My cousin got a new Tesla, and it’s pretty sweet. It’s certainly much better than your car or my car, and not just because you really do feel the Gs when you stomp the gas pedal (it’s like a roller coaster!). It can also drive itself, meaning you can text and drive all you want, or eat a sandwich, or read a book. Actually, now that I think about it, why the heck aren’t all cars self-driving at this point? Or fully electric? Or can get updates via a cell connection like your phone?
Before I snap in rage, let’s talk about Hylopath, whose “Driverless-Human” is a revelation. Not sure how a driverless human is like a driverless car, but stay with me, maybe we’ll figure something out. (At any rate, it’s a nifty idea!) London-based electronic artist Rupert Cole has basically put together the perfect human/AI relationship album, a baroque future-pop delight populated by personalities that range from almost human to sort-of human. The spoken text-to-speech voices that inhabit Cole’s world speak their stories and strive to emote, which makes the endeavor itself even more tragic. As in, poor AI! Trying to act human! So, so sad.
But it’s way more complicated than that, which is what makes this work so compelling. The stories’ backing tracks being intensely catchy certainly doesn’t hurt. But it’s the way that the AIs’ fractured viewpoints and corroding circuitry mirror humanity that hits hardest, as if we’re in a distant future place, and humanity’s gone, and even the machines couldn’t learn how to properly avoid extinction (or at least drama). How on earth could they not compile enough data points to evolve beyond emotional response? It’s heartbreaking to see it come to this, to a place not too far beyond where Ferraro’s “Human Story 3” or something along those lines ended up.
And still: fascinating. While we’re all waiting for our new Teslas to arrive and figuring out what a “Driverless-Human” is, let’s spend some time on the internet purchasing this Hylopath tape from Adaadat. Stream in full there too.
A somnambulist is one who sleepwalks, and I used to be a pretty good sleepwalker back in the day. My mom told me one time in junior high or thereabouts that I had stood on my bed and stared banging my fists on the wall, yelling, “Mom! Let me out of the garage!,” etc. I remembered none of it. I’d like to think this story ended with my mom and me laughing about it, but I can’t be sure. She may have been scowling at me, or looking at me in a sidelong way, like I was a burgeoning supervillain or something.
Warren Ng is multiple Somnambulists, and the passages that he creates on his guitar are drenched with reverb and delay. Being far more interested in the tonal qualities he can extricate from his instrument, Ng embarks on lengthy excursions along the fretboards, letting the results of his experiments guide him. If “From the Field to the Factory” was going to soundtrack something, it would soundtrack a vigorous sleepwalking jaunt, such is the trancelike quality of its drawn-out tracks.
And of course you can’t get heady with your languid post-blues riffs without punching up the content with a little social commentary. See the title track, for example, for a reverie on the worker. “The Streets Were Paved with the Blood of Saints” conjures some vicious anti-religion protest. “Poem of Struggle” sounds like it’s from the pen of a tragic Dostoevsky hero. And if “We Are Children of the Ahistorical,” what then have we inherited? Nothing but the dead flag blues, if you ask me.
Even if you do it unconsciously, head on over to Zum Audio and grab a copy of this one. Edition of 100.
This here “alto saxophone/electronics/modular synthesizer/mixer” shindig from Ryan Wade Ruehlen, “Time Agnosia,” was recorded in Denver and Boulder, Colorado, in March 2019. In July 2019, I was rushed to the emergency room in Denver, removed from my connecting flight because I was having difficulty breathing after sprinting fifteen gates (and fast-walking the remaining seventeen) to make sure I got on the stupid plane to begin with. (OK, I so it ended up being more of a gentle ambulance ride filled with pleasant conversation with the paramedic and me being diagnosed as a sea-leveler, but why ruin a good story?)
