Purling Hiss - Weirdon (Drag City)

Opening with a squeal of feedback, Purling Hiss' new release marks a change of direction for the band; from low-down Acid Rock sludge to high-flying Indie. Brought to centre stage, founding member Mike Polizze's bedroom song writing fuses a great many styles from the American alternative scene: the skuzzy guitar pop of Dinosaur Jr, the heavy, moody grunge of Nirvana and Mudhoney - even flashes of those upbeat college rockers Husker Du.

While I hesitate to say it, Weirdon could be described as 'more accessible', a phrase often met with disdain and, in worse cases, can result in the severing of an original and dedicated fan base. Stoned rockers and headbangers can rest at ease though, the band haven't abandoned their dishevelled class and love of face melting jams. Instead, they've found a satisfying balance between the structured and the loose, the familiar and the uneasy that will only be guilty of picking up more attention.

Tracks like 'Sundance Saloon Boogie' and 'Learning Slowly' slam through verse, chorus, verse, chorus, only to shift gears and take off into psychedelic trips of soaring guitar melodies over steady beats. They are what all jams should be: sweet and colourful and mixed thick and sticky. Sadly, the second half doesn't quite maintain this trajectory. After cooling down with the smoky Kinks-like 'Reptili-A-Gena' and the kicking 'Where's Sweetboy', it begins to deflate and sag. By the time 'I Don't Wanna Be A...' arrives, moping about not making the track selection for Nirvana's Nevermind, I lost interest. Fortunately 'Six Ways To Sunday', a baked ballad with a blinding guitar solo, brings the mood back and dispels all doubts that Weirdon is a truly fantastic ride.

In this algorithmic age of ambition, achievement and perfection, it's unsurprising the slacker ethos never really went away. Through music, Purling Hiss capture that old wisdom behind lazy resistance. If boredom is the catalyst of creativity, then let it all go. We're all just winging it. Weirder is better. Play it loud. Play it cool.

(© Copyright 2014 Brendan Morgan)

The Mars Volta get lost in space and Dog Bite digs its teeth in...

Like a phenomenal dying galaxy, the legendary Prog Rock band The Mars Volta have imploded. Announced a few days ago by the lead singer Cedric Bixler-Zavala, he blamed his long-time musical partner, the band's lead guitarist Omar Rodriquez-Lopez, for loosing interest in the project. Their collapse came as no real surprise. The last few albums were starting to show the cracks in their set and it's been grinding downwards ever since. Their gigs lost their edge as did their creative direction but if you were to cast your mind back to their early days, you might remember why so much fuss was made about them in the first place.
Once in a while, there's music that comes along and changes you forever. The moment I first heard De-Loused in The Comatorium, their first full album released back in 2003, and when I took a bus to see them at The Brixton Academy a year later, it was all unforgettable. Never had I heard music like it; so insane, so alive, wasted, twisted, frightening, energetic, frantic. These guys were on a serious fucking trip, full of contrast that spelt danger for the faint of heart. Sometimes it would drift into ambient, atmospheric and groove driven planes, other times it was like been jerked out of a coma with an injection of Adrenalin.

It would be a crime not to give credit to their synth/keyboardist Isaiah Ikey Owens for his fundamental additions to the elaborate textures and their original drummer Jon Theadore who provided some of the most electrifying drumming I'd ever seen. For me, his departure from the band in 2006 signalled the beginning of their demise. Overall, The Mars Volta's epic mixture of wild guitar solos, visionary lyrics and complex Latin rhythms was so masterful and completely unique, it'll be a heavy task for any upcoming band to fill their shoes. Take a bow guys. Thanks the ride.

A powerful combination of the death of one of my all time favourite bands and a new musical discovery broke a lengthy holiday I was taking away from Slugs Hate Music. As one musical beast passes away, so another rises. Ahh, the circle of life... but enough bullshit, lets get on with it.
Cruising the wave of chill of Washed Out's touring success, keyboardist Phil Jones has been drawing up his own plans on the side. Pulling together a group and calling themselves Dog Bite, their particular Dream Pop style, a sort of scuzzy DIY Cocteau Twins, may come as nothing massively new but there's just something inescapably more-ish about those shimmering guitar riffs, echoing vocals and hazy synths sliced in two by a few punchy beats.
Right from the whoosh of the first few seconds and the proud emergence of their characteristic jangly guitar, 'Forever, Until' drops you into a bright, sun-kissed world. A few tracks later, 'Prettiest Pills' displays a grungy, more street level view as well as the band's more upbeat side. The excellent 'Native America' breaths new life into the second half and from then on it all seems to grow ever upwards towards the sun. The last few tracks complete the album with a underlying touch of sadness, as though the light burning so strongly through the record fades into the dark. This final glimmer is 'My Mary' and it recalls those slow, two chord riffs and low register vocals that Jesus And The Mary Chain do so well.
Velvet Changes contains eleven beautiful songs, all with the right ingredients to take its creators forwards. There's no reason that they can't stand aside other popular bands from the local Washington DC scene (Cloud Nothings to name one). It's a startling record, definitely worth a listen at the least, even though I know we're all "so busy" doing "really important" shit.

Velvet Changes is released on Carpark Records, 5th of February.

