STILL SINGLE

Torche/Harvey Milk/Pollution live
Harvey Milk — The Singles 2x12” (Relapse) and Unreleased 2xLP (Hydra Head)
Language of Light/Cortez split 12” (AntiClock)
Pissed Jeans — King of Jeans CD (Sub Pop)
Axemen — Scary! Pt. III 2xLP (side 1) (Siltbreeze)
Neil Merryweather — Space Rangers LP (Mercury)
Moritz Von Oswald Trio — Vertical Ascent 2xLP (Honest Jon’s)
Rusted Shut — Dead LP (Load)
Circus Lupus — Solid Brass MP3s
Matt Krefting — I Couldn’t Love You More CD (Ecstatic Peace)
“The Yes Men Fix the World”
“Anthony Bourdain: No Reservations” in Baltimore, Detroit and Buffalo
“Weeds” s5e8
“Hung” s1e4
“Happy Gilmore”
“Step Brothers” DVD
“The Wackness”
“True Blood” s2e6

Earles is due for a Torche/Harvey Milk show review, but here’s mine:

Torche makes a pretty convincing case for pop metal, one that doesn’t shortchange the heaviness for melody, or vice versa, and without any of the cheese. At their brightest, they remind me of Chavez, Rival Schools, and the Foo Fighters, but they have plenty of very burly moments to pull them through. Strange that they’re not more popular, but I have my theories. Loud as fuck, way better as a trio than when I saw them last summer.

Harvey Milk were pretty brutal, and do enough outside of slow heavy sludge to keep things moving. They busted out a pretty sick cover of “Jean Genie” with Spence doing all the huge Tony Newman fills. Two jr. ad men stood right next to me and talked loudly through the entire set, which was a total bummer — one of them tried to pigeonhole the members of the audience, then remarked in his limited frame of reference that they reminded him of the Drive-By Truckers. I’m with Rollins; these people should be beaten.

Pollution was pretty weird but I think they could be a good band given some time. Two of these dudes come to my DJ night a lot and I have been meaning to check them out. Weird, angry, messy metal/thrash with weird dynamics (drums and music are usually one beat apart which makes for disorientation). Interested to see them in a smaller room than Music Hall of Williamsburg.

More reviews are in the pipe, and I gotta get ‘em set up for publication. Things are kinda slow in the summertime. Right now I need to concentrate on scaling down the record collection so that we can move to a new apartment in October. Stoop sale this weekend, come and get records, clothes, band t-shirts, DVDs, comic books and household items.

Sexa — No Sleep Til Pussy/Fuck Piction MP3s
Shit & Shine — 229-2299 Girls Against Shit MP3s
V/A — Cats In Our Backyard MP3s (tip of cap to Henry Owings for encoding this beast)
Northern Bushmen — “Last Show” 7/14/91 MP3s (ditto)
XYX — Momento Acido Contemperaneo 7” (Skulltones)
Kurt Vile — Fall Demons 7” (Skulltones)
Modern Creatures s/t LP (Grotesque Modern)
L’ocelle Mare s/t LP (Minority)
Pink Noise — Gold Light 7” (Sacred Bones)
Pumice — Persevere 7” (Soft Abuse)
Mantles — “Don’t Lie” 7” (Mt. St. Mtn.)
“Michael and Michael Have Issues” s1e2 (hilar, the weatherman bit was killing me)

Happy belated birthday to my older brother, who turned 35 yesterday.

Still Single was meant to run today, but didn’t. I have a shitload of reviews to post over the weekend, hope you enjoy the read.

Huge mail day today. Most excited about the new Voivod book by Martin Popoff and Away.

If you like, please read this article I write for Indyweek on the early days of Merge Records, now in its 20th year.

Polvo — In Prism MP3s
Stellar OM Source — Rise in Planes LP (Black Dirt)
Dinosaur Jr — Farm 2xLP (Jagjaguwar) / Beyond LP/7” (Fat Possum)
The Bitters — Wooden Glove 12” EP (Captured Traxx)
Nodzzz — “True to Life” 7” (What’s Your Rupture)
“Rescue Me” s5e14
“Weeds” s4e7
Runt — The Ballad of Todd Rundgren MP3s