With shimmers bursting from the edge of my vision, I was in the appropriate frame of mind to appreciate “Time Agnosia.” “Science fiction,” mentions the Shadowtrash Tape Group site as a plausible categorical description. “Topographical disorientation.” Got me there. “…Quicksilver movements in sudden formation. Inability to recognize. Lost in familiar environments.” Sheets of high-pitched ambience lay the groundwork for the saxophone meditations, and program glitches and shorting nodes accompany the slow march toward completion. Tones hangs in the atmosphere in humid ambience, the sax slowly stirring them until they curdle. All of this penetrates my mind and adds to the feeling that nothing is real, nothing makes sense, not till I get another hit from that sweet, sweet oxygen canister. Even then, “Time Agnosia” coats my mind like some jackweed is all up in it with a can of puke-green paint, coating my senses till I’m in a state of perma-semi-blackout.
Only in Denver!
Anyway, you can grab a copy of the tape from Shadowtrash Tape Group’s Etsy site.
I haven’t watched “Stranger Things” season 3 yet, (2 eps in, gimme a break), but I’m getting that vibe right away from the Jcard font on “Stars and Rumors of Stars,” a “finally-seeing-the-light-of-day” release from Neil Scrivin on Fonolith. And let’s be clear – the only reason I noticed the font in any way is that I somehow glanced away from the brilliant full-cassette-shell artwork (variations of blue-screened autumn tree branches), and I probably only did that because the kids next door were playing baseball and a ball went over the fence and conked me right on the noggin while I stood, mouth agape, on my porch looking at this thing, the rest of the mail forgotten in my other hand. But yeah, it’s that retro Stephen King novel font. I like that font.
This tape may have been initially recorded in 2004, but let’s be clear: this is totally a 2019 release. (Literally and stylistically.) To circle back to those scamps from Hawkins, Indiana – not so scamp-y (and certainly not scampi) anymore, I guess, what with time marching on and all – they’d probably be totally down to listen to Neil Scrivin during a D&D sesh, the moody synth pulses and electro beats just downtempo enough to not overpower the room. The Duffer Brothers should be popping this into a cassette deck near them, and the S U R V I V E dudes shouldn’t go another day without enlisting Scrivin for their next tour. That’s the power of “Stars and Rumors of Stars.”
Playing off the biblical “wars and rumors of wars” warned of in the book of Revelation, Scrivin eyes something equally dangerous/rapturous in the skies, and he plays to his imagination of it. For example – is that supposed to be a UFO coming down over the night fields by the house on the cover? Given the King nods, my unyielding “Stranger Things” talk, and the tense dark synthwork proffered by Scrivin, I wouldn’t be surprised. It could also just be one of those titular stars, shining down through the clouds, teasing knowledge of mysterious deeds. The mystery is the fun part.
“Full-face UV printed cassette tape in black library case” available from Fonolith. See, I told you you’d want one, if only just to look at!
Christmas punched me in the mouth waaay early this year, because it’s July and not December. (I know some of you do that “Christmas in July” thing, but it’s wrong, not to mention sinful.) But I woke up this morning and my tree was up (fake tree) and the decorations were hung and there was a single small present beneath the tree. I was in disbelief, and I had a split lip from the punch, but I decided to roll with it and approach this miracle as something that was truly meant to be. I approached the brightly wrapped package and took a look at the name on it. “The World,” it simply said. Who am I to disagree? I ripped it open.
To my complete non-surprise, it was a cassette tape. The size gave it away, plus I happen to do a bit of writing about cassettes, so there you go: non-surprise. What WAS surprising was the fact that said cassette tape contained an unreleased Adderall Canyonly album, and you know events like new Adderall Canyonly albums should be treated with the kind of respect you reserve for something like Christmas. AC moves in mysterious ways, and sometimes those ways include allowing material to gestate over a long period of time. Such is the case with “Influenza 10,” recorded in Portland, Oregon, in 2010 with a Tascam and a bunch of other likely obsolete electronics that have probably been sold for scrap at this point. That’s just the Adderall Canyonly way – all those electronics combine to form future wastescapes where robots have claimed Earth as their own and Snake Plissken can’t get off his island. Obsoleteness is not an obstacle.
