Új Bála is a slippery fish. A slimy one, according to our own Mike Haley—bless him—and one who’s also probably coated his gear in enough sugar to give a diabetic wicked fits. The Budapest producer makes music like he’s playing Candy Crush in overdrive and inviting all his friends on Facebook to also play Candy Crush with him, because he signed in to the game through Facebook and can’t get it to stop popping up on everybody’s news feeds because no one can figure out privacy settings anymore. That’s as good a reason as any why we should all stay away from social media forever, or at least the ones that Mark Zuckerberg clutches in his perfectly moisturized paws.
Új Bála is a slippery fish. He pretends his production is slick, but it’s covered in gummi bear guts and goo, and you find yourself shooting down the center of the “motoric, mutating proto-techno” like you’re on a Slip-n-Slide smeared with Jell-O and spraying Powerade from the little holes along its length. You wind up translucent and sticky, shiny and sparkly in the afternoon sun, ready for an immediate shower. You glow like an angel. Do angels glow? Surely. Are they sticky? I’ve never touched one. Do they emerge from the heavenly realm to the bubbling strains of “motoric, mutating proto-techno”? They do now.
Új Bála is a slippery fish. He’s so aware that everyone probably writes it “Uj Bala” like lazy, good-for-nothing, inelegant, clueless bloggers that he’s decided to call us all out and throw those “diacritical marks” right in our face. But I’m with you! I write it “Új Bála” like the enlightened scribe that I am. I pay attention, a characteristic I find lacking in modern American scholarship. So when the rhythmic pings and squirts commingle with the digital melodic structures of these six tracks, I imagine the sheet music containing acute accents over every note. That doesn’t make me pronounce anything differently, it’s just a mind game I play with myself. I’m basically just losing my marbles listening to “Diacritical Marks and Angels.” My smooth, beautiful marbles. Új Bála tunes are smooth, beautiful marbles – let loose in one of those lottery machines of course.
My idea of fun does NOT entail getting kicked in the face, or punched in the face, or headbutted in the face, or smashed in the face with anything, really. Which is probably a shame, because if I had less attachment to my face (and it really is a beautiful face), then I wouldn’t be so hesitant to leave my own home and head to the nearest local VFW or church basement or dorm room to catch a live set by Logroño, Spain’s Ernia. (Not that they’d be anywhere near me, mind you, but you get the idea.) In those locations I would be treated to the sweetest circle pits those hardcore and death metal and what-have-you kids could whip up. I bet there’d be some particularly excellent ones at Ernia shows.
The Spanish quartet rips through thirteen insanely fast tracks that harken back to some of my favorite thrashy artists: Some Girls, Converge, The Locust, Pig Destroyer, etc. But I’m old now. I’m drifting farther and farther away from youthful angst and aggression, either letting go of the things that piss me off or channeling that anger into other, more productive conduits than primal rage. Still, I’ll probably eternally be a sucker for angular, distorted guitars, shouty vocals, and blast beats. And Ernia’s that secret artist you can drop on your stateside friends – “Yeah, Agoraphobic Nosebleed is okay I guess, but have you heard this tape from this Spanish band?” You would be so much cooler! Edition of 75 from Already Dead. Listen good, then smash something in the face (a clock, perhaps, because we don’t condone violence here at Tabs Out).
Michael Potter founded multi-genre experimental tape label Null Zone in 2015. Since then, the label has earned its reputation as one of the mainstays of the cassette scene — thanks to Potter’s ability to surprise fans with each release as well as his willingness to tour and promote the strange music he curates. Due to this openness and hard work, I posit that Null Zone will weather the onslaught of the impending decades and be remembered fondly by our avant-garde obsessed, half-mutated, nutrient-deprived descendants as they drive faithfully towards the gates of Valhalla — shiny and chrome.
And, though it may very well be too early to tell, I also posit that Potter’s new label Garden Portal will be celebrated by future warboys just the same — if not more so.
Yes, Michael Potter has taken it upon himself to start a second label.
The first two releases (both albums courtesy of the same artist, Joseph Allred) were released on March 22, 2019. Read on and you will find out a little about what to expect when listening to Allred’s work, as well as some context regarding the genesis of Garden Portal in the form of an interview with Potter himself.
