machine in your mind and an OMD song in your heart. “Claws Overheard” digs a lot deeper and embeds austerity in this EP. He almost sounds like Xiu Xiu’s Jamie Stewart singing an Erasure cover.
Duncan does a great job at reliving the early ‘80s and the minimal synth movement as he probably pays more attention to the details of that era than the musicians who created the style in the first place. Beats come to a crawl, life slows down, and you want to spin round and round to the haunting rhythms.
Although quite sincere “Let My Angst Unfold In The Water Like A Hounds Tongue” brings us back to this shape of dream-like state. It’s not quite how we entered Duncan’s realm, but it’s a point of departure that nicely fits.
Young Prisms – Friends For Now (Kanine Records)
Young Prisms
Friend For Now
Kanine Records
Rating: 9 stars out of 5
Link: http://www.myspace.com/youngprisms
“…I hate the fucking Eagles, man”
Jeff Lebowski
The Young Prisms Friends for Now is easily (and arguably, of course) the best shoegaze release in years. Song after song of expansive sonic stratum where every bit of sound captured on tape contributes to an overall fabric woven from guitar wire and nerves. Cloudland Canyon’s Fin Eaves and Friends for Now are very much cut from the same cloth, eschewing conventional production in favor of sheets of sound that bury the vocals deep into the mix. Each songs compliments the next, and each replay rewards the listener by revealing new cooridors for your ears and imagination to travel.
After no less than 20 listens over the last few weeks, I couldn’t help but think of the fucking Eagles (man) and how utterly opposed that band is to the Young Prisms. Both bands hail from the West Coast and claim to be influenced by the West Coast vibe, but that’s where the string theory collapses. Whereas The Eagles were a band of egos desperate to outshine the other, the Young Prims selflessly blend into a homogenous whole. And where The Eagles created catchy pop tunes that are best served as Seinfeld jokes (“Desperado”), or anthems that might cause you to think “Freebird” might not have been so awful after all (“Hotel California”), the Young Prisms have built an album for the ages. Friends for Now defies time and won’t be marginalized into nostalgia or jokes. Sure, they may never have the mainstream success as The Eagles, but that’s what makes them my “Anti-Eagles:” a total lack of slick production, the absence of ego, and no songs that could ever be considered as a mainstream hit (and thusly heartbreakingly pounded into your poor subconcious). Thank you Young Prisms for creating a counter balance to my hatred for The Eagles. It’s great to have just as much love for a band on the other end of that emotional seesaw. Indeed – fuck The Eagles. Long live the Young Prisms.
Anika – Self-Titled (Music Review)
MP3: Anika – Yang Yang
Anika
Self Titled
Stones Throw/Invada Records
Rating: 3.8 out of 5
Link: http://stonesthrow.com/anika
Anika’s voice is not of this world. A haunted daydream or an archeological find from the early ‘80s Sheffield scene, Anika blends a mixture of England dreaming and ‘60s girl group bop into an album that is uniquely its own.
Like a science fiction girl in a fantasy world, Anika is an outsider to much of the current indie pop establishments in the 21st Century without seemingly trying to be. “Yang Yang” sounds more 21 Century futurism than most cats trying to be 21st Century hip.
Adding elements of coldwave, minimalism, no wave, and utter strangeness, her heroin chic vocal drawl works great on a song like “Masters Of War” (the dub version is even more tasty) when counterbalanced with cool punk dub, but not so much on “End Of The World;” however, the lyrics make up for it, posing as a well-written classic pop song: “It’s the end of the world, it ended when you said goodbye.” When you are singing about something like that, it only makes sense to make the song as depressing as possible.
Teaming up with Portishead’s Geoff Barlow to produce the album, you can imagine the brooding atmosphere that lies in a song like “Maybe I,” and tapping into the mindset of a Michael Powell film while sounding like they crawled out of Greenwich Village circa 1968.
Not many people can properly capture this sound with intrigue, fear, and distinctive moodiness. Anika ranks up there with the best of them.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 2:55 — 3.9MB)
Destroyer – Kaputt (Music Review)
Destroyer
Kaputt
Merge
Rating: 4.5 out of 5
Link: http://www.mergerecords.com/artists/destroyer
A few months back, we presented the first song on Dan Bejar’s ninth studio release, Kaputt. “Chinatown” was love at first listen. (See Jukebox Article – http://www.zaptownmag.com/2010/12/the-jukebox-destroyers-chinatown) Since then we kept going back to that song, marveling amongst its lush beauty and cloudy day casualness, giving us hope for what the entire album had in store for us. And let me tell you that we are not disappointed.
Not since Air’s Moon Safari have I been so impressed over an album of this stature. Kaputt is that breath of fresh air on a cold day. It’s the feeling of warmth from the sun beaming down through bay windows on a casual Saturday afternoon spent indoors, caressing the music like it was a fine wine.
“Blue Eyes” is a softening glow and a love for the crackle of genius as your foot swings in the air to the beat while the record spins. From early ‘80s prowess to mid-’90s English posturing — a time that traces back to his musical beginnings — you feel a hypnotizing swath of sound and a clear lineage of influences from the thick Peter Hook bass line of “Savage Night At The Opera” to a Neil Tennant love affair on “Song For America.”
With the mixture of trumpets and saxophone, Bejar must spend time listening to Antonio Carlos Jobim and Gilberto Gil because how else would he get that laid-back silky vibe emoting with gorgeous downtempo beats. You want to wrap your mind around it as easily as you want to just sit back and forget about the stress of the day. His monotone vocal texture helps with that but it is best when it’s broken up by the lushness of the female vocals peppered throughout.
And as Bejar leaves us with a post-11 minute epic, “Bay Of Pigs,” the music may beckon something of meditative contemplation, but Bejar’s words say something else; something a little more playful: “Sick of fighting of the diseased lighting of the discoteque at night…it don’t mean a thing,;it never means a thing, it’s got that swing.” All of this lies under a canopy of electronic orchestration that sounds like the soundtrack to a ride at Epcot Center until the dance beat forces you to move like you never moved before. It’s now a celebration, and you are stuck in the middle of it.