(© Copyright 2013 Brendan Morgan)

Crippled Black Pheonix - (Mankind) The Crafty Ape (Mascot)

“Use your anger to creatively destroy your oppressors.” These are the opening words from Crippled Black Pheonix’s newest album, a call to arms announced by a vocoder voice that sets the mood of the rest of the record. Led by Justin Greaves, the band is the unification of a hand full of seasoned musicians with a taste for serious minded Rock.

But what’s the real deal here? Are CBP using the rising dissident to further their own gain or are they providing musical sustenance to the global protest movement? This is the danger with the term ‘political band’ and I’m hesitant to use it on CBP. Bands like U2 and The Manic Street Preachers were once awarded it and now, after achieving fame and success, these swaggering tycoons jet around the world, selling their antiestablishment egotism. We’ve developed automatic scepticism of musicians that attach themselves to social struggle; perhaps finally realising that almost anything can be exploited for profit and that the Rock Star lifestyle, as much as any other modern hypocrisy, is very much apart of the problem.

But if CBP are not a ‘political band’ then they are at the very least politically inclined and this is a far more free and effective position to be in. Despite it all: job cuts, privatisation and rioting, there are not many artists around who can turn anxiety into the language of resistance.

Whatever their motivations, CBP make some excellent music. Their fifth release, (Mankind) The Crafty Ape is a rich and diverse record that matches the disgruntled lyrics perfectly. While their previous records were more atmospherically based, this one takes a step past despair and further into rebellion. Cross breeding Pink Floyd’s inventive structure with Radiohead’s gloominess and dissatisfaction, their music is a well-devised and heavyweight Prog Rock with the kind of inherent quality that can only derive from solid musicianship and intensive gigging.

Enhanced by the raw clarity of the production, the group explore both a range of tones and their own ability achieving the execution. ‘The Heart of Every Country’ feels very Floyd indeed (circa Animals) with its grand composition of sailing guitar solos and thick piano chords. With stomping tom percussion and burning guitar lines, ‘Laying Traps’ is a driving piece of work and the video sees the band don gas masks and anarchic attire for a performance interspersed with scenes of protest. ‘Release The Clowns’, while swaggering like The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, gives a final warning before the close: “Gather your belongings ‘cause the revolution’s coming”.

Though sounding completely different, (Mankind) The Crafty Ape follows PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake for an appraisal of this country’s decent into mismanagement and irrelevance. Some may be put off by the band’s consciously dark focus but it must be taken it for what it is. While more and more bands appear to be drifting into escapism and nostalgia, there are still some on the other side, drawing their inspiration from realism and suggesting that maybe, just maybe, things aren’t going too well and we might need to do something about it. Otherwise, as CBP say, “Just keep on complaining, and someone will hear you”.

(© Copyright 2012 Brendan Morgan)

Heroin In Tahiti - Death Surf (Boring Machines)

Mixing sluggish surf melodies with spacey Art Rock drones, this debut project from Heroin in Tahiti has caused a bit of a stir, undoubtedly effected by the way these two seasoned musicians from east Rome kept their identity a secret until its release. The blogosphere has been eager to attach labels such as Kroutrock to their sound, but Heroin In Tahiti seem to be at odds over outside comparisons preferring to cite Ennio Morricone’s music from the old Spaghetti Westerns as their main influence. The cool, unforgiving edge of these cult films, their rough characters and barren desert setting which lies on Heroin In Tahiti’s very doorstep, eek their way out of the EP. The whole record radiates with heat, dread, isolation and stoned paralysis.

The fact that they focus on their country’s cultural history during this age of global connection is worth noting but as always, there are some external influences going on; namely Surf Rock, an American export. It brings to mind the cinema of Tarantino and Rodriguez, who were in turn influenced by the Spaghetti Westerns and have been partly responsible for Surf Rock’s revival.

A relentlessly sinister mood sets in right from the start. The title track introduces their characteristic arrangement: minimal guitars, awash with distortion and massive reverb drift over a shimmering pool of sound effects and unusual percussion. It’s followed by ‘Spaghetti Wasteland’, trotting solemnly along and layering up on itself to make for a rich mix. Side B however is where they really prove themselves. Carefully building tension, ‘Ex-Giants on Dope’ is like a Mexican standoff where some serious shit is about to kick off and ‘Sartana’, with its ghostly wa-wa guitar and death bell tolling underneath, rides like a wild chase into the night.

Death Surf is an engrossing and hypnotic record, visual and vibrant with a definitive style. It holds you in its grip, right up to its unsettling conclusion. But I’d say the EP still feels chained by a film context. Some tracks, soaked in dense atmosphere and lacking a sense of narrative, can be stagnant and weighed down. Composed during times of disgruntled social unrest that continues to boil, Death Surf is still an intriguing example of Rome’s brooding underground scene.

(© Copyright 2012 Brendan Morgan)

The Slaves - Grey Angel (Paradigms Recordings)

For centuries Christian rule had instilled in its followers a powerful emphasis on penitence derived from guilt, as well as the constant reminder that death and judgement are just around the corner. Based in Portland, Oregon, The Slaves make the kind of music that Polar Bear might if he was brought up hardcore catholic and with an unshakable fear of God. Layered in ambient synths and shrouded in a dark celestial presence, the duo’s debut Grey Angel drives home an old-school gothic affair of chants and drones by candlelight.

From what I’ve said it’s not surprising then that their music is missing some life and energy to it. Their quasi religious meditations become electronic funeral music in which you can almost hear the howling of bored ghosts. Ponderous and moody, each track structure does little else besides drift idly on modal key signatures in a grey and empty sea.

