Under a blanket made out of soft light, I receive Odd Narrative’s “Parks” like the chosen one I so clearly am. How else am I to approach this duo’s work, this collaboration between Koma Elektronik’s Wouter Jaspers and Hainbach? Am I supposed to ignore it, let it do its thing, and move on to some other expectant sucker? No! I’ll shoulder my delightful burden like a Marvel superhero (NOT DC!), though willingly, not all, “I don’t want this burden, but if I have to…” I’m nothing if not enthusiastic about “Parks.”
And if you’re not … why not? Seriously, that’s a question I really have to ask. Because there’s no situation in life where “Parks” becomes an unwanted object. Its composers use a variety of sources to craft their work – “vocal sampling, field recordings, tape loops, contact mics, voltage-driven motors, washes of gorgeous synth pads, … radio transmissions, and much, much more” (yeah, I can read onesheets) – and that very “playfulness” that Jaspers and Hainbach embrace filters through into the process and the results. Yeah, this is ambient music – it’s on Muzan Editions after all – but it’s SO MUCH MORE than ambient music. It’s a cerebral journey of complex adventure, yet smooth and gently beveled like this pebble that I’m about to fling over the surface of the river and hope for multiple skips before it sinks.
Nope, giant plop. I’m not great at stone skipping.
But Jaspers and Hainbach are great at this, great at being Odd Narrative, great at making “Parks” and hopefully other things. You can be a hero too, a chosen one blanketed by the sweet events that unfold herein. All you have to do is buy one of these tapes (edition of 100). But there are only fourteen left as of this writing…
I’m a Pennsylvania transplant living in Florida, and I gotta be honest with you – Maine is one of the most gorgeous places in the world. My friends who’ve lived there won’t tell you that – they’ve all drifted to other parts of the country, turning their backs on the rural environments of their youths, decrying it as “backward” or “redneck” or whatever. I don’t get that. I’ve never felt more welcomed to a place than when I’ve passed through Waterville or Portland (not rural, I get it). Way more welcomed than a place like, say, randomly, Delaware. Yuck.
Flower Room, the tape (and sometimes, ahem, record) label seems like good people too, and though I’ve never been to Brunswick, I’ll have to make it a point to get there someday. Because the showrunners seem to be pretty specific about their welcoming attitude, generously presented to anybody from anywhere, and as such I feel like it’s important to shine a light on that behavior and hold it up as an example of how we should all act. It’s not easy, I’ll admit; but you’ve just gotta embrace it when you encounter it, especially during these days of barely (and not so) contained rage. Here, have a little descriptive copy, courtesy of the label itself, to get you in the benevolent mood that you need to be in: “Exploration & Discoveries in Improvisation & Harmonization ☄ Virtual rurality experiences, sonic sage cleansing, and hymns to manifest a more harmonious You-We-All ☤ Welcome.”
You guys hear that? “You-We-All ☤ Welcome.” I think I’m gonna like these Flower Room people. Let’s see what they’ve got for us, shall we?
STARBIRTHED – Chakra Three / Starbirthed / Messages From…
Three tapes from Starbirthed, the duo of Ash Brooks and ML Wah, and it seems like maybe this is the flagship recording moniker for Flower Room. I’m not 100 percent here, as the “About” section of the Flower Room website is emblazoned with “Coming Soon,” but there’s also a photograph of two people who may or may not be Ash and ML. I’m gonna guess that they are those people. Prove me wrong! Next, we must point out that all six of the beautiful tapes that arrived in the mail are presented in a “wraparound full-color tip-on cover in a clear polybox.” Just stunning work. “Chakra Three” is a guided meditation, two tracks, one on each side, in “yellow jasper gemstone to aid in balancing the third chakra (Solar Plexus / Will center).” I don’t know what that means, but I’m along for the ride here! “Starbirthed” also happens to be the duo’s vinyl debut, but we don’t talk about that here. The tape is a “deep-space violet semi-translucent shell,” also with the wraparound tip-on treatment. This, like “Messages From…” (green and black cover, silver cassette shell), is the very definition of cosmic, way-out zones, deep-space transmissions from star hearts and galactic centers and civilizations waaaay more advanced than we are. Makes me feel small. I kind of like it that way, keeps me centered, focused.