Bathory — The Return… LP (Combat)
MX-80 Sound — Hard Attack LP (Island)
Buzzcocks w/ Howard Devoto — Time’s Up LP (Voto)
Bong/Quittinirpaaq split LP (Blackest Rainbow Productions)
Over the Hill — Looking for a Spark LP (Monofonus Press)
Ariel Pink’s Haunted Graffiti 6 — Loverboy 2xLP (Glorietta)
Crazy Dreams Band s/t LP (Holy Mountain)
Oxford Collapse final show/Cause Co-Motion/The Beets live
Good DJ sets Friday night (too bad the sleeve to my Polvo 2x7” got all fucked up in the rain)
“True Blood” s2e5
“Hung” s1e3
“Entourage” s6e2

Paeans to the excessive, ridiculous nature of stoner culture, a band from England calling itself Bong pairs up with an isolated, prolonged torture session of Sunn 0)))-style BM drone from Quittinirpaaq. You don’t need a slide rule to figure out what’s at stake here, both bands ultimately fighting a battle that cannot be won. Quittinirpaaq (P.S. I hate your name) decorates his side with lurches of insistent feedback, stumbling “Eric Clapton Shreds” moments on guitar, and a really unpleasant, unwelcoming outpour of man’s self-doubt, coming to a peaceful, meditative end that feels like a run through the range of negative human emotion for the show of it. Too macho for me. Bong spills out a side-long jam sesh with a swingin’ drummer, a favorite key (things don’t stray far out of it), and dueling guitar and electric sitar interplay. As stylists, sure, this stuff is fine. There’s lots of it, particularly in the wake of bands like Kyuss, so here’s one more for the pile. Which means there’s an audience that really, really likes just this one kind of thing. I’m good friends with someone who subscribes to this notion, and out of it I hear a lot of people enthusiastically throwing themselves at a wall, where ideas don’t more forth and everyone’s content to jam, like, Grand Funk and Fu Manchu records from here on out. Probably pretty rare (Aquarius wrote this one up recently) and likely out of print. However, there’s another Blackest Rainbow LP out by one Cam Deas, a folk guitarist in the James Blackshaw micro-tradition, which you should pay closer attention to (more on that one soon). As for this, 300 copies, paste-on sleeve. (http://www.myspace.com/landbong)
(Doug Mosurock)

Dannibal is an understated outing for Mr. Kidwell. Two Cex traits you won’t find here: retarded sexuality and ridiculous swagger. The middle-finger by way of uncleared samples has been conspicuously dialed-down as well, unless he’s built Dannibal with Boards of Canada samples as a primary source, and Kidwell has definitely made a conscious decision to put the vocals in the backseat. The focus seems to be on repetition, groove, and accessibility; not one second of Dannibal falls into the realm of “noise” and halfway through “Hotso” (side 1, track 2), a handful of notes are repeated for so long that I checked for a locked-groove. Don’t read me wrong, things get dense and layered throughout the album, but Dannibal is never a BUSY record. New listeners coming to Cex through misguided Girl Talk comparisons are simply scheduling a future disappointment. This is not a party record, nor is it track-after-track of pop songs made out of pieces of pop songs. It’s a mood, and by extension of achieving such, a success. (http://wildfirewildfire.com)
(Andrew Earles)

I hope these guys sent a promo copy of …And Those Who Would Keep Us Safe to Mike Patton or whoever it is that decides the future Ipecac release schedule. Theirs is a very specific, near-tribute approach to early/mid-90’s noise-rock love: clean singing/yelling, organ, pristine production, nonsensical chord-progressions, loads of drama. Sort of a throwback to yesterday’s artsy-aggro that WANTED to be on a major label, like Ethyl Meatplow, Therapy?, Gallon Drunk, Cop Shoot Cop, and especially Claw Hammer. Not exactly a bunch of bands beating the reissue offers off with a stick, but what’re you gonna do? As far as contemporary acts go, I’m drawing a bit of a blank. Racebannon with a lot less Racebannon? Just imagine a boardroom creation by the aforementioned Ipecac label, if they did that kind of thing. Side A is dubbed the “Crushing Side” while B is the “Carnage Side,” and I hear no discernable thematic difference between either half. I can tell you that Grappling Hook’s music is neither “crushing” nor violent, but rather a very loud post-avant-aggro, but not very distorted, nor very thick, nor very guitar-based post…hold on a sec, did I just write “post-avant-aggro”?  The organ makes the riffs on …And Those Who Would Keep Us Safe, not a guitar, so inherent heaviness is replaced by forced heaviness. This is going to blow some listeners away, really; there are tons of people out there that would give their firstborn to this band after hearing this album. I, however, take my aggro-revival with a side of subtlety, and this is one subtlety-allergic band. (http://www.facebook.com/pages/Blastco-Records/51940381745)
(Andrew Earles)