Actually I’m being a bit mean there. Having once lived in the North West of America I’m all too familiar with the Atlantic Ocean, where its silent, cold waters meet the forest covered shores near Portland. Understandably, it would have had an influence on The Slaves prayerful drones; the sense of peace and humility you might feel as you stare out at an ocean’s ancient horizon.

‘You Can Save Me’ sets the scene right from the start. Reeaaalllyyy sssllloooww drawn out chords block out any bit of light seeping in from the cracks, filling the stereo space and building up towering sonic cathedrals that glare down at you. Soaked in reverb, Barbara Kinzle’s voice groans away in a low register. ‘Visions’, two tracks later, employs a cavernously deep and muffled drumbeat with stain glass synths that hints towards Vangelis. At the exact point I grew weary of the ominous tone dragging its way through the album, halfway through ‘Angel’, the last track, everything resolves effortlessly like a kind of divine forgiveness. It’s this superb finish, as well as the sonorous harmonies and atmosphere that rescues Grey Angel from being one long downer.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

Washed Out - Within and Without (Sub Pop Records)

It wasn’t all that long ago that Life of Leisure EP blazed through the blogsphere taking its creator Ernest Greene out of his bedroom and on a multi-country tour. Like many who’d heard the record or the single ‘Feel It All Around’, I was captivated by the euphoric and dreamy mood constructed from sun kissed synths and a slow pounding club beat – everything sounding as if it was fed through the warm hiss of cassette tape. It was a staggeringly beautiful record and rescued me from the tedium of a hot summer spent at work. I recommended it to anything with ears.

Reacting to the chorus of praise from the internet, a career was kicked into gear swifter than a Tesco’s going up in Bristol. But I’ll tell you now, Within and Without rises to the challenge. It may lack the sublime impact the debut had but on hearing the same lazy pop-tronics, the same rich wave of light and colour, the same veiled vocal harmonies of soothing sibilance; it ticks all the right boxes. In no time, his loved-up party tunes could easy eclipse bigger acts like Calvin Harris.

Of course, Life of Leisure wasn’t a perfect debut. ‘Soft’ and ‘Far Away’ make up a vacant and watery interlude that rehashes some of the same mistakes. But I’ve heard it said that as long as the opening and ending are good people don’t worry about the middle. ‘Before’ brings the sun back out with its big beat and cool voice sample hook. At 2:27 into the title track, a familiar song structure dematerialises into a pool of twinkling synthesizers. This fades into ‘A Dedication’ where a simple piano tune and Greene’s singing on top (the only time his voice shines clear in the mix) closes the album on an intimate note.

I ended my first review uncertain whether Washed Out could survive the nihilistic frenzy of internet hype. It was stupid to feel so protective and it will be great to see how deep into sensation and psychedelic disco he’ll go. Take it with you to this summers festivals or road trips. Memories await a soundtrack.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

Panda Su - I Begin (Peter Panda Records)

By releasing a gentle lull of a record which delights in its beautiful simplicity, Panda Su embarks on her recording career with astounding poise and sensitivity. Rising out from an over abundance of singer-songwriter acts, it might just be worth your time.

Having grown up in the Scottish Highlands, the Folk scene of the rugged north has clearly influenced her melancholy acoustic attitude. Her voice, conventional at first, later reveals a personal tone crucial to any serious minded poet. She relays dreamy and nostalgic tales of lazy days spent deep in thought: ‘I am younger then I was then’. Unlike a lot of solo artists of a similar nature, she also provides the words with the respect they deserve (I have a particular hatred for singers who force in ‘woooaaahs’, ‘ooohhs’ and other ad-lib filler clogging up the mix with self love.)

The producer, Robin Sutherland has taken special care to allow Panda Su’s guitar to shape to the song structure instead of dominating it. It leaves space for a desk-drawer collection of incidental sounds (a glockenspiel, feedback drenched waves, scratching percussion) to quietly gleam away in the background. No single element takes precedence over another and as a result, each of the four songs on I Begin feels complete, full of life and pleasantly tuneful.

‘The Bee’, along with its theme of innocence lost, samples as its opening rhythm a clock ticking and being wound back up. Gazing inwards, the EP’s title track contains a haunting guitar riff dripping like summer rain. Panda Su is Twee with backbone; wisely produced and satisfying Folk-pop perfection.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble - From The Stairwell (Denovali Records)

The infinite spiral staircase on the album cover, spiralling upwards into pitch black shadow rises out of the very core of The Kilimanjaro Darkjazz Ensemble’s newest release. Sinister and yet somehow inviting, like the music inside, it recalls the noir atmosphere of art house cinema: dark Paris streets, the smell of rotten wood, empty rooms in the dilapidated parts of the sprawl.

Native of the Jazz-mad Netherlands and originally banded to write music ‘for existing and non-existing films’, TKDE’s emphasis on ‘the mood’ as they call it is achieved by a dense layering of sound and by creepy, jarring changes (‘All Is One’ begins on a windy, rugged plane before moving into a seedy and shadowy bar where an unnerving bastardisation of lounge Jazz is being crooned.) Seamlessly blending techniques and styles plucked from many genres, it flickers from Bonobo, Jagga Jazzist, Massive Attack and the grandiose approach of A Silver Mount Zion Memorial Orchestra. Is it Post Rock? Is it futuristic Jazz? Is it IDM?

Even though these days the term has been pretty well worn thin, From The Stairwell is very much a concept album taking the listener on a surreal trip up that staircase on the cover. But the story they’ve attached to the album doesn’t necessarily define it. Records like this remind you that categories are ultimately pointless. TKDE’s music has always been perfectly happy to melt into the background and play out as a backdrop to the musings of the interpreter.

At first, ‘Godard Delusion’ calls us in with a troop of gypsy violinists over breezy and expressive drums. Then, gradually, it opens out into a watery guitar melody. ‘Giallo’ slithers along with its low saxophone while ‘Celladoor’ (yes, Donnie Darko does come to mind) builds from a drifting and dangerous atmosphere into an air of dark romance.

These four tracks I streamed from their record label’s website were enough to certify a few things: From The Stairwell retains the recognisable down-tempo tone and instrumental structure of their previous work (echoing trumpets, slow drones and brushes on cymbals) but it also sees the band pulling the mix back and refining their improvisational style for a more acoustic flavour. A stunning mixture of musicianship and late night, candle lit cool, this is music to smoke clove cigarettes and read Beat poetry to.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

Labasheeda - The Twlight State (Presto Chango Records)

As far as I could tell from two visits, the average punter in Amsterdam prefers 90’s cheese, euro dance and hammer metal to the more experimental or down to earth projects. But like any city, it had to have its underground somewhere and, as usual, I had to return to the UK to find it. Labasheeda is a doorway to its gritty basement scene, one that reflects a local, more clued in angle. In a way, Amsterdam’s subculture found me.

Labasheeda formed in 2004 and since then have been recording consistently. Under a seriously driven work ethic, they’ve released nearly a record every year. Their newest, The Twilight State is warmly produced, runs beautifully from track to track and hits every goddam mark.

You can hear it all in there: Pavement’s lyrical grunge, Fugazi’s bass lines and tight acoustic punk (circa The Argument); the singer, Saskia van der Giessen, moans like Karen O, pronouncing a strange, sometimes funny version of English (for any other band, this would be a defect but for Labasheeda, it only gives them character).

Overall, the main source is extracted from Sonic Youth’s expansive exploration of guitar screams, tonality and inventive riff changes. They’ve even selected painted cover artwork suggestive of The Eternal as well as incorporating a small amount of a Kim Gordon sophistication that puts to shame most current “girl punk” attitude (the comparatively tame and superficial Paramore for example). There’s no posing, no acting, no dressing up, no falsity, no frills or flashing lights, no tactical target marketing (unless its so tactical I can’t tell) – simply rock music, with guts and realism, made by approachable people who don’t wear tight black. People you could actually enjoy a conversation with.

After an intense opening to clear your head, ‘Headquarter’, an unsettling ballad shoots ripples down the spine by building guitar harmonies over a repeated note of ‘B’. It seems to point an accusing finger: “There’s liars in this room” sings van der Giessen. ‘From You Too Me’ interweaves downcast chords with kicking rhythms and ‘White Leather’, a neat package of all their hooks, tops their myspace at the moment (trust me however, they save the best stuff for the records).

The grumpily wasted ‘Way Out’ leads into the evil, drooling instrumental epic that is ‘My First Choice’ and then to close with imprinted force from ‘Duplicated’. Playing sweet three note melodies, van der Giessen’s violin is the band’s most unique feature. It’s too bad that it appears so rarely and so timidly in the album’s mix.

Although Amsterdam is riding the 90’s, some at least have taken on the decade’s better side. The Twilight State is an impassioned and pragmatic number five from a superb rock band. Labasheeda do pain and sadness, red rage and subtle sarcasm; and, over the next few months, Labasheeda do England. Get out of your hovels and support them.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

NLF 3 - Beautiful Is The Way To The Beyond (Prohibited Records)

From across the channel, NLF 3 are another group of orators helping to guide the rock band into a more egalitarian and versatile format. “[…] we like dancing on stage and singing like sorcerers, we like loops and live looping, tribal rhythms and creeping electronics”. Made possible by the ease of software and sampling, their set up recalls the shared free flow of a Jazz ensemble and has become ubiquitous of Nu-Jazz groups such as Polar Bear, Jagga Jazzist and Tortoise.

It’s an aspect that also attaches NLF 3 to the Math Rock scene. With precision guitar engineering, ‘The Lost Racer’ is a dead ringer for Battles’ particular style of Martian army marches (NLF 3 have also supported them in the past and cite them as an influence). In striking contrast to what came before, the track grinds to a halt after four minutes and falls away into the calm of a faded synth sunset and wistful guitar strumming.

It may be their finest moment but their funniest can be found in the track before. ‘Wild Chants’ features kettle drums, a quiet chorus of exotic creatures and a voice effect that resembles a drunken Alvin the Chipmunk slurring his way through a tune. Later in the album, ‘At Full Blast’ plays out as a stripped back dance number while ‘Enneagon’ could happily soundtrack the strobe graphics of the 80’s TV show Crystal Maze.