And no, “Influenza 10” is not a re-release of some classic album on a weird anniversary – it’s not “remixed and remastered” but “finally mixed and finally mastered,” seeing the light of day after all these years. It bears all the delightful hallmarks of AC’s work: tortured electronics, ominous tones, queasy rhythms, and fractured viewpoints of futures dangerously close at hand. Did I say “delightful”? Yeah, I meant “delightful,” especially if you’re into stuff like “tortured electronics.”
So be vigilant: you too, like me, may wake up one day with a Christmas sock to the kisser at the wrong time of year; I bring you this warning as a public service announcement. Always be prepared! “Influenza 10” is out July 23 via Personal Archives in an edition of 50 (pro-duped, white shells/black imprint, 2-sided 3-panel j-card). Listen to “Floating Master” below to wet your whistle.
I don’t know why I’ve been inundated with scary things lately, but Personal Archives has sent me the Karris Adams Duo’s “Nothing Stays Buried (La La La La),” and now I’m all like, should I be afraid of zombies too? I don’t know if they’re quite as scary as ghosts (not as fast), but they look way grosser. Still, I’m not here to beat that dead horse (unless it’s chasing me); instead, I want to focus on the music, and if you’re unfamiliar with Personal Archives (I know you’re not unfamiliar, but bear with me), you should be ready for some wild and woolly (and wiggly!) improv. Here, Reid Karris (prepared guitars, “skatchbox on b2”) and Alexander Adams (drums) build worlds out of sonic tinker toys, creating bizarre and excellent scaffoldings that continue to increase in height and breadth until they’ve filled the studio space that they’re recording in (Hinsdale Underground Bunker Complex, which is a great place to hide from the undead). At least that’s how it’s working in my imagination.
Karris and Adams aren’t as bombastic or in-your-face a duo as Sex Funeral, Personal Archives honcho BBJr and Matthew Crowe’s outfit. But they’re certainly kindred spirits, with Karris’s guitar squiggling all over the rhythmic framework Adams provides. They don’t take themselves too seriously, which highlights their playfulness and creativity – in fact, it sounds like they’re having an amazing time recording together. Just look at some of these jokey track names: “Emerson Karris, Lake Street, and the Palmer House Hilton” (ELP jokes are not easy, and this one works!), “He Won’t Stop Thumping until You Leave Him Alone (For H)” (ew?), “Wiggle a Bit” (gladly!), and “Pop Song 312” (take THAT, R.E.M.!). Don’t you want to listen to those tunes, no matter what they are?
All this just goes to show how finger-on-the-pulse BBJr and Personal Archives is when it comes to live improv. Karris and Adams are a joy to listen to, and probably a joy to behold in a live setting. Why don’t you figure out how to make that happen, how to get off your couch and go check them out? I have no idea where you live, but if you’re like me, you’re probably always up for a road trip.
“C30 lavender shell hand-stamped cassettes, dutifully dubbed in Dubuque. Professionally printed two-sided j-card.” Only 40 available!
Well hey, everybody, thanks for showing up. They say the written word is dying, that it’s on its way out, but I’m here to discount that notion with some old-fashioned text on your screen that you’ll have to read with your eyes and comprehend with your brain. I’m not one to talk into a microphone and make jokes and trigger fart noises for an hour and a half to satisfy your every disgusting whim. I take my job as an investigator into the sonically artistic so seriously that you wouldn’t believe it if I told you how seriously. Trust me – it’s an intense calculation.
So you WILL take my word for it – or words – literally – because you have chosen to read about the tenth batch of tapes from hardcore Cleveland label Unifactor. Don’t misread – Unifactor isn’t releasing hardcore tapes. They – and by they, I mean Jayson Gerycz, purveyor and sonically artistic (hey!) guru behind the label – are simply hardcore, meaning intense and serious, about releasing what they release, and these new ones are no exception. So strap in, friendly neighborhood audience, and listen to my tale of woe and regret in relation to these three missives from the passionate jaws of expression. Or tales of joy, maybe, who knows.