“Aspirant” revolves around minimalist sound experimentation — laden with field recordings, drones and occasional melodic passages that give the album a ghost town soundtrack sort of vibe. Throughout its run time, I can’t help but imagine a lone spirit wandering from place to place in some abandoned township, tinkering with rusted porch chimes (see the aptly named “Chimes and Basement Mass”) or sitting in a room amongst sofas and chairs covered in dusty plastic playing a forlorn tune on a harmonium (see “The Coyotes, The Sun). There are even moments that lean towards the creepy side (if you go along with the ghost town thing) — such as in “Good Order” when unintelligible whispers swirl around in the air amidst an ominous drone.
When considering all of this, perhaps “Aspirant” is a meditation on how it feels to be alone and lost in a quixotically empty place saturated in memories — and yet still feel an insurmountable desire to somehow make something beautiful out of it.
“Nightsongs” is a logical companion to “Aspirant” in that it possesses similar lonesome qualities — each track being comprised of thoughtful ditties played with subdued passion on six and twelve string guitars in an empty room. Due to this choice of instrumentation, the songs are more grounded and intimate. However, though the album is less “experimental” in this particular way, it nonetheless scribes its own chapter in the shared narrative.
All of that being said, what I love most about both albums is that each of them simultaneously compliments the other while standing firmly on its own. They are deep and rich with complicated nuances, like two beautiful humans who would have been just fine on their own — but nonetheless had the good fortune of becoming lifelong friends. And, because of this union, we are all richer ourselves. Bravo, Mr. Allred.
Null Zone is already an incredibly diverse label (in terms of genre) — so how and why start Garden Portal?
With Garden Portal, I want to focus on a more organic kind of sound. Null Zone is pretty all over the place, but more and more it’s focused on electric and electronic musics. I love all that stuff, but I also have a deep love for acoustic based music too, especially guitar music. So a lot of what Garden Portal releases is going to be guitar oriented, but certainly not all. There will be some like drone and more atmospheric type stuff here too, it will just be of a more organic or earthy nature.
How did you come to work with Joseph Allred? Tell us about why you chose ‘Aspirant’ and ‘Nightsongs’ to carry the burden of establishing first impressions of Garden Portal.
I met Joey at the Three Lobed Records sweet sixteen show in Raleigh in 2016. I was introduced through my friend Shannon Perry of the band Wet Garden who I was at the show with. We talked a bit there and then some more on the internet. Met again at the Thousand Incarnations of the Rose American Primitive guitar festival in April of last year where he played a beautiful set of acoustic guitar pieces. Garden Portal had already been on my mind for a minute, and when I saw him play I knew I wanted to work with him. So a few discussions later and he sends me these 2 albums. It was kind of a no-brainer for me, really. These two tapes sort of give a roundabout sense of everything Garden Portal aims to be about – some nice acoustic guitar music mixed with very organic sounding field recordings and soundscapes.
How will you handle unsolicited submissions? Will your process be different than that of Null Zone?
Well, same with Null Zone, anyone is welcome to send a submission over but who knows if I will have time to listen or not. I’ve got the next 3 Garden Portal tapes slated for the next few months. I tend to plan things out at least a few months in advance and I already have a bunch of folks I’ve asked if they want to do something, and a list of others that will eventually be asked. If someone sends something my way that I really connect with, then I’ll try to make something happen if it’s possible.
Going off of the previous question, what is your ideal release schedule look like?
I’m finally kind of figuring it that all out now. Last year I released 22 tapes on Null Zone, doing all the physical production and shipping myself (in between working a full time job), and that was too much for me. That really wore me out and kind of put me in a bad mood sometimes lol. So I think this year I want to slow things down just a little and then slow them down a whole lot for 2020. I’ve got 12 tapes and 1 vinyl LP slated for Null Zone, and 6 tapes slated for Garden Portal for the entire year, the releases alternating between labels every month. Null Zone tapes come in batches of 2, Garden Portal will come out one at a time (from now on). Maybe next year slow that down to just doing one tape a month alternating between labels.