For all its charms and trinkets, Beautiful Is The Way To The Beyond feels more like a collection of early preparations and loosening jams than a band’s fourth album. “We've been doing this for 20 years and we're not done yet” they stated in an interview, and I’d agree. NLF 3 sound like a milder version of Battles and their new release rarely wavers from its perky and eccentric state of bliss. Ignoring all this however, it’s still a musically tight, colourful and spirited performance that’s sure to put a smile on your face.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

Soars - Soars (La Société Expéditionnaire)

Out of a thick wash of reverb, lonely guitar lines hang overhead like silver clouds in monotone skies. Harsh mechanical drums conjure up fields of oil derricks chiselling away at decollate frozen ground. Using the local surroundings of Lehigh Valley Pennsylvania as its influence, Soars’ debut is like a union of shoe gaze texturing and Sigur Ros’ sad reflection.

The slowed-down, industrial drum track thudding away underneath may be one of the band’s characteristic features but it seems more like a heavy burden, constrictive of their creative freedom. It would explain the all-to-obvious riff changes and the strict and regimented song structure; the result of a band straining to work with a drum machine. It may have worked for Suicide because they were trying to piss people off but for deeper emotional music such as Soars, it would help to get a drummer, a real one.

The lead singer’s supersensitive, wet, child-like voice is another downer. Sung in falsetto, the lyrics are nothing more than shapes of sound floating in the murk of the overall mix. Never mind deconstructing “lyrical myth” as their press release claims (using the voice as an instrument is nothing radical) – it would give the album an extra layer if we could only hear some poetry.

When they aren’t being all morose and mopey, Soars achieve a feeling of bittersweet longing. Elegantly simple and instantly likable, ‘Throw Yourself Apart’, with its laborious beat and descending, melancholy chord pattern is an ideal single release. Another notable track, ‘Monolith’ concludes the record with a captivating guitar melody but, minutes before the end, it wastes an opportunity to extend and build up the final segment, maybe crashing into complete tonal meltdown or some other grand finish. The rest of the album is just as sedated.

At best, Soars’ debut album provides a tour of one of America’s isolated working towns and embodies some of the current feelings of hopelessness and despondency rippling through the country. Sadly, there are very little surprises among its glum-rock sound and if you’re like me an infuriatingly solemn person already, listening to too much of it would only be indulging in some miserable winter masochism.

(© Copyright 2011 Brendan Morgan)

Flowers of Hell - O (Optical Sounds)

Arranged from improvisations and recorded in one take, The Flowers of Hell’s newest release O feels like staring deeply into a milky gemstone of shape and colour. Among the swells of string and lonely trumpet, a single drifting tone evolves and reforms in the light. Respecting the law of the circle, there is no beginning or end to the piece and the meditative atmosphere is both soothing and unsettling, like something by Ligeti, only less dissonant.

For all of this however, O is stagnant and kind of tedious when compared to the epic travels of their first album Come Hell or High Water (2009). Artistic musings aside, it is essentially forty five minutes of slow moving, rhythmless ambience – mildly intriguing in construction it’s just… nothing… really… happens. The group director, Greg Jarvis, wasn’t wrong when he called it “Business Suicide”. Is forty five minutes of droning art music worth shelling out on?

Aside from the recording itself, the CD contains videos of the group performing O and four other tracks at gigs in Toronto and Prague. This is its raison d'être, otherwise the recording is geared up to be just another victim of stream and run. Watching Flowers from Hell perform is a sumptuous experience, most acoustic gigs are. It reveals much of the bands wonder: their eclectic and textured use of instruments and a strong group connection that borderlines on the paranormal. The record was born out a very simple, almost Zen-like plan imbibing the aim of German absolute music: “music that is not explicitly about anything, music that simply is”.

Despite ongoing snobbery and its stodgy stigma, the vast range of Classical Music will forever provide material for the right minds. The Flowers of Hell’s kind of Space Rock/Post Rock/Neo-Classical (classification overload) suggests a relation to the divine Godspeed You! Black Emperor who combine the grand compositional techniques of the Modern Avant-garde with the nihilism and riff basis of Rock. There have been many contenders but until discovering Flowers of Hell I’ve not heard a band that carries on this visionary style with such courage. There are a lot of phonies and tourists in the art music world, hung up on THE IMAGE or THE IDEA of making intellectual or groundbreaking music. By sharing the stage and their projects with other musicians, Flowers of Hell appear to be free of this self delusion (Come Hell or High Water featured musicians from Bat For Lashes, Broken Social Scene, Spiritualised and Spacemen 3 to name but a few).

The idea behind O is compelling enough to warrant a listen. It completes its task of being anyway (heh heh). But in the end, it only serves as a blank canvass for future possibilities. Being their first solo record, it makes me curious as to what their next project will be and who it will be with. All I ask is that they hold on to their edgy quality against a demanding environment for “relaxing” Classical music. So no pressure guys.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

Teebs - Ardour (Brainfeeder)

Blooming with abstract colours and melodic detail, Ardour is a record cultivated out of art. A skateboarder turned painter turned musician, Mtendere Mandowa (aka Teebs) composes his music in the way he approaches his paintings. Many seemingly isolated fragments melt together in energy and expression. Ardour is a translation of his artwork to music.

The record was a project put together during two years of unemployment. While the rest of us would be groaning about job opportunities, Teebs just got busy and the freedom of electronic music seemed to suit his tastes. The production techniques like time shift and chopped sampling (possibly relayed to him under the watchful eye of Brainfeeder) are ubiquitous of folktronica and the likes of Gold Panda or Four Tet. His ethnic rhythms are off balanced and threaten to blow away if not for the weight of some hip-hop influenced beats. Acoustic samples of twinkling bells and various wind-chimes unite with cosy synths swelling in waves and pulses. It all simulates natural movement like wind gently tugging at clothes on a line.