THICK AIR – Concert for Malakut
Thick Air conjures actual thick air indeed, as the one-person drone machine (and “French-Canadian mystic and scholar”) Arman de Chardin plies his polyphonic synthesizer to reach out spiritually to Malakut, or “Realm of Dominion,” which in “Islamic cosmology [contains] several metaphysical beings and places in Islamic lore, like angels, demons, jinn, hell, and the seven heavens.” Thanks, Wikipedia, for the assist! This “Islam” sounds more and more like Christianity the more I read about it. Weird. Anyhoo, Although the two pieces, “Astral Audience” and “Clairaudience,” were performed live at Green Lodge in Matra Point, Maine, de Chardin is truly trying to transcend these earthly shackles by reaching toward the spiritual and the infinite. And it’s true, as Flower Room suggests, that “Concert for Malakut” is a “complete out-of-body listening experience,” a transcended batch of tones that shift us ever closer to the divine. But not too close – we couldn’t survive, like, even a little bit if we came into the presence of the divine! Just imagine.
ASH BROOKS – Crown of Thyme
Starbirthed’s (and MAYBE Flower Room’s [see above]) Ash Brooks steps out on her own here on “Crown of Thyme,” her solo debut. Unlike the other releases we’ve already gone through, “Crown of Thyme” is an earthly mythology, a freak-folk concoction for people who spell “fairy” as “faerie” and “magick” with a “k” and participate in complicated forest rituals. Based around autoharp and voice (with some acoustic guitar thrown in here and there and an assist from ML Wah on loops, sitar, whatever the hell a “mijwiz” is, 10-string acoustic guitar, and percussion), “Crown of Thyme” is a heady mix of cosmic drone, outsider folk, and pagan ceremony. As intense as it is fascinating, Brooks’s work stands alone and apart from her work in Starbirthed, and on equal footing. I’m totally tripped out on it right now. Oh! Also, “moss agate gemstone package,” “transparent emerald cassette shell, hand-stamped in gold ink on both sides.”
MATT LAJOIE – Free to Be…
Sticking around in the acoustic spectrum of these soundtracks for astral projection, we have Matt LaJoie’s (NOT Matt LeBlanc – don’t make the same mistake I did) “Free to Be…,” a delightfully introspective yet imaginative acoustic guitar record. That’s right, just Matt and his “hybrid nylon/steel string” axe reading each other’s vibe and improvising delightful and patient trifles over the course of two Maine winter days. How can I describe what you’ll hear over the two sides of “Free to Be…”? How about simply using the first track’s title: “Meeting a Guide on the Sands of Time.” Mysterious, cosmic, ancient, full of meaning. (There’s also a track called “Delivering Mangoes,” but I’m not describing a Jimmy Buffett record, am I?) LaJoie’s a perfect foil to everything we’ve heard so far, a little more down to earth, a little more introspective. We’ll take that.
TONAL COSMOLOGY – In the Key of I
OK, now this is getting ridiculous. Tonal Cosmology is Ash Brooks and Matt LaJoie – is Flower Room just like this big inbred musical enterprise? I guess that’s OK if it is. More mind-melding that way, I imagine. Everybody on the same page. Here we’re introduced to the Tonal Cosmology “system,” whereby you’ll have the “opportunity to hear and become acquainted with your own Cosmic Chord.” This “astromusical system for reading and hearing the harmony of the spheres” is applied in this instance to “two major planetary transits,” and each “automatic composition” is “based on the ‘Cosmic Chord’ derived from the TC system’s music theory for those transits.” *Shakes head to clear it* That’s a lot of quotations! I mean, how the heck am I supposed to paraphrase that? Let’s just call these two long-form drones what they are: exquisite otherworldly compositions shimmering in the psychic darkness of deep space. “The Key of I” is ethereal bliss. Is this supposed to be emanating from myself?