What’s it like running experimental cassette labels in Athens, Georgia? How does location play a part in your creative choices – if at all?
Athens is a great place to live if you just like to kinda keep your head down and do your own thing. There definitely is a cool scene of weirdos making all shades of experimental music, but it’s more like a community thing rather than a music/recording/nightlife kind of thing. A few folks in town will get some tapes from me, and sometimes the record shops will put a few up on the shelves, but not that many folks seem very interested in it. And that’s fine, I realize this music isn’t for everyone, especially not in a place as over-saturated with music as Athens is. I try to work with as many local experimenters as I can, while also working with folks from around the country and globe. So it’s cool to have this thing where those two scenes kind of meet and overlap. Also, just being in Athens, it’s kind of nice to retain a small bit of anonymity and to just be left alone to do what I want.
What is your highest hope for cassette culture (in general) as we push forward through time?
Oh dang, I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that before, nor is that something I would just think of lol. I like cassettes – like listening to them, like making them, like holding them and looking at them… but you know, everything goes away after a time. The world is in a pretty disastrous place right now and I wonder about how adversely I am affecting things by constantly putting out these little hunks of plastic that will eventually become garbage… Otherwise I think it’s great that we have this little music subculture surrounding this “outdated” form of media that is cheap and easy to produce and release, and that so many folks are on board with keeping it going.
Hedera is the name of the genus for ivy, the twisty plant that grows over everything if you let it. It can be nice when used decoratively. It can also kill trees. But the worst kind is probably obvious: poison ivy, the oily one that gives you a MAJOR itchy rash if you touch it, and if you scratch it, you can spread it. Take it from me – I am wickedly susceptible to poison ivy, so much so that I barely will set foot in the woods anymore. (Well, I live in Florida, so there’s snakes and alligators and scorpions and all manner of other awful things I could run into, so you can see why I’m better off keeping my distance.) Remember when your mom said, “Leaves of three, let it be”? Your mom was SO right.
Shanyio, aka Romanian artist Alexandru Hegyesi with guests, seeks, perhaps, to mitigate the effects of poison ivy by sinking into a deeply psychedelic meditative state on “Hedera Helix.” That sinking could also just be his way of carefully observing the biological structure of ivy plants in general and ruminating on them, but that would mess up my poison ivy narrative. Regardless, Shanyio musters a dense creativity when considering the flora, and the artists together craft a delightful and mysterious song cycle that burrows into your brain, sprouts roots, and takes over. Utilizing various percussion techniques, electronics, tape loops, and Hegyesi’s cello, shakuhachi, and Appalachian dulcimer, Shanyio defies categorization. But it falls pretty clearly within the electroacoustic/experimental side of things.
(What? It does! I don’t like that look you’re giving me.)
DNA is an enigmatic construction, a cagey, inexplicable scientific concept that’s really hard for us regulars to understand without assistance. Shanyio digs into the DNA of ivy with “Hedera Helix,” emerging with a sonic simulation that’s easy to get behind, even if you still have no idea what DNA actually is. [Ed. note: This is what DNA is.]
“Hedera Helix” is available from Hiss and Groove. “Ampex chrome type tape in transparent case. All cassettes are recorded one by one using a Tascam CD – A 500 (TEAC Professional Division) deck. Individually numbered. DDA – digital recording, digital mixing, analog mastering.” I have no idea what any of that means.
It’s my supreme pleasure to relate to you my thoughts on Minneapolis-based Bumpy Records’ two newest releases (set to drop on March 29) — “Durn Fool” by Oyster World and “Frisbee” by The Miami Dolphins.
Oyster World’s “Durn Fool” is an experience — and I don’t mean that in the usual vague sense employed by those who can’t find the right word to describe an album or a movie or an actual real life…experience. What I’m saying is that this album truly is an excursion, a spastic tour across numerous genre-bending soundscapes. Think paradoxically noisy/melodic progressive punk rock infused with creative nods to the likes of Bikini Kill or the B-52s or even contemporary peers Guerilla Toss.