When these fragments resolve into a more recognisable form – heard during the excellent groove of ‘Gordon’ – its drifting feel satisfyingly takes shape like a scrapbook of grainy photographs. ‘Double Fifths’ the albums first stand out track empolys a magical pitch-bending harp over wooden percussion and later on ‘Moments’ employs a cascading piano and ‘Wind Loop’ a sweetly rising chime melody.

Ultimately, Ardour’s impressionistic quality works itself into the background and into obscurity. As you begin to fall into the mood of a track it dematerialises and lurches to another. I imagine every one these 18 incidental tracks, the bubbly ‘Double Fifths’ for one swelling to a grand strings section or some kind of further elaboration. Instead they jaunt off like a shy bumble bee. Even the album’s end is flighty and inconclusive. This will either instil a sense of longing in the listener or struggle to make a mark.

Just like Modern Art, it goes for impact and for concise and polished expression. In this way Ardour is at odds with its enveloping atmosphere, though I doubt it was intentional as Teebs has allowed the record to take on its own home-made form. Ardour is definitely an experimental album; an exposés of his creativity set loose in a different medium. But it is the sights and sounds of his travels and experiences, as well as a blurring of art and music that make this a busy, beautiful record.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

The Black Angels - Phosphene Dream

God bless the Acid Rock scene. Coming back in small waves since its 60’s heyday, it gave punk wings, fuelled the club era and gave countless bands inspiration and scope along the way. Its problem, like any bygone scene, is that it has a way of digging itself into a hole. Following the success of The Brian Jonestown Massacre, a flavour of bands have been touting the same neo-psychedelic trip for years now.

But there is something different about The Black Angels music: its wild spirit, sinister atmosphere, now driven by a will to seek new horizons. Their new album released tomorrow is an altogether more flowery affair, with bright rhythm and riff changes vaguely reminiscent of early Floyd, though their hallmark droning blues is clearly here to stay.

‘Bad Vibrations’ kicks it off with pounding drums and pulsing organ, throbbing like a memory murdering hangover. Already their familiar droning, evil-eye guitar riffs and foot stomping Rock settles in like a heavy mist. Then suddenly, three minutes into the track, a scream blows it away and we find ourselves running for our lives. Even the catchy ‘Yellow Elevator’ ending with a slow jam and a mystical effect on Alex Maas’ voice doesn’t allow the mood to settle for long. ‘True Believers’ begins like a Jefferson Aeroplane jam, falls into stoned reverie and takes off again with the punchy Kinks-come-The Doors ‘Telephone’.

Behind these tinted fragments of a revered counter-culture, danger also lurks in the echoing lyrics: “He takes his pill so he can kill, praise the Bible” This mixture of religion and violence represents a nasty side of contemporary America. It's almost as if The Black Angels are carefully decoding American mythology. In Passover it was the popular myths: The Road Trip, The Vietnam War; this time it’s the oldest and most powerful hypocracy in God’s Country.

With better song crafting and a superb production from Blue Horizon Records The Black Angels are working hard and pushing on. Phosphene Dream displays increasing energy and a widening direction for them. Drawing material from nearly every psychedelic band of the 60’s The Black Angels were never hugely original or even ‘far out’ in its truest sense of the phrase. But these days there are few that will come close to this kind of Californian freak Rock and hypnotic cool. A word to the wise.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

Fang Island - Fang Island (Sargent House)

Fang Island’s fast paced debut, layered with big boisterous guitar, fits like a glove in the current American scene. Describing their music as “everyone high fiving everyone”, they are so much happier than you or I. It’s the prog-metal equivalent of Bastian from The NeverEnding Story raising his fist and triumphantly yelling “YEEAAH!”

I like music that takes on simple, child inspired philosophies and what drew me to Fang Island was a recorded video on their myspace page where they perform to a kindergarten class. The jubilation and wide eyed expressions on the kid’s faces as they hop about to the hardcore jams was wonderful stuff. It was funny to think of a parallel between these classroom antics and that of any adult Rock club filled with immature goofballs (the sad difference is that children express themselves truthfully, don’t have horrendous egos and don’t smear crap in their hair to be cool. They do it because… well… they just do it.)

Stop-and-start rhythm changes between the band are expertly controlled and the four guitarists display impressive skill and sweet solos that Boston would be proud of. It warrants the use of great phrases such as ‘head banging’ and ‘kick ass’, especially in tracks such as ‘Careful Crossers’ with its tricky rhythms and battling riffs. Unfortunately the collective vocal chanting found in their single ‘Daisy’ and later in ‘Davey Crockett’ ruins it. These sing-a-long brayings of ‘ooooh’s’ and ‘woah woah woah’s’ get old very quickly; ultimately becoming banal sighs in the place of, you know, actual words. Their goal to draw grand, truthful emotion from us seems all too familiar.

Graduating from Rhode Island School of Design (the origin of The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Lightning Bolt and Talking Heads) they throw out any evidence of art school subtlety. It doesn’t take long to figure Fang Island as feel-good teenage thrash pop propelling a single, continuously chipper mood. Sometimes, just sometimes it brings to mind those god-awful mobile phone advertisements where hoards of douche bags sing with each other in false unity. Hey everyone! Come on! Let’s get together! Groan.