Full-forward agitpunk, circa the late ‘90s dream, is the agenda for San Francisco’s High Castle, a bright and spastic shove from behind into churning, machine-like, attenuated pummel. Drums pound on every beat, cemented in by buzzing blankets of guitar and bass, punctuated by defiant, sing-shouted vocals. It’s fun, it’s nostalgic, it’s cool to hear a post-punk band giving this much thought to the whys, and not just the hows. Plus they ask the tough questions, like “Are Fixed Gear Tricksters the New Rollerbladers?” The answer is YES. Sounds great on vinyl as well, short songs given the bolster of 45 RPMs. About 500 pressed, intricate two-color silkscreened sleeves wrap it all up. (http://www.zumonline.com)
(Doug Mosurock)

See Saw is the best album I’ve reviewed for Still Single, hands-down. There, that’s out of the way. (HA!-Ed.) NYC’s Illuminations choose to be a part of the CollageCore (I made that up…it’s mine!) movement, a trend guilty of visual rather than sonic homogeny. It’s true that, upon processing See Saw’s neon stencil cover art, I expended to hear yet another band wholly-unburdened with songwriting skills and flaunting a calculated lack of fidelity. I was wrong on both counts…embarrassingly so. As in, it was quite surprising to hear at least three AMAZING pop songs before the record was flipped. Stylistically, don’t expect to be knocked silly by invention. Expect countrified indie-pop and psych lite, recorded clean and efficiently. But the fucking hooks on this one … wow, it makes writing about a good hook ten times harder than it usually is. Wilco wasn’t the American Radiohead (figuratively) during the first half of its career because no song was positively devastating or uplifting, and Illuminations has assembled a whole album of what the world wants old Wilco to sound like. You think it’s easy to operate within the confines of Americana/roots-rock/alt-country without coming off as insufferable slummers or instantly-forgettable rural action figures? It isn’t, but Illuminations do this … perfectly. As a closing clarifier, See Saw dabbles in enough Elephant Six-isms and dressed-down indie rock to carry a wide appeal. If this band sticks to it, they will be huge. You know … in a good way. (http://www.allhandselectric.com)
(Andrew Earles)

Beautiful fuschia vinyl gives these Geordies a wonderfully spinning psychedelic placemat on which they can scrape, bow, and drone away. And while on other recordings they’ve found the ecstatic pulse of cheap Casios and bowed electric guitars, here they leave things to simmer. The same instrumentation is present, but tracks like “A Grieving Vision Broken” proceed in their own circular logic, arriving back at the starting gates despite the appearance of some lovely piano straying. “Fishing Trip” stumbles around in a distinctly British post-drone ambience, though cold temperature minimalism and clanging sounds. The lengthiest track, “Tower of the Sunset Eye,” ascends to the occasional heights of past greatness through a simple repetitive figure, ringing Tibetan Bowls, and the thickening charms of dictaphone afterimages. The title and collage-based cover art suggest earthen monuments and misty dawn, though I hear the sawing menace of night instead. (http://www.spiritoforr.com)
(Lynn Sauna)

Despite mild attention for his debut 12”, New Orleans’ Walter Jones has merely been a part of the background with regard to the deep house and neo-disco scenes during the last several years; one of those producers that you remember liking, but then slips through the cracks of your consciousness and subsequently, your record bag. To make matters slightly more complex, the aforementioned single, 2003’s “All God’s Children” was actually a pair of remixes of Jones’ original version of the track, which didn’t see the light of day until five years after the fact. A curious trajectory, speckled with a couple of releases here or there, none of which match up to the artist’s new single for the DFA. “I’ll Keep On Loving You” sounds like sleazy and slow Eurodisco of the ‘80s, trying to replicate the sound of American R&B records of the same era. The uplifting pads and echoey vocal licks, which sound like they are disappearing down the rabbit hole, keep the track mysterious without completely handing it over to the dark and brooding side of things. “Living Without Your Love” is the true standout here, though. A straight forward mid-paced, soulful track, worshipful of the Paradise Garage, it’s complete with sultry female vocals repeating the track’s title, some guitar accents here, some fancy keyboard acrobatics there, and a nice key change to bring it all together. Sensible dancefloors seem to love this one. An instrumental version appears as well. (http://www.dfarecords.com)
(Billy Werner)

The Juan MacLean’s new 12” is a telling view of what fans have come to appreciate from the band’s live shows over the course of the last year or two. The new songs, which are collected on the recently released The Future Will Come, are bright, catchy and make clever use of all of Juan’s influences; classic disco, Chicago house, early Detroit techno, post-punk and 80’s synth pop, without trouncing all over them or over using any one to the point of saturation. Well done, guys. “One Day” fits perfectly into this tapestry and does not fall far from the typical DFA template of hook-laden, danceable electro-rock. The synthesized string arrangements take the track to another level and are arranged perfectly around MacLean and Nancy Whang’s vocal patterns and melodies. Once again, the ‘right’ remixers were chosen for the project, with techno stalwart Mark Romboy’s mix coasting into an easy first place position. Romboy strips the track down to its bare elements and unleashes a techy stomper that will not alienate a fickle dancefloor. Emperor Machine comes up a bit short, darkening what should be left as an uplifting late night journey, but might appeal to the pickier DJs afraid to admit they still pack DFA releases. The much-hyped Surkin thankfully moves away from the electro-squelch he is known for and turns the track into a big room house anthem, taking the vibe of the original and force-feeding it a 50-bag. This will stay in many crates for a while. (http://www.dfarecords.com)
(Billy Werner)

Making significant progress towards a more song-based form from their debut album, Matta Llama manages to give a commanding, memorable argument for the appreciation of prog-rock jammers in the modern era.  The formless wander of their first album (on James Jackson Toth’s tragically flawed label Mad Monk) has been replaced with the imperative to walk some kind-headed ideas around long-form, fluid playing, carpeted with tasteful harmonies and wilding out on acid guitar. The stance they take reflects upon itself, not unlike the hazy insistence of fellow smoke stylists Religious Knives, but with a wider palette from which to draw: excited electric violin, loping drums, vocal mantras fading to the din. Nobody overplays; there isn’t any gimmickry in the choice of lead instruments or the directions taken. There’s molten heaviness and the potential for greatness within this mix; so much of the better rock/improv out there stems from these improbable, but within the reins of Black Dirt Studios (Witch Channel being a gratis recording job during the studio’s “soft launch,” to which the band got to enjoy a professional recording environment, as well as the time to unwind within it, in exchange for being the operation’s lab rats), Matta Llama finds ways to clarify the countenance of its muse, without overdoing it. It’s as good as most jazz/rock/prog records from the early ‘70s as you’re likely to find – Agitation Free comes to mind – and best of all, it showcases musicians making new from old, with few concessions for today. 500 copies, silkscreened sleeves. (http://www.blackdirtmusic.com)
(Doug Mosurock)

Some three or four decades ago, there walked a 100% to-the-core idiot, a man so asinine and irrational that he was homeless because of stupidity rather than financial woes. Additionally, this pathetic soul suffered from a very, very rare affliction that causes one to uncontrollably cram potting soil and cat litter into their ears. But this human mistake held sway over a handful of sycophantic disciples, and they would spread his ass-backwards, senseless murmurings across the land. One day, our über-moron stumbled upon the first Tom Waits album and immediately forced his minions to preach the greatness of this Waits character. “Everyone should soak up and revere the music and more importantly, the IDEA of Tom Waits!” Soon, the dunce (with an oddly ample vocabulary) and his followers had ticked an alarming number of music “fans” into believing they genuinely enjoyed the music of Tom Waits. On a related but unrelated note, this is also how tomatoes became part of a food group. Back in the ‘00s, a number of young, attention-starved musicians saw Tom Waits as the perfect escape from the far-too-demanding world of timeless songwriting and big hooks. On top of the Tom Waits blueprint, even more charlatan-bait was piled…some gypsy poppycock here and there, some gross misunderstandings in the name of torch songs, etc. Italian bands Movie Star Junkies, a band that should be ignored based on name alone, and Vermillion Sands (I like that name), both toil here in this aural ghetto, a micro-genre that is hopefully on its way out if there is any goodness at all in the world. (It should be said, though, that the bands are covering each other’s material here, and in both songwriting and execution, the Movie Star Junkies are clearly the corrupting influence here. –Ed.) Listening to this 7” brought me back to, well, a couple of months ago when I had to review that Man Man 7”. I did not want to visit this part of the past. 500 copies. (http://www.myspace.com/rijapovrecords)
(Andrew Earles)

Small-press vinyl at affordable prices has ultimately led to artists who might not have had much stake in finding an audience automatically keyed into hundreds, maybe thousands of people right off the bat. There was an undeniable creative spurt for any band or even any label to run with some go-for-broke, 100 12” records for $700 deals available at pressing plants, possibly as a result of the recession, the withering of major labels pressing high volumes of some would-be pop star or hip-hop chump, forcing manufacturers to look to a market that’s waited to connect with a personal medium such as the vinyl record – a market that’s been begging for this change of favor for years. Now, for the right or wrong reasons, anyone can make an LP, not lose too much money in the process, and just maybe make a fortune in loose change.