MARILU DONOVAN & TRISTAN KASTEN-KRAUSE – NOWHERE
This is all bowed upright bass and harp. Not kidding. You don’t kid around about that sort of intense and serious minimalism, not while there’s tones to discover. The duo takes their time occupying the space they share, letting the vibrations of the two instruments mingle in the room, in the atmosphere, filling that space, creating more space, expanding the walls of the room, and the ceiling too, and the floor, everything bowing outward along with the sounds their bows are making. It’s like they’re making their own pocket universe here in “Nowhere,” which turns out to be actual nowhere, a swirling vortex of vibrating strings and clouds of rosin dust. It is birthed from the frequencies of the molecules that Donovan and Kasten-Krause are agitating all up in this piece, the friction and force becoming sonically resonant and decipherable by the human ear. Got all that?
MOON RA – mUSICA iN dIFFERENT iNUTILI sERVICES Vol. 1
I’ve covered Marie e le Rose’s work before, as MonoLogue, in fact, right here on Tabs Out. And now she’s back as Moon RA with “mUSICA iN dIFFERENT iNUTILI sERVICES Vol. 1,” a trance- … er, trans-Europe excursion through the influence of “Tangerine Dream, Nono, Kraftwerk, Webern, and other electronic pioneers.” And, like me, Moon RA was transfixed by what she found. Honestly, I could listen to music inspired by all these artists (even “other electronic pioneers”) until you came in the room and ripped the headphones from my cold, dead ears, or even until I realized that I needed food and exercise and sunlight to live and took the headphones off myself for survival purposes, the zones are just that deep. Moon RA’s got the touch, the golden touch, twiddling the golden knobs and teasing out the golden tones from solid gold synthesizers. She turns your mind into a planetarium and puts on a laser light show that slowly and surely builds in intensity until it’s bursting out your eyes as if your eyes were the projector onto the screen of the universe, and you could share that laser light show of wonder and awe with all the people of the world, and everybody would just be like, “What were we fighting about, anyway?” That’s how “mUSICA iN dIFFERENT iNUTILI sERVICES Vol. 1” works – it’s insidious.
ARIAN SHAFIEE – ARABIC VOICE
Arian Shafiee zones to a different vibe, this one light years ahead, behind, beside, in addition to the vibe you’re tripping to in the present tense. So switch over, quick, to opt in to future sounds of “Arabic Voice,” a deconstruction of a cappella Arabic music run through every technological permutation Shafiee could imagine before ICE came for his loop station (not in country legally) and his Garageband license (not valid form of ID). The erstwhile Guerilla Toss geetar slinger discovered the inspiration for this record in the form of the local bodega’s PA emanations and a YouTube playlist pointed out to him by said bodega proprietor, and he sampled and mangled the holy bejeezus out of all that stuff. The result is a processed extraterrestrial head trip of indeterminate origin, an Orange Milk release that somehow slipped through the label’s cracks and ended up on Unifactor. That’s outstanding work if you ask me, and outstanding reporting on it, if you also ask me.
Oh, I was so SCARED there for a minute! The text on this tape by Vague Voices looked like black metal text, and just braced myself for the onslaught for no apparent reason. So despite the fact that black metal certainly informed the work of the duo (Stefan Bachvarov and Angel Simitchiev), there isn’t any yelling or those infernal blast beats that get the cat all agitated so that he goes under the couch and doesn’t come out until I turn off the black metal.
Actually, I like black metal, and that’s a game the cat and I play.
I don’t have a cat.
All honesty aside, “Гробник” is still a creepy ride, just a slow and synthy one down the demonic passageways of dangerous video games. In fact, “Гробник” was commissioned for “Sofia Game Night 2018 – an even dedicated to gaming culture.” Bachvarov and Simitchiev were so taken by the result that they expanded their collaboration and dropped this nightmare of an atmospheric drone tape, synthesizers soundtracking horrifying happenings deep in the woods late at night. Or maybe it’s an alternative soundtrack to “Doom.” What do I know? What I DO know is that “Гробник” is “an old Bulgarian word meanings an elderly person approaching their death, a mythical vampire-like creature, or а grave-digger.” So probably more along the lines of the forest horror.
