self-release: 2014
Spare some time for an anecdote?
The setting, a little post-clubbing afterparty, which is always nice being at when you're not quite ready for a night to be over. I didn't know these folks in the slightest, but sometimes the conversations you're having are just too good to let die. Still, it became clear to me that our musical tastes weren't so compatible. Lots of Drake, Bieber and the like being played, plus they could tell I was one of those guys, who knew too damn much about music (guilty as charged). But that's fine, I was having a fun enough time chit-chatting about other things (and watching the World Cup Final), so whatever music was playing wasn't a concern for me. Until it was.
At some point, I suggested music a bit more 'peppy', to which I was put on the spot to recommend something. Friends, that has to be the worst thing for me to be asked! Of all the music I know of, I now have to pare it down to just a singular song that my new one-night clubbing pals might enjoy. For some reason, my mind went to Dance With The Dead. It went over like an iridium weight in the atmosphere of Saturn.
I bring this up because, for a time after, I had a crisis of faith, a flailing sense of doubt over my own taste in music. Yeah, I know not everyone will dig what I dig, just as I won't dig what everyone else will dig, but surely Dance With The Dead was bullet-proof? How can some folks not get hype to those pounding darksynth rhythms, the soaring John Carpenter synth leads, and Tony Kim's righteous shredding?
I realize I may have over-committed to this band in buying their entire catalogue off Bandcamp, but man, perhaps I was wrong about enjoying the duo all along. Might they have always been cheesy, corny, and just not cool? Am I so out of touch? I mean, sure, I was one of the 'geezers' when I went to go see them in concert last year, throwing up devil's horns among a crowd of millennials, but might synthwave already be past its prime, with me clinging to a nostalgia of... *checks calendar* a decade old?
Then I listen to Poison off this Send The Signal mini-album, and all is right in the world again. Oh, Dance With The Dead, I can never stay doubtful of you.
Anyhow, Send The Signal is another of the band's earlier EPs, released after the Near Dark album. As such, we're in their era where the synth leads and rhythms dominate over a given track, Tony's guitar action still mostly relegated to a bit of soloing at a track's peak, if featured much at all. Of the six songs (plus an intro), they touch on all the synthwave bases, so a nice little appetizer of the Dance With The Dead stylee. Just, y'know, don't play it for J Cole fans.
Showing posts with label anecdotes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anecdotes. Show all posts
Saturday, January 28, 2023
Monday, April 22, 2019
The Field - The Follower
Kompakt: 2016
There's things worth talking about in The Field's fifth album The Follower. Things like “Axel Willner moves on from shoegaze, does proper techno” and “haha, I'm still dodging his Very Important Album, aren't I?”. I did something this past weekend, however, that's made talking about anything else extremely difficult. It wasn't even my fault! I had no idea it would or could happen. Nor is The Field at fault either – just unfortunate timing in this particular item cropping up in my queue when it did. I suspect if I don't write something about this event, however, it will fester even longer, somehow blocking my ability to connect fingers to keyboard. So I must do what I must do to move forward. I urge you all to skip the next paragraph, and rejoin me in the following one for my real review of The Field's The Follower.
So I went to a tech-house night on the weekend, as the dude who promoted the party said good things about the Berlin DJ he was bringing in. He always says good things about the Berlin DJs he brings in, but I was bored so went anyway. There I stood at my usual hunch just to the side of the front of the crowd, people watching while bobbing my head as I drank my pale ale in a can. Some decent deep-tech kept the vibe going, though nothing out of the ordinary, much less nabbing my attention in one of those “WHAT IS THIS!?” moments. Then, I heard it. A tinny, spacey rhythm, slightly off time, like out of the Golden Era of space disco. No, wait, it is from the Golden Era of space disco! Is it..? Yes, there it is, the cosmic 'aahhs', the triumphant organ refrain, and the hilariously warbly, ripped from pulp sci-fi pitched-down vocoder announcing the arrival of The Ultimate Warlord! Oh my God, I never thought I'd hear this tune out live, much less at a tech-house night. Do any of these people in the crowd know this track? They sure do now! Dammit though, that perfect context burned the song into my brain as it never had before. How can poor Axel Willner compete with such perfect Canadian disco cheese?