Stephanie Jo Murck’s quirky and far-reaching (in terms of both pitch range and creativity) vocal prowess is mostly responsible for these comparisons. Much – but not all, of course – of the personality of Oyster World emanates from Murck’s musings regarding things from the mundane (such as food) to the most oft-debated sociological issues of the modern age (such as gender identity).
Guitarist Matthew “Gravy” Graves’ riffs work tirelessly to provide expansive context for Murck’s vocal efforts. Expert pedal utilization and a seemingly insatiable melodic vision often propels “Durn Fool” far past telescopic range. Some of the sounds he is able to achieve are borderline extraterrestrial. Couple this with his mangled time signatures and abrupt yet effective starts and stops, and it’s definitely fair to say Graves exists in the top tier of contemporary prog guitar purveyors.
Bassist Theo Pupillo is able to simultaneously compliment Graves’ guitar work while existing freely in their own sonic playground. I find it to be a very easy and pleasurable experience taking turns focusing on each players’ interwoven passages — where the bass will seamlessly assume lead melody duties or at the very least lay noticeable and catchy groundwork.
Willem Vander Ark is my new favorite contemporary percussionist. I have always appreciated drummers who know when to go nuts and when to refrain. He very obviously possesses a strong compositional sense and subsequent control that breeds dynamic and continuously surprising music. Anyone who’s been in a band knows that percussionists of this caliber are not exactly common.
Altogether, “Durn Fool” is abundant in jarring yet fluid musical breaks that constantly remind you that you’re listening to an unbelievably tight band — one that I imagine is amazing to see play live. The coherency that exists between the members’ individual styles almost seems too good to be true.
Releasing alongside Oyster World is the short but memorable “Frisbee” by The Miami Dolphins — also denizens of the Twin Cities.
The songs that comprise “Frisbee” are vast and far-encompassing despite the fact that the longest song clocks in at 4 minutes and 35 seconds. It’s almost like dream time — where a subconscious sequence that seemingly lasts for hours in one’s mind really only spans a few minutes or so in reality.
Genre-wise, these songs are hearty, lo-fi post-punk/no-wave concoctions that in some ways harken back to Sonic Youth’s fledging noise days (back when they were unheard of and sorely unappreciated in the NYC scene). What sets The Miami Dolphins apart, though, is the active chemistry between the members of the band. There’s an occasional back and forth between vocalist Beth Bambery and guitarist Patrick Larkin that lends a sort of dramatic quality to the music — these moments reminding me of zany scenes acted out by two actors in a late night improv class. However, despite the surface-level stream-of-consciousness execution of this banter, it’s apparent that it’s all well-rehearsed and imperative to the overall sound of “Frisbee”.
The opening title track is the standout track to me (if I had to pick one) — being that it’s the most sprawling and synecdochical of the bunch. It contains the aforementioned bizarre vocal exchanges, time signature shifts, guitar work that ranges from cheery to hyper to dissonant, and a queasy sense of structure. And what I mean by that is that control is most definitely present in all of these songs, but it’s fleeting. Each track dangles from a string over a bottomless pit of uncertainty and (in some cases) madness. I mean this in the most positive sense possible. “Frisbee” is unapologetically weird and intriguing.
The groove can fall apart if you’re not careful. You don’t want to be touching all those inputs and knobs, not with those fingers all greasy after an evening at Buffalo Wild Wings, not with your mental faculties numbed by frigid 22-oz. lagers. You’ve got to be cautions, to treat the track with a delicateness that belies the clumsiness of your body’s gristly mean-slab reality. You’re a walking snack. Don’t touch any buttons you’re not supposed to.
Treru and Mondrian Loop are likeminded souls in this regard. You’ll find neither beered up, nor will you catch them faking the funk on a nasty dunk – no elbows-out rebounds, no smashed backboards, no fouls in the paint. Actually, no basketball at all. (I honestly don’t know where I went there.) They are, instead, both purveyors of fragile rhythmic mind trips, sampledelic tour guides on a color-saturated walkabout through disappearing environments. Treru’s “Grey” warps minds over side A, fifteen minutes of gently shifting beats, pockets of abstract ambience, and generous helpings of turntable hiss. Mondrian Loop plays foil to Treru on “Yellow,” another sidelong beatscape doing similar things, skipping off the grid like a UFO in retreat. If DJ Wally’s “The Stoned Ranger Rides Again” somehow decayed into one of the Caretaker’s dusty 45s, you’d likely have the basis for both “Grey” and “Yellow” – that is to say, a fantastic starting point for dank meander through uncharted rhythms.
Let your mind wander…
But be careful not to touch anything, because seriously, if you knock any of this over, it’s totally going to collapse what Treru and Mondrian Loop are doing here. You don’t want that on your conscience.
This slick home-duped tape comes with buttons and an Outward Records sticker. Only 20, so get with the program!
I was a bit confused at first by the direction of this splendorous double cassette release from Hotham Sound, the fabulous Canadian experimental music label that we’ve tackled ever so expertly in the past. “Why have they gathered so many wonderful artists in one place to fete the magic microscopic things in your blood that give you Jedi powers?” I wondered. No, those are Midichlorians. Wait – are the Mondrians those immortal Scientology beings? Wrong again: Thetans. Am I thinking of “Alien” itself? Now I’m way off. Those are xenomorphs.
Mondrian is such a funny word though … the connection is right on the tip of my brain. I guess I could read the j-card and figure out what this release is all about … Oh! PIET Mondrian! The Dutch artist, the one who inspired that Apples in Stereo album cover. I should have known from the yellow, blue, and red lines geometrically arranged on the cover. (I’m really embarrassed, in hindsight, by all those sci-fi connections I tried to make.) “The Mondrians,” then, would suggest Piet’s followers, his disciples, his students, his likeminded artistic peers. And sure enough, these twenty musicians do double duty, getting inside the head of the master while interpreting his work through sound art.
“Huh?” you bellow as you spit-take some half-chewed breakfast in surprise (pancakes, from the looks of it). I’m with you there – I have no idea how this idea got into anybody’s head or how it’s gonna shake out in the end. But then that old standby, reading, was there to once again save the day and make me not look stupid: “Twenty contemporary electronic musicians and sound artists were presented with a simple premise: reimagine the Mondrian painting of your choice as a graphic score, and rigorously interpret it.” Imagine if I had given up on reading as a kid! I never would have known what was going on here.
To call this exercise fascinating is ridiculous on so many levels, mostly because all of these artists chose paintings and interpreted them without words, which is so much harder to do than see some lines on canvas and go, “Huh. That’s pretty nice.” “Fascinating” doesn’t do it justice, and I have no skills other than words or gif lookups to work with here. These musicians have so much more going for them – so equal is their audio component to Mondrian’s visual work and so capable are they within their chosen idiom that the visual bleeds into the aural, and vice versa. In fact, it has to – more from the premise: “Imagine you have been asked to describe, in full, the spatial and chromatic aspects of this painting to a blind person using only sound.” Some of the contributors take this literally, mapping their chosen painting exactly with musical accompaniment, while others take a more broad approach to the concept and go abstract. In the end, you, as the consumer of this 2xCS, are the only one in position to parse the compositions, to match the intention to the concept. And that makes you the winner, in my book. It’s like a never-ending puzzle!
This also happens to be a who’s who of electronic/electroacoustic/ambient sound designers, an all-star team of audio talent assembled under one roof for one time and one time only. I’ll list them here: James Druin, Chris Harris, C. Diab, Khyex, Ross Birdwise, Alexandra Spence, Lance Austin Olsen, TUAM, PrOphecy Sun, Benjamin Mauch, Soressa Gardner, Norm Chambers, Laurie Zimmer, connect_icut, Sean Evans, Camp of Wolves, Mount Maxwell, Ian William Craig, Pulsewidth, and Benoît Pioulard. Gasp, gasp – I said that all out loud in one breath.
Purchase directly from Hotham Sound. Also, all your streaming needs will be met there. And take it from me, this thing is unbelievable to look at and listen to. Buy now!
The Tabs Out Bonus Brigade™ uses their vast cassette prowess to compete in the first ever Tabs Out game show. Who will be victorious!? Ready? Cassette. Go!