To this end, Monofonus Press pushes this fact of modern commerce into a new and difficult direction. This Austin, TX imprint has paired up a full-length album by locals Over the Hill – their second – with an entirely unrelated short story by literary hotshot Brian Hart (don’t worry, it’s not a diary of the band of the same name; there’s Burn Collector for that). The story is presented in an oversized, four-color, square booklet of offset printing look and feel, roughly the dimensions of the record sleeve itself, with illustrations and typesetting by visual artist Noel Waggener. The label has done this several times in the past with CDs and booklet-sized printed matter, but this appears to be one of their first stabs at using the goodwill of “real records” with the presentation of an artist working in an entirely different medium. And at $25 a pop, they hope you’ll agree.

This concept isn’t necessarily new, or original, but it is designed to attract attention to itself, that it’s something so unique and scarce that it belongs with you, to help define you. Recently we saw noise abuser Prurient stumble mightily with an edition of art books adjoining custom-made 11” vinyl, at a triple-digit price point that the public couldn’t justify, despite how few copies were manufactured. I think this is generally sloppy business, and makes assumptions about how the audiences on both sides of the equation would interpret either work. That goes doubly here, in this band-author pairing with no legitimate connection with one another. Surely Hart, who has won literary awards and has a publishing contract with Bloomsbury behind his forthcoming debut novel, has more pull in his world than a band which has twice now been saddled with a written work has in its scene. What’s the protocol here? Should one work be consumed before the other? How much attention can you pay to one or the other if you decide to read and listen all at once? Moreover, should we be able to see through a band’s literary aspirations, or an author’s rock & roll dreams, without trying to lard either pursuit with the excesses and follies of one another? How far did these folks go to inspire the others’ work, and how does it make them feel that they’re not sold separately?

Anyway, Over the Hill are a solid, momentarily exceptional band, chasing down a flea-bitten grinnin’-ear-to-ear dream of American country, bluegrass, Opryland folk, and the points where rock & roll first massaged the hayseeds, from the Burrito Bros to Juice Newton. The hangdog sound of bandleader Morgan Coy’s voice carries with it the hopes for a fervent call to No Depression revivalism, as this music is, under these times, hard to sell. It’s true that, when you get down to it, songwriting as an art has been processed to a point where everything sounds uniformly like everything else, no matter what window dressing you put on it. Once you reach the album’s end and hear Coy’s ultimatum “Over There,” one of those stirring, dramatic songs you’d expect to hear over the credits of some HBO series, you see how he’s merely chasing after the limited fruits of coolness at an advanced age, akin to having big posters of Greg Dulli, Duncan Sheik, and Ben Harper up on your wall.

Hart’s story is pulp, a baldfaced Elmore Leonard tribute about two lovers on the run, with criminal figures and big-time theft in the mix. It involves the music business in hackneyed fashion (a character is recognized as a late ‘70s one-hit wonder … again), and does what it can to lift the credibility that used to come with putting out records for its own use. But its floppy, 48-page presentation makes the book itself unwieldy, with many pages that feel like little more than padding. Right down to the distress the paste-on sleeve experienced en route to me in the mail, the book effectively acting as a template for bending the shit out of all four of its corners, this is vinyl abuse; textbook cool-hunting, with the musicians and the medium left assed out. (http://monofonuspress.com)
(Doug Mosurock)

Screamo kids working through influences worthy of some merit, despite how hard some of us make ourselves out to be – I’m hearing Orchid, Converge ca. Jane Doe, Cursed; essentially the good stuff, right up to the line when it became impossible to work in this field. Everything’s all over the place at once, yowling vocals by singer/band artist Matthew Adis, whose 20-page booklet of lyrics and artwork calls to mind a time-hardened Edward Gorey, using the sharpest and finest brushes juvie hall would allow. It’s a storm of heavy rock moves and even heavier hardcore-modeled assault, given that extra layer of filth from producer Will Killingsworth. Lyrics are worthy of some Rolling nightmare out of Get in the Van (“a wall of soul” … uhhhhhh yeah) and gives off this crazy PTSD response that pushes these guys, at moments, towards mid-tempo sludgers like Pissed Jeans or Clockcleaner. Looks nice, as do most Youth Attack releases; this one’s just a slab of unlabeled lavender vinyl, which has an impressive presence on the turntable. Also the self-sealing sleeve holding this thing together is way too tight, and I had to tear it to get mine open (noticing that I destroyed a sticker that was heretofore invisible, decreasing the value). But I can really relate to these kids’ stance, particularly the title. I’ve let out some unforgiving wind in my time, and I’d imagine any of the tracks here would be a chaotic, hurt, and perfectly valid response to anyone having to smell any of it. (http://www.ihateyouthattack.com)
(Doug Mosurock)