These ten pieces evoke nefarious dread at every moment, the level of which depends on how vile the deeds are that happen during the track. So “Гробник” plays like an anthology film, a “Black Mirror”/“Twilight Zone”/Brothers Grimm homage, but with super cool synth gear. I would suggest picking one up from Amek Collective, but they’ve sold out their run of 77 already. Looks like it’s to depths of Discogs with you, doomed pilgrim!
I can’t keep UP with this! German Army is, like, the most prolific experimental artistic force out there, even more prolific than Merzbow probably (*Citation needed), and the sheer volume of releases is almost impossible to pin down. And just when I think I’m out, that I have time for a breather, there’s a new package at my door, a delivery of like five new things they’ve put out over the past few months. I swear to god, if the GeAr dudes were anything other than supremely awesome all the time, I wouldn’t write about them so much. I guess we’re all lucky that they’re supremely awesome.
Look at me, complaining about a wonderful gift. SMDH (Shaking Merzbow’s Damn Head).
I mean, this isn’t even a GeAr joint, although Peter Kris is fully onboard. He’s joined by Adam Bellhouse as Burnt Probe, and the two of them get to shredding every electronic component in front of them in no time flat. Scorching the earth with their industrial-bordering-on-techno rhythms and scored and blackened source material, the duo barrels through nine jacked-up, postapocalyptic tracks, most of which, surprisingly, should serve to get your booty moving in some sort of capacity. But it’s like the “Terminator” future out there, all dystopian and junk, and the psychological damage wrought by the sonic terrorism matches the carnage of our future.
I read this book, you guys. At least I think I did. Actually wait – maybe I didn’t, but that cover certainly looks familiar. I’m certainly no stranger to 1960s sci-fi, and the cover of “The Great Krell Machine, Volume One” looks like something I DEFINITELY would have read at some point. I’m just drawn to that look, because you know just what kind of vibe is going to be going on within those pages. It’s comforting and exciting at the same time, and there’s that retrofuturistic nostalgia factor that is simply unignorable. Actually, my interest is piqued – I’m going to start reading this book right now.
What the … This isn’t a book! It’s a cassette tape. Well I’ll be darned … It looks amazing. If it sounds half as good as it looks, we’ll be in really good shape. And what’s this? It’s a Flag Day Recordings compilation? That makes it even BETTER. I don’t know about you, but the raft of quality releases that Flag Day has dropped rivals the output of Isaac Asimov. OK, maybe that’s too far. But we’re in good hands, trust me!
To “The Great Krell Machine”: the tape takes its name from the 1956 film “Forbidden Planet,” which I’ll not delve too deeply into here, because you can look it up. Basically, it is a machine of immense power created by the extinct Krell race discovered by spacecraft crash survivor Dr. Morbius on the titular planet. You can imagine, especially in 1956, its enormity, its vast arrays of light, its analog ambience. It was a time not long before the golden age of Sputniks and space odysseys, when the tactility of control rooms and the blinking lights of consoles and displays captured the imaginations of every human being.
“The Great Krell Machine, Volume One” takes us right back to that time, its nine contributors tapping in fully to the hands-on science of early discovery. They twiddle knobs and flip switches, and it all sounds like someone set up a microphone in a physics laboratory, capturing its ambience. Sure, there are bleeps and bloops, but that’s all part of the immersive experience, getting really deep into the vibe of new scientific frontiers and pristine utopian fantasies. It’s an environment in which I’d like to spend a whole heckuva lot of time.
This cassette came out in an edition of 70 for last year’s Cassette Store Day. Still available!
Tracklist:
Francisco Meirino
Geoff Wilt
PraxisCat
Benjamin Mauch
Guillermo Pizarro
Walker Farrell
Death Lessons
cloning
Todd Barton
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