Grand Magus: Iron Will (2008) 02/24/2009
Posted by scrambledface in Metal.Tags: Doom Metal, Pagan, Traditional Metal
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Although doom and traditional heavy metal bands have their younger adherents, you’re more likely to see short-haired IT guys and skullets in their crowds. That’s because these were the types of metal spawned during the genre’s early days, the ’70s and ’80s, before downtuned speed and indecipherable vocals became prevalant among youngsters seeking the most extreme music they could find. I was lucky enough to come into metal fandom during the late ’80s, so while I’m able to appreciate a well-executed blastbeat and subterranean growl, I can just as easily enjoy a hooky riff and powerful “clean” singing. Sweden’s Grand Magus do have old-school appeal, in that there’s nothing very modern in their music, but that does not make them pure “dad rock.” They started as a more American-sounding doom band (read: lead-heavy blues, Pentagram/St. Vitus/Trouble style), but have evolved into a more melodious Eurometal beast, evoking the Dio years of Black Sabbath more than the Ozzy ones, with a heavy helping of pagan lyrical themes that are at once timeless and conveniently contemporary. Iron Will, the trio’s fourth album, begins and ends with massive Viking riffs, “Like the Oar Strikes the Water” and “I Am the North” as well as the title track riding manly seafaring surges untainted by gothic frills. They occasionally pick up the pace (“Fear Is the Key,” “The Shadow Knows”), and even hearken back to their early days with the Candlemass-y double-whammy of “Self Deceiver” and “Beyond Good and Evil.” What makes Iron Will truly supreme is the hearty leather-lunged wail of guitarist Janne “JB” Christoffersson (also of Spiritual Beggars, the stoner rock faves featuring Carcass/Arch Enemy axeman Michael Amott and Opeth keyboardist Per Wiberg). Vintage and emotional, that voice is as metal is it gets, and, yes, your dad might like it, too.
“Like the Oar Strikes the Water” (at Metal Rock Fest, Lillehammer, 8/16/08)
Aesop Rock: Bazooka Tooth (2003) 02/23/2009
Posted by scrambledface in Hip-Hop.Tags: Backpacker, Progressive
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I get pissed if a “music fan” dismisses the entirety of hip-hop based on the limited impressions provided by the genre’s superstars. Wouldn’t these same people in turn be rightly offended if someone were to equate all punk with Green Day, all electronic music with Moby, all country with Faith Hill, all indie rock with The Strokes or all heavy metal with Slipknot? The truth is that when you have only passing familiarity with a type of music, you’ve probably only heard the popular stuff that is formulated to appeal to dabblers, and thus the most watered-down, lowest-common-denominator examples of the form at hand. Everyone who thinks they don’t like hip-hop should try Aesop Rock’s third widely-released album, Bazooka Tooth. The disc’s first point of departure is the New York MC’s delivery, which is utterly unlike the “Yo, my name is ____ and I’m here to say…” strain of rhyming popularized by 1980s TV commercials. Aes’ meter typically alternates between a rapid-fire flow and a punch-drunk drawl, sometimes within a single line, flitting around his tracks’ central rhythms like a stoned hummingbird. Similarly, his lyrics rarely stoop to the crassly direct approach of radio rappers. Even when bluntly dealing with a particular subject, he dips, dives, and dances around his descriptions, employing abstract details amid jargon-dense disses, boasts and personal revelations. He employs alliteration, consonance, assonance and other language-lover’s tools so enthusiastically that it’s hard to imagine any type of writer objecting. Plus, while Aesop Rock’s unique style is evident in all of his work, Bazooka differs from his earlier catalog as well as 2007’s follow-up, None Shall Pass, because its pointillist musical foundation is so utterly bizarre. It was where he branched off from longtime producer Blockhead, who only provided the beats for a few tracks here, and Aes’ own stuttering funk shards are among the most fascinating of the warped electronic bedrocks championed by foward-thinking rapper/producer El-P’s Definitive Jux label. Polarizing upon release, Bazooka Tooth remains so atypical that even Aesop Rock hasn’t replicated its oddball aesthetic. It’s the kind of album that drives most traditional hip-hop fans nuts, yet its peculiar, homemade collages are just the sort of building blocks that sparked hip-hop in the first place. For evidence, see the two-disc set dubbed Build Your Own Bazooka Tooth, released expressly to allow listeners to assemble their own songs from its parts.