I wish I was Adrian Knight. I mean, not even a little bit – I WANT to be him, like BE HIM be him. That unflinching coolness is something to aspire to, and no reviewer worth their salt would ever omit the term “smooth operator” in a write up of one of his albums. I wanted to get that out of the way so you know I’m serious. I’m not joking in any way at all. I want to – no, I MUST attain a modicum of that lifestyle in order to truly feel like I’m a complete version of myself.
But to dismiss Knight’s laid-back cocktail funk as a put-on, as some kind of nu-yacht rock is a little disingenuous. This isn’t the Swedish expat’s first rodeo, as he’s got a couple other releases on Galtta, both of the solo variety and as part of Blue Jazz TV, and elsewhere, as part of Private Elevators and Synthetic Love Dream Ensemble. He’s an unstoppable force of dreamy, self-reflective and utterly streamlined songwriting, and he continues to hone his craft into amazing disco-pop-funk reveries. Kind of like if fellow countryman Jens Lekman ended up fronting a live vaporwave band, or something along those lines. That’s not even close to a perfect description. But it sure sounds fun!
“Vacation Man” will convince you that you need a permanent holiday from everyday business life, as if the boardrooms and the corner offices don’t hold the secrets to success that you once dreamed of. I feel this way too – I’m with you guys. But even though this is exactly the kind of situation the music of “Vacation Man” seems to shove into your imagination, it’s actually – and, shhh, it might be a secret – kind of a condemnation of it. See, the title track itself even goes “Stand down, Vacation Man, no one can save you now” on its chorus. Whaddayou mean by that?! Does that mean that every hope sprung forth by Adrian Knight here, every desire, is just a wisp of nothingness that’ll leave me hollow inside?
I don’t know what to think – I don’t even know who I am anymore.
No, wait – I’ll just press play on “Vacation Man,” then I’ll feel good about myself again. Well, until I realize what the lyrics are telling me, that is. Get your own copy (of 125) from Galtta!
By now we know Tingo Tongo Tapes as the upstarts, the disruptors, the game-changers in this underground world of outsider music. Mike even took some heavy stock in them at one point. But TTT is nothing if not a fun bunch, and you’re never quite sure what you’re going to get with any one of their releases. That’s the exciting part – what’s gonna happen next? What fringe act are they gonna rip to tape before said fringe act disappears back into the ether? Are they gonna print the cover art upside down on the jcard? Are they gonna get the track order right?
The answers to all four questions are, we’ll find out here, JRM, yes, no. TTT today stands for Tingo Tongo techno, as shadow act JRM deals in propulsive longform microhouse on “Clock,” a charming full-length release and one of my favorites that the label has released. Over the course of an hour, the shady shaman serves up what SHOULD be a batch of electronic standards, dark club classics that pulse through PAs and seep into your bones, causing you to wiggle and jiggle, but in like a blacklit, robotic, German way. I don’t know what that means either, but I do know it’s a lot of fun. And I’m the kind of person who goes to bed at 10 p.m. and STAYS THE HELL AWAY FROM ANY CLUBS.
Kids these days.
You can buy JRM’s “Clock” from Tingo Tongo Tapes, but only by emailing them! Have at it: tingotongotapes at gmail dot com. I don’t know how many they’ve got left, it’s all a friggin’ mystery.
Gosh, if I didn’t know that Larry Wish ran Bumpy out of Minneapolis, I’d be all like, yuck, Larry Wish and Bumpy have their hands all over each other’s business. It’s gross. But since they’re essentially the same entity, we can let it slide this time, instead pretending those hands are waving in front of our faces and leaving chemtrails because I think we’re tripping hard off “-Ning Bugs.” This is so disorienting – I wanna get comfortable and slip into this tape; I want it to caress my every pop fantasy and nourish me like a candy bar. But no – it’s making me think!