Compared with their predecessors, Fang Island have moved in an altogether different direction. Their achievements are their glorification of the present moment, the way they capture the manic excitement you used to feel before a trip to a theme park. Their compact album is in touch with a youthful exuberance and contains some masterful musicianship and hum-worthy melodies. Too bad then that its upbeat tone, great at first, reveals no further dimension beyond ludicrously happy. And please, no more Arcade Fire vocal choruses. They’re loosing their allure.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

Tobacco - Maniac Meat (Anticon)

Every so often a record comes along that is so filthy, so depraved, it’s impossible to avert your attention. Tobacco’s newest venture, Maniac Meat is one of these. All sixteen tracks, arranged in a mosaic of derogation, drug nightmares and 80’s video nasties; told of course with a pinch of wit, could quite easily soundtrack Naked Lunch: The Videogame.

Ronaldo Fauntroy straddles his role as the front man for Black Moth Super Rainbow with the Tobacco solo project, sharing material between them both – his habit for vocoder vocals being one. The chubby grainy synths and tacky drum pads had always lent itself to a club atmosphere. But what club? Where would you hear something with such a dubious sexual subtext? It’s not S&M or bestiality being suggested; no, the halarious horror and revulsion one feels can only be compared to accidentally bursting in on someone performing cunning lingus on a sweaty bulbous monster.

*Cough* … or watching a zombie film. Don’t let my crass interpretation put you off. In all seriousness Maniac Meat is a great record elaborating on Tobacco’s taste for retro electronica and his love of the grotesque, as related two years ago in an interview with Kotori “There’s something seriously fucked about workout tapes from the mid 80s, and just about everything obscure on beta tape. They make me feel awful, but really good and curious at the same time. […] I’m trying to translate that feeling.”

Besides which, the release contains many, more family friendly moments. Two tracks featuring the familiar ramblings of Beck (‘Fresh Hex’ and ‘Grape Aerosmith’) are certainly two of the albums finest additions, even if they are too short. Elsewhere, the depraved imagery and slow groove in ‘Heavy Makeup’ twists and turns and slithers under your skin. There are times, mainly towards the end, when its unsettling tone is somewhat forced, verging on exhausting – a disjointed album structure doesn't help – but on such excellent tracks as ‘Sweatmother’ (an evil and infectious blaze of distortion bass and squealing pitch bends) and ‘New Juices From The Hot Tub Freaks’ (a prime example of his hip hop tendencies) it is flawlessly executed.

Compared with his other work, solo or otherwise, Maniac Meat’s nuances come at no surprise but they do seem to have taken on a higher class. No other artist can replicate Ronaldo’s particular analog fetishism and skuzzy beats as it crawls through your mind grinning its shit eating grin. In the words of an old friend of mine “How could it be wrong if it feels so right?”

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

Washed Out - Life Of Leisure EP (Mexican Summer)

Every year, there are a variety of musicians and bands eager to provide us music geeks and dull romantics with a summer soundtrack. And with all that goes on: the festivals, the travelling, the beer; it’s the optimum environment in which to release a memorable and lasting record.

Just a month away from the season of hedonism, Washed Out’s Life of Leisure takes this to the next degree. Using his own equipment, Earnest Greene recorded his debut while staying at his parents place in Georgia. The result is an example of the effect that time, isolation and nature has on creativity. Life of Leisure is a complete experience: a package of well devised mood music wrapped in a DIY charm. Written during the summer for the summer, its sense of escapism could not have been realised during the pressure of his current tour.

Each track blends effortlessly together as one. Under four minutes long, their simplistic structure may be a downside but, overall, with the impression that ‘Get Up’ and ‘Feel it All Around’ leave behind, nothing feels more natural than to play it again and again. Rehashing the techniques laid out in the three tracks before it, ‘Lately’ takes this simplicity into the mundane and is the only duff track on the EP. It’s promptly forgotten when ‘You’ll See It’, with its ethereal groove and resonating euphoria concludes the record.

The 80’s keyboard pop and shoegaze fuzz are easy to detect but bizarrely nobody (except Greene himself) mentioned the obvious disco vibe. From the pulsing electro thuds in the bass, to the sibilance in the vocal harmonies (identical to the silky harmonies of 10cc’s ‘I’m Not in Love’), right up to the album cover; it all simulates a swirling heady high like no other. Comforting yet awakening, like cool water on hot skin; we know how the girl on the cover feels.

Without loosing itself too much in nostalgia, Washed Out harps back to a familiar and colourful rave innocence while capturing a piece of the zeitgeist. Look no further, your summer soundtrack is here. Original and sonically stunning, it’s a rare sparkle of a record – one that that could illuminate Greene’s career or, in its bright intensity, blind him from doing anything this good again.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

The Scottish Enlightenment - Pascal EP

It’s only been a few months and already The Scottish Enlightenment have released another record. Each one is followed close behind by an assortment of nodding respect – the kind of respect reserved for established local legends, murmurs shared between people in the know. Once again, their new EP Pascal displays a further growth of their studious and noble soft Rock.