Tapes by Clone 334, Marsha Fisher, Former Airline, Peals, Tiger Village, Hasufel, Nate Young, and M T Hall.
I can’t even leave the house. I’ve been totally neutralized as competent force within society, unable to contribute anymore in any meaningful way. It’s this FEAR that’s got me, this TERROR that something bad’s going to happen to me as soon as I step out into the world. They say it’s just paranoia, but I’m not one to throw that kind of caution to the wind. Trust me, I have an unhealthy obsession with safety – I basically need an inner tube in the bathtub so I don’t accidentally fall asleep and slip under the water. I also drink a pot of coffee before baths. (I also take baths, not showers.)
I MIGHT be afraid of Jordan Anderson. He seems scary, because he has a tape of electronic music out called “Hand of Fear,” and I’m not sure I can handle it in the advanced state of perceptive decay I currently find myself in. But I don’t have to leave the house to listen to tapes, and I can email what I write instead of trudge it down to the mailbox where people who want to hurt me can see me. There’s also a photo of a car driving very fast on the j-card, and there’s just no way I can imagine putting myself in a situation like that. So I’m extra frightened.
But … I’m soothed. (I’m as surprised as the rest of you – I thought I’d be up all night because I wouldn’t be able to begin to sleep without the lights on.) In the end I’m blanketed like a baby by the electronic pixelations dreamed up by Jordan Anderson in what could only be described as a fit of kindness. Because how can “Hand of Fear” creep down your spine with cold, bony fingers, chilling your very soul, when its patches and tones are so warm and inviting? It’s like the idea of a “Hand of Fear” is something that Anderson wants to rebel against, to push back from. But we’re still steeped in tension, yessir – that’s what gives the tape its edge, its enduring sense that everything is happening at once, too fast, and it’s all impossible to stop.
Maybe I’m just a sucker for the fragmented IDM along the lines of Aphex Twin or Squarepusher, artists I used to listen to during the times of my life I could walk out the front door. “Hand of Fear” “grips” (pun definitely intended!) me similarly, taking off down fractured pathways of mangled digital percussion, pushing the limits of composition within the confines of BPM and emerging in complete tonal oases where the only thing to do is … emerge along with “Hand of Fear.” Jordan Anderson is a counterbalance to the madness, a smoothly flowing conduit of kinetic energy for machines with lots of ball bearings for maximum frictionlessness. Or something like that. I’m still not going outside.
Only 20 of these available from Outward Records, so act fast! Comes with a sticker and buttons. Hooray!
Aisuru died and went to heaven. That’s the only thing that explains it. I mean, “Lonely Psalms,” am I right? Tis like the singin’ of the angels themselves. In fact, that one time I fell asleep in my breakfast cereal (I’m a heavy sleeper, and a breakfast enthusiast) and couldn’t breathe past the milk (skim), I actually left my body and approached the light and ascended to the clouds and heard the heavenly host, a great mass of voices resolving its chord progression in sheer power so gentle that worlds were created and destroyed as I observed. Such is the power of the almighty sustained tone.
The delicacy of an Aisuru track could also do these things if given the amplification, which is why I think Aisuru is either dead and an angel or in hiding in a cathedral. (Aisuru’s not even missing and is in Austin, Texas? Never would’ve guessed.) I’m going to guess a cathedral, because I have a tape recorded by Aisuru whose contents made me write all this dumb stuff about angels and the afterlife. You give me this gorgeous ambient stuff and I immediately take off into flights of fancy, imagination working wicked overtime.
And this ambient stuff is truly gorgeous – these eight tracks don’t disappoint in any way. And they don’t overstay their welcome, as some long tapes tend to do – no, most are short, less than three, four minutes, even though there’s an eleven-minuter in there. So you’ll still have time to go about your day after listening, time to go to the grocery store or the laundromat or to call an ambulance to get blacked-out me revived from my cereal mishap. In fact, of those scenarios, I encourage the latter.
As is Histamine Tapes’s wont, these babies are recycled: the j-cards were hand-cut from a book on ancient architecture, and the cassettes were repurposed and dubbed over – mine came on a “Christmas on the Border” tape. Cool! Edition of thirty.