Also caressing my every pop fantasy too, I guess. Just in a cockeyed fashion that I wasn’t necessarily expecting.
Larry Wish recorded “-Ning Bugs” (slang for hounds, not some sort of Fraggle creature that lost its “Light”) in 2012, and here we are in 2019 with its delightful new physical presence in reissued and (finally) mastered form. It’s like it’s never been gone, like it hasn’t been seven whole years since its kaleidoscopic and off-kilter melodies graced our ears. Not that we should be upset or anything – Larry Wish certainly has kept us sated for Larry Wish–related musicality, and pretty much everything he touches could be described with “kaleidoscopic” and “off-kilter melody,” like he were fronting the Electric Mayhem as they melted under a heat lamp.
“-Ning Bugs” teeters on the edge of naïveté, but as Larry describes it, it’s a knowing naïveté, like you’re aware that you don’t really have a grasp on anything. While that might sound bleak – and this is the kind of dead-of-winter philosophizing you might expect in January or February in Minnesota – it’s actually quite freeing: there’s a lot that you can embrace and experience with that worldview. And Larry Wish – whose real name is Adam Werven (what?!?) – flits back and forth among the blooming flowers he’s imagining and painting his sonic canvas with vivid, celebratory colors. He even covers Stone Temple Pilots. I dunno man, when you’re in the right mood, you can do whatever you want.
So wave those hands in front of your frickin face till you’re all wobbly, then embrace the technicolor weirdness of “-Ning Bugs” in all its resonant glory. There are 100 of these suckers just waiting to be purchased.
What were you even doing in science class anyway – sleeping, doing your algebra homework, standing in your open bookbag while your teacher’s head cocks confusedly and eyes narrow in bewilderment in frustration? All of the above? I was listening, paying attention like my life depended on it – and for all I know it does, sometime in the future – and sitting at my desk like a regular person without any weird personality glitches. Unlike Phil in his bookbag over there!
Phil always made me laugh.
Anyway, Euglossine, aka Tristan Whitehill, aka “Gainesville’s finest,” has been studying up on physics, reading a little bit about “Coriolis” and its attendant “Effect,” applying what he’s learned to a guitar-based tropicalia mélange that’s as refreshing as the breezes I’m about to discuss. See, turns out that if you’re in the Northern Hemisphere, the rotation of the Earth causes moving objects – in a practical sense, weather objects, like clouds, winds, etc. – to the right, but if you’re in the Southern Hemisphere, watch out! Those same objects will move to the left. Check out Wikipedia if you don’t believe me. Who needs textbooks?
As is his wont, Whitehill treats his guitar gently, caressing it, and also using synthesizers and saxophone (I’m guessing – who knows what’s real anymore!), caressing them as well, whispering romance through his fingers and across the frets, over the keys, dancing in the moonlight of a tropical shore. The Coriolis Effect causes the rainbow ribbon of his heart (and tape cover) to gently drift along with the ocean breeze TO THE RIGHT, because this is the Northern Hemisphere after all. Sand and surf and suntan lotion scents drift along the shoreline, and various margarita-based cocktails are served by indigenous crustaceans. Crabs mostly. Very helpful crabs, always slightly listing to the right…
Beautiful work as always by Mr. Euglossine. Pro-dubbed blue C37 tape with black imprints available at Hausu Mountain. Drops February 15, but Max and Doug are PROMISING the tape will ship “on or around January 23.” That’s a PROMISE! For now you can stream “Daylight,” though.
Bloor! I’m not gonna lie, that’s the exact sound I make when I spew all over the place. But this isn’t about me or the awful noises I make or the awful things that come out of my body or the awful mess I usually have to clean up afterward. This is about Bloor, an NYC trio that has, over the past few years, been honing their own set of stinking blurts and blasts while stunned audiences sit in shock … until they’re finished playing at least, then those audiences erupt into glorious applause. Pro tip: this is exactly what you want an audience to do after you’ve finished playing them some of your music.