Since their amalgamation three years ago, the band has been repeatedly likened to Pavement and this connection has followed them around the blogsphere like a phantom limb, though not without an element of truth. Their simple mix and slacker guitar style are sometimes identical to the original American losers. However, David Moyes’ slurring baritone marks them out. His leadership and what the rest of the band can do with so little is impressive. In an interview he talks of their progression over the last three years: “the kind of enforced maturing that comes from coming home from a gig with your ears humming and finding your wife up with a screaming baby.” His song writing is just as real and down-to-earth – none of your contrived Rock n’ Roll lifestyles here. The focus is on their surroundings and on celebrating normal life which, as we all know, is complex stuff.

Pascal’s sombre tone doesn’t exactly fire poetry from my fingertips but no matter. The EP is best explained by its confessional and dreamy flow. The opening title track, with its warm guitars and intimate reverb, is the musical equivalent of a comforting hug. Next, ‘If You Would Just Try a Bit Harder’ drifts gently like a boat through sleepy seas and after the rippling piano of ‘Riverbed’ comes ‘All Homemade Things’, a touching number that showcases their tuneful guitar arrangements. Unfortunately, even with a rising guitar solo and an appearance of harp, ‘To The Dogs’ is a long, drawn out ending and I found myself cutting it short.

Scotland seems like one of the only places left that still puts faith in the good ol’ four-piece; a structure that will never die, so long as some hard work is gone into stretching its capabilities. Besides a maturity and authenticity, you can hear a wise resignation in The Scottish Enlightenment’s music. It feels good to know that even in our fast moving world, there’s a band out there that have settled down with a family and don’t care if they don’t keep up.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

Mixtapes and Cellmates - Rox

Breaking free from the mellow Postal Service style of their 2007 debut, Rox is the Swedish band’s attempt to redefine themselves after a two year hiatus. It might seem at first that an increase of speed and volume is all they have to show for it but let’s not jump to conclusions. The record contains some of their best material to date.

Just as you’d find in the dream pop of The Daysleepers and Phoenix, there is an underlying teen thrill and sugar high to the sweet noise guitars, punchy drums and cymbal washes. Heavy tracks like ‘Soon’ and ‘Lies’ also reveal a smidgen of Alternative angst extracted from bands like Dinosaur JR and Ash.

Robert Svensson’s lead voice has the same choked up fragility as Bright Eyes (Conor Oberst) or Death Cab for Cutie (Ben Gibbard), through it wears thin after too long. Thankfully Mixtapes and Cellmates is a shared project between two vocal talents: Svensson and Matilda Berggren. Their contrasting tones add dimension and compliment each other, like Kim Gordon and Thurston Moore from Sonic Youth.

Occasionally, Rox’s raw expression can be misconstrued as horrible Emo. Once the bright and engaging opening of ‘Never’ is left behind and the album enters its bumpy second phase after ‘Sunday’, Rox is not without its sickly sentimentality. Only a serious wimp would open a song with the line “I’m still shaking from when you touched me” but this sensitive group of dreamers and die hard Romantics, wringing out their tiny little hearts over their songs should be allowed a few soul-bearing embarrassments. Hell, we let The Cure get away with it after all.

Shoegaze and the recent ‘nu-gaze’ revival contains within it the age old search for the sublime; that brief few seconds of melancholy we all get from being overwhelmed by existence. Among the genre there are perhaps more deserving torch bearers than Mixtapes and Cellmates but Rox is still an honest, Romantic album; of weakness in love, tortured partings and of repressed emotion finally breaking free. For the band, it is in one swift movement a severing of their past and a strong proclamation giving new life to their sound. The downside to Rox is its samey over-polished production, gasping pace and pop-piano embellishments – a hair’s width from Keane. So long as you know what to expect.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)

Don't Tread on Spiders - Russian Doll

Indulgent and sarcastically bland in the way that made The Fall or The Ramones great, this is Don’t Tread on Spiders from Cardiff. Led by the strange, ambitious and ever cheerful Sonny Day, the band released Russian Doll, their second EP at the beginning of the year.

Undoubtedly, Bearded’s readers will be falling over themselves to learn that DTOS are NME’s “#1 Breaking Band”. In their zeal for DIY, the record is badly produced: a shapeless and hollow mix that places too much confidence in the wonders of Cubase. These days of course, skill rarely matters and DTOS are exactly the kind of band you’d write off as a disposable novelty act aimed at teenagers, only to whip round to bite you on the ass later on.

It’s the title track, the EP’s opening that steals the show: a simple riff driven piece of hypnotic weirdness and spooky Post Punk glam. The tacky feel – the same enjoyable gothic tackiness of Beetlejuice – is topped only by its hilarious home made music video. Maybe ‘Get Up and Go’ with its dragging rock n’ roll repetition and unnecessary flanger effects never quite got up and went because it was quickly swept aside by the tender grunge of ‘Wasted You’ and the bitter love ballad ‘Like a Cloud’.

So after gathering support and an award, what’s next? Well, few bands manage to keep a good balance between the music and the show but if DTOS manage to soften their love of statement and theatrics then the music will have space to grow, as was proven in the recent surprise success of The Horrors last year. Russian Doll contains themes and material that will work in their favour. Given time, the fore mentioned Tim Burton tack could become David Cronenberg blood and guts. And even if this is not their desired direction, an ability to laugh at themselves will protect them from an unforgiving Music Industry and the fad obsessed Guardians of Cool over at NME.

(© Copyright 2010 Brendan Morgan)