“No Jumper Cables” (official video)
Sleepy Eyes of Death: Dark Signals (2008) 02/22/2009
Posted by scrambledface in Post-Rock.Tags: Electronic, Progressive, Shoegaze
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Sure, post-rock should be spacious and ethereal, but if it’s going to live up to its name, it should ideally sound like music from the future. Most post-rock acts are instead content with aping the rise-and-fall guitar suites Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Mogwai were constructing a decade ago. Meanwhile, Seattle’s Sleepy Eyes of Death (named after the American title of a series 1960s samurai pictures), do not actually promote themselves with this dodgy term, but they might as well, since they approximate what you might hear in a nightclub circa 2109. The quintet’s latest EP, Dark Signals, is one seriously trippy jaunt through alien soundscapes. A couple of the tracks offer minimal vocals, heavily processed robot-ghost transmissions which bleed into the band’s neon ether. Primarily, though, they keep it instrumental, melding lockstep krautrock, keening shoegaze textures and delicious analog synths into an electro-prog haze redolent of monochrome laser patterns and glowing cocktails which billow fog about patrons’ glittering unitards. Dark Signals resembles a glorious collaboration between Cosmos-era Zombi and Before the Dawn Heals Us-era M83, and shows Sleepy Eyes of Death working toward a more powerful identity than evidenced by their already entrancing 2007 full-length, Street Lights for a Ribcage. Turn on, tune in, blast the fuck off.
“Pulse from Breath” (at Nectar Lounge, Seattle, 11/8/08)
Finsterforst: Wiege der Finsternis (2006) 02/21/2009
Posted by scrambledface in Metal.Tags: Black Metal, Ethnic, Pagan
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In recent years, the most interesting corner of the nebulous metal scene has been the explosion of bands incorporating traditional folk music. This largely started in Scandinavia as a pagan offshoot of 1990s black metal, which encouraged a return to pre-Christian ideals through romantic notions of atavism and nationalism. The movement gained momentum in former Eastern Bloc countries, where native cultures had been suppressed under Communist rule, and quickly spread throughout Europe as the threat of homogenization loomed under the banner of modernity and globalization. At its ugliest, ethnically-focused metal can be a vehicle for kneejerk xenophobia and esoteric racism, and at its most trivial, it can simply be an excuse to get drunk and wax nostalgic for an era in which its adherents would ultimately find life exceedingly difficult or boring. Finsterforst, from southwestern Germany, fall into neither of those categories. Their tunes lean toward the most accessible end of black metal, with both keyboards and a real accordion pumping up their beerhall guitar melodies and raspy native-tongue vocals. Their out-of-print, self-released debut EP, Wiege der Finsternis (“Cradle of Darkness”), is a great place to start in both Finsterforst’s catalog and the subgenre itself. At 26 minutes, it contains only three tracks, each long enough to weave pastoral interludes among its high-energy material. These guys provide jaunty fun as well as an idealized, brooding old-world flavor, appropriately conjuring the Black Forest that both shadowed their upbringing and provided their band’s name. As one of the most engaging, ready-for-prime-time acts in Germany’s thriving folk metal scene, here’s hoping their upcoming second album, …Zum Tode Hin, catapults Finsterforst to the same level of fame enjoyed by the genre’s (generally Finnish) superstars.
“Schatten der Nacht” (at Skullcrusher, Dresden, 12/22/08)
Antony and the Johnsons: The Crying Light (2009) 02/20/2009
Posted by scrambledface in Pop/Rock.Tags: Avant-Garde, Orchestral, Pop
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Although I’m here to heap further praise at the feet of Antony Hegarty, he doesn’t need my help, having already gained support from the cognoscenti at the intersection of avant-garde and popular music (David Tibet, Björk, Lou Reed, etc.). For the most part, his music would be filed under the “easy listening” category, populated by gentle piano and light symphonics. Yet Hegarty’s spooky, wavering voice elevates him over your standard sensitive minstrel, along with the haunted demeanor of his songs, which often blur gender lines and speak of loss and longing in doomed romantic tones. His latest album with his band the Johnsons is not really a rocked-up departure, despite the soothing pulse of percussion on tracks like “Kiss My Name” and “Aeon.” It is, however, a less ponderous set than he’s offered in the past, with Hegarty’s lush, fluttering vocal melodies taking the fore in standouts like “Epilepsy is Dancing,” “One Dove,” “Daylight and the Sun” and “Another World,” the latter previously heard on the 2008 EP of the same name. For fey art songs, the material offered on The Crying Light is surprisingly engaging and rich with personality. Its stark, surreal beauty echoes its strikingly bizarre cover image, which depicts Japanese butoh legend Kazuo Ohno (the album is dedicated to him).
“Aeon” (“Late Show with David Letterman,” 2/19/09)
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Elvis Presley: Elvis’ Greatest Shit!! (1983) 02/19/2009
Posted by scrambledface in Pop/Rock.Tags: Bootleg, Pop, Rarities
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I learned about the existence of this bootleg just last night during, of all things, a heated round of “Trivial Pursuit: The 1980s.” With such an intriguing title, I had to look it up. I’m no big Elvis fan, tending to agree with the great Chuck D: “Elvis was a hero to most/But he never meant shit to me you see/Straight up racist that sucker was/Simple and plain/Motherfuck him and John Wayne…” However, I do kinda enjoy a few Elvis songs, mostly from the end of his career: I’ll take the sappy, bloated, velvet Vegas Elvis, if you please. I’m not old enough to explicitly remember when he stole the “King of Rock n’ Roll” title from more worthy forebears, so only the ridiculousness of this hillbilly icon intrigues me. Well, Elvis’ Greatest Shit!! is all about Mr. Presley’s ridiculous side, compiling some of the stupidest songs from his movies, including a few flubbed versions, alongside his mangling of a couple of his own “classics.” The song titles alone should let you know what kind of chicanery is afoot. Who can resist the allure of Elvis songs called “(There’s) No Room to Rhumba in a Sports Car,” “Song of the Shrimp,” “Ft. Lauderdale Chamber of Commerce” or “Dominic the Impotent Bull”? Even better (or worse, if you somehow respect this clown) are a possibly drunk version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” a studio job in which he forgets the words and exclaims, “Hot damn, tamale!” and a live take of “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” which he mostly spends mumbling, rambling and laughing to himself. An embarassment no matter your opinion of the man, Elvis’ Greatest Shit!! is the funniest Presley compilation this side of the infamous Having Fun on Stage with Elvis, the nearly unlistenable official live album consisting entirely of between-song banter.
“Queenie Wahine’s Papaya” (from the film “Paradise, Hawaiian Style,” 1966)
Mr. Bungle: Disco Volante (1995) 02/18/2009
Posted by scrambledface in Experimental.Tags: Avant-Garde, Eclectic, Metal, Pop/Rock
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We begin this endeavor with a genuine classic. Mr. Bungle’s second album was perhaps the strangest recording released by a major label during the 1990s. Open-minded listeners got a treat, while anyone hoping for another funk/ska/jazz/metal/carnival music lark in the vein of the group’s self-titled 1991 debut received a serious mindfuck. Disco Volante incorporated flavors of sludge, techno, cartoon and soap opera soundtracks, surf rock, sunshine pop and death metal into the band’s already formidable arsenal. Having already showcased their warped sense of humor, this is the record that established both vocalist Mike Patton and guitarist Trey Spruance as eclectic geniuses. It’s also the record that launched hundreds of lesser bands aching to replicate Mr. Bungle’s uneasy style of genre fusion, but without the vision or talent to carry through. Their third and (to date) final album, 1999’s California, is comparably normal; though it is sonically ambitious and intricate, it’s far more linear and accessible. On indefinite “hiatus” since Y2K, Mr. Bungle is one of the defunct bands I miss most. In retrospect, it’s probably for the best that they didn’t try to milk it into something forced or, worse, weird for weird’s sake.
“Desert Search for Techno Allah” (live in San Francisco, 12/18/95)
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