Saxophonist Sam Weinberg (W-2) is behind Bloor, and he’s joined by guitarist Andrew Smiley (Little Women, Feast of the Epiphany) and drummer Jason Nazary (Little Women, Anteloper). Together they rip through the Bloor playbook, which here consists of ten tracks with names like “Bast,” “Defacer,” and “Liber Scivias,” all of which sound like ways to strip meat from bone. And that’s sort of what listening to Bloor feels like, like you’re heading face-first into some sort of industrial meat processor and you come out the other side with mostly bones showing. Taking cues from Arthur Blythe (to whom “Splice” is dedicated), Harry Pussy, Sonny Sharrock, and certainly the rest of the Astral Spirits roster, Bloor dismantles the ideas of traditional jazz and experimental music and repurposes bits of them for their own monstrous Frankensteinian creations. Always unnerving, never unnerved, Bloor make restlessness sound like the next frontier in philosophical composition – just how thoroughly can one band explore the rocks and crags and fissures of its potential?
Also, “Drolleries” refers to the “small creatures adorning the margins of 13th-15th century illuminated manuscripts.” That’s seems so weird and yet so appropriate somehow, like those little creatures were running around on the instruments and magically making them play with their passage.
“Edition of 150 tapes with ORANGE tape shell. Design by Jaime Zuverza.” It will NOT make you bloor or blurt or spew or whatever. Release date is January 25 on Astral Spirits. Please hurry!
I opened up a web browser and typed in “International Surrealist Bulletin,” and I was directed to the Ephem-Aural Bandcamp page. “Huh,” I said to myself. “The Fox News page looks weird.” I clicked “Buy Cassette” on the page, thinking it was a recently archived news story about walls or Russia or something. “Six dollars!” I exclaimed. “The news is worth AT LEAST thirty grand of my hard-earned money!” Three, zero, comma, zero, zero, zero, I typed. Purchased. Ephem-Aural is probably a Fox subsidiary.
Six months later, my tape arrived [Ed.: Tapes usually take a few days to arrive – don’t think it’ll take six months for this one], and I was surprised that it didn’t contain even a hint of my favorite talking heads … look I don’t really watch Fox News, is Hannity still on there? Who cares. The tape wasn’t Fox News, but it was worth the thirty grand. It just was a different International Surrealist Bulletin than I’d initially thought.
“Immanence” is actually an escape from the “surreal” “international” happenings around us, whether they appear in “bulletin” form or otherwise. Taking on an even MORE surreal surrealness than everyday surreality, “Immanence” is the first release by the New York artist since the excellent “Communitas,” and it continues the unrelenting attention grabbing of its predecessor. Building somewhat ambient soundscapes out of a variety of textures and timbres, International Surrealist Bulletin lays it on thick and heavy, a synthesizer cloud of doom and creep, even on the horns-and-melodica-laced “Nigleh” (those are probably not actually horns and melodica). Of course “Immanuel” breaks the spell by the end, a glowing track emerging from the long dark night, just like the Christ child on Christmas morn did hundreds of years ago.
Immanence: God living within and encompassing our universe. Immanuel: “God with us,” a name given to the Christ child. Wait, are we sure this ISN’T a subsidiary of Fox News???
We are sure. We are coated with the surreal until it loses meaning. Then we simply drift along upon the sublime. We are notified of nothing and everything, a paradox of informational awareness.
Grab a copy of “Immanence” from Ephem-Aural, and break your brain upon the unyielding rock of unknowability.
Cincinnati’s Whited Sepulchre Records is amassing quite a catalog in its short existence, and while you might be like, “Hey, those guys release vinyl!,” I’m here to steer you back on track that they also release cassettes too, so … chill. And chill you will, because if there’s anything that WS is known for, it’s their experimental ambient releases, among which John Atkinson and Sabriel’s Orb’s split nestles nicely. Each artist takes their time over their apparently allotted twentyish minutes, and each hits delightful and sustained moods as their audio dopamine courses through your headphones. And yes, do listen on headphones, not on some crummy computer or wherever you listen to podcasts.
It must be that Australian air – all that open space, all that outback ripe for walkabout, all that wilderness that gets inside John Atkinson’s blood and sends his mind on amazing journeys across space and history. The former Brooklynite and onetime member of (personal favorite, god “VoyAager”) Aa (aka big A Little a) decamped to the continent-state and drilled deep into the cosmic vibe, focusing on interstellar ambient synthwork, field recordings, and even soundtrack composition, such as “L for Leisure.” On his half of the split, he stretches the heck out, all the way, all the bloody way until he covers the vastness with his spirit. He becomes one with “Backwaves,” “Rye,” and “First Rain of the New Year,” making an almost spiritual connection with the world around him. There’s only one thing to do with this side – get lost in it. It’s easily done. I’m wandering through windswept grasslands while wind brushes the grain and a storm brews in the distance.
It must be that Salt Lake air – all that open Utah space, the salt flats ripe for walkabout, all that big sky that gets inside Willow Skye-Biggs’s blood and sends her mind on amazing journeys across space and history. Yes, this is a perfect pairing on this split, can you tell? Skye-Biggs has also been around, most notably as Stag Hare (personal favorite, god “Velvet and Bone”), and she a veteran, an absolute hero of the introspective ambient scene. Sabriel’s Orb is a continuation of that vibe, and Skye-Biggs attacks her side like a hornet’s nest of gentleness and empathy, her delicate synth pulses raining down like breezes across open water. Both “Secret” and “Holding” steadily portray the innerworkings of her being like a rain shower at dusk. Both make an almost spiritual connection to the world inside the mind of Sabriel’s Orb. There’s only one thing to do with this side – get lost in it. It’s easily done. I’m wandering down the silent lakeshore while wind brushes the surface and a storm brews in the distance.
This beautiful red-shelled tape is contrasted quite nicely by the yellow J-card – excellent design there by Dustin Bowen. Edition of 100, get yers!
I listened to Clark Gable one time, and it was a bad idea. The “King of Hollywood” appeared to me in a vision as if he had just stepped out of “It Happened One Night” and handed me a cassette tape by CIA Debutante, claiming it was the latest missive from Edinburgh-based Czaszka (Rec.). “Sell me,” I said, not unkindly, but wary of this anachronism of an encounter. He winked – you can totally picture that Clark Gable wink – and said, “CIA Debutante sounds like Dead C on McIntosh but when they were only 25 years old.”
I woke in a pool of sweat with this gorgeous hunk of tape in my hand, and I stared at its lovely risograph-printed artwork (one of two alternate covers!) for what felt like an hour but was only forty-five seconds. Those words hung in my mind as I tried to shake the cobwebs of the experience and escape the apparition that apparently had nothing to do in the afterlife except push expertly crafted experimental outsider music on us rabid fans. I composed myself and entered the artifact into a “boombox,” flicking “Play” so quickly and effortlessly that barely any time elapsed between the time the tape entered the player and the sound came out. I’m that good.
Hits from the future, indeed. CIA Debutante chases the “eternally temporary composition,” running guitar, voice, synthesizer through the duo’s personal ringer, emerging from the trauma with an endlessly fascinating lo-fi blast of headache-made-sound-art. The low purple spectrum of devious fluctuations bubble and merge till it makes so much sense that a ghost whose best work was in the 1930s has to present itself to sell me. Gable didn’t have to go to all the trouble. Czaszka could’ve hired a promo guy (me, even) instead of a medium.
Wait, did I say it was a bad idea that I listened to Clark Gable that one time? I meant it was a GREAT idea.
Czaszka (Rec.) always fascinates. This burner is no different. Edition of 50 – which cover will you get?