Somewhere between classic NYC Disco-Not-Disco-styled schizophrenia and Trax Records lies Marcus Lambkin’s newest single under the Shit Robot moniker. Employing Washington DC’s ever-present Ian Svenonius to regale us with the harsh realities of everyday life (“You found someone you wanted / It was great / Now things are complicated / You got bills to pay / You gotta go to school / You gotta work everyday / Well, that’s hard”), Lambkin adds to DFA’s recent high batting average with an absolute killer. There is a bit more Chicago house than artsy NYC swagger, but the Spiv puts the right touch on this one and is one of those uncanny fits for what would normally be preconceived as a stretch for him. Flip it over for pitch-perfect remix work by Scandinavian disco don Todd Terje, who steers away from the obvious nu-disco romp you might expect. Terje does away with the Spiv, starting out with a tech-house foundation which slowly builds into a disco-influenced stormer, complete with subtle acid house squelches, and snare accents that take the track from a solid house record to a hands-in-the-air anthem. Not recommended for DJs who like to mix out of records within three minutes; you gotta see this one from start to finish. Buyer beware, though: the first version of this single scheduled for release has a Serge Santiago remix on the flip. The Terje mix seems to be headed down the pipeline though, so hold tight. This is easily the cream of the new DFA crop. (http://www.dfarecords.com)
(Billy Werner)

The name really does say it all, and will haunt these guys forever – it’s harmless and catchy synth pop, taking more than just a cue from New Order. These Frenchmen have nailed it for a new generation of naïve youngsters. The title track features the most Hook and Sumner-oriented moments and maps out where the rest of this EP is going. Despite some compelling moments in “American Skies”, most informed listeners will use this record as a nod to the past and spin their copy of Low-life again. I suspect the bloghouse world will run with this and remix the fuck out of it for no reason at all. Welcome to 2009. The wax is limited to 500, so if you are gambling on these guys to make it big, snag a copy soon. (http://www.shelflife.com)
(Billy Werner)

Sacred Bones, the first label we can thank for slowing underground pop/rock-based progress to a dead halt by participating in the first Blank Dogs onslaught, has now reissued a wildly-inoffensive early-80’s post-punk band that carbon-copied Entertainment! so blatantly that I wouldn’t be surprised if some barristers were put on retainer … if that’s indeed what Brits do with their lawyers. Is the 652nd revival of angular post-punk on the horizon? If Sacred Bones can get over ten people excited about a garage-rocker pulling a Jandek on a lo-fi version of what The Killers and Hot Hot Heat do, then perhaps they’re blazing a trail and have no idea that when Henry Rollins reissued the worthy Gang of Four albums fifteen or so years ago, he was selling great songs by a (very) temporarily-great band whose one-and-a-half album’s worth of amazing material actually broke ground in the late-70’s, and had yet to be trampled to the earth’s core by imitators. The mindset here could be the horribly-wrong good-by-default-of-being-really-obscure way of thinking, as the 13th Chime were unremarkable IN THEIR DAY, which today makes them about as exciting as a 1999 Pontiac Grand Am with high miles. (http://www.sacredbonesrecords.com)
(Andrew Earles)

Not sure what to make of this Ini.Itu label – that Blindhaed record made me think it was all about super conceptual sound art/new minimalism, but then this record fits more into the IDM category, if such a thing still exists. Twinkle^3 use some traditional instruments (such as a shakuhachi) but they’re employed more as dressing on an electronic salad. Bubbles of synthesized stones pop out in every direction, sometimes threatening to sound like a novelty record but generally forming the momentum of these nine compositions. The electroacoustic textures shimmer and the whole thing is so impeccably recorded that it’s hard not to smile at the pure serotonin rush caused by wonderful bright synthetic sound. It’s not electronica you can dance to but it’s not boring either; if anything you could probably see this as a throwback to the non-rave electronic underground of days past. If you’ve read a few books by David Toop, chances are you’ll understand this too. (http://www.iniitu.net)
(Justin Wunsch)