*whew* Okay, got that out of my system. The Follower, then.
The titular opener features some cool acid work from The Field before easing us into his usual brand of ultra-loopy tranced-out flow, where most of the album follows suite. Soft Streams and Raise The Dead get deeper in the dub techno zone, with the former a more abrasive than the latter. We all gotta' mellow out at the end though, which The Field does for the fourteen-minute closer Reflecting Lights. Another solid outing from Mr. Willner, then, and a definite have for those who prefer The Field's more techno outings. Unfortunately though, there's not much else to say about it, especially when one has The Ultimate Warlord imposing his Sword Of Light upon ye'.
There's things worth talking about in The Field's fifth album The Follower. Things like “Axel Willner moves on from shoegaze, does proper techno” and “haha, I'm still dodging his Very Important Album, aren't I?”. I did something this past weekend, however, that's made talking about anything else extremely difficult. It wasn't even my fault! I had no idea it would or could happen. Nor is The Field at fault either – just unfortunate timing in this particular item cropping up in my queue when it did. I suspect if I don't write something about this event, however, it will fester even longer, somehow blocking my ability to connect fingers to keyboard. So I must do what I must do to move forward. I urge you all to skip the next paragraph, and rejoin me in the following one for my real review of The Field's The Follower.
So I went to a tech-house night on the weekend, as the dude who promoted the party said good things about the Berlin DJ he was bringing in. He always says good things about the Berlin DJs he brings in, but I was bored so went anyway. There I stood at my usual hunch just to the side of the front of the crowd, people watching while bobbing my head as I drank my pale ale in a can. Some decent deep-tech kept the vibe going, though nothing out of the ordinary, much less nabbing my attention in one of those “WHAT IS THIS!?” moments. Then, I heard it. A tinny, spacey rhythm, slightly off time, like out of the Golden Era of space disco. No, wait, it is from the Golden Era of space disco! Is it..? Yes, there it is, the cosmic 'aahhs', the triumphant organ refrain, and the hilariously warbly, ripped from pulp sci-fi pitched-down vocoder announcing the arrival of The Ultimate Warlord! Oh my God, I never thought I'd hear this tune out live, much less at a tech-house night. Do any of these people in the crowd know this track? They sure do now! Dammit though, that perfect context burned the song into my brain as it never had before. How can poor Axel Willner compete with such perfect Canadian disco cheese?
*whew* Okay, got that out of my system. The Follower, then.
The titular opener features some cool acid work from The Field before easing us into his usual brand of ultra-loopy tranced-out flow, where most of the album follows suite. Soft Streams and Raise The Dead get deeper in the dub techno zone, with the former a more abrasive than the latter. We all gotta' mellow out at the end though, which The Field does for the fourteen-minute closer Reflecting Lights. Another solid outing from Mr. Willner, then, and a definite have for those who prefer The Field's more techno outings. Unfortunately though, there's not much else to say about it, especially when one has The Ultimate Warlord imposing his Sword Of Light upon ye'.
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Loop Guru - Amrita (...All These And The Japanese Soup Warriors) (2019 Update)
North South: 1995
(click here to read my original TranceCritic review)
It's been over half a decade since I last talked up Loop Guru, and I still haven't gathered any more of their albums. Not that they're super-hard to find or anything, most going for a tidy pop on the Amazon market now, but something keeps me from finally diving into their domain proper-like. Trepidation, that's it. A worry that they just won't live up to whatever expectation I have on them, even with the limited amount of exposure I've thus far provided myself. Wait, how is that even an excuse now? Most of their albums are also on Spotify (though not this one, oddly), so if I want to hear them to confirm my unfounded fears, I can at any time. No, there must be something else, something buried deep in my subconscious that's holding me back. I wonder what it is?
Actually, I think I know: no matter what, I will never recapture the feeling I had when I first heard Amrita. It's not a terribly significant event, but it's a vivid moment, furiously flashing across my memory membranes every time I hear Diwana or Often Again. It was a few months after I'd moved out on my own into Vancouver, and I'd just gotten this CD on one of my trips to an A&B Sound (RIP), intended for a TranceCritic review because why not.
Sometime in the wee minutes past midnight and feeling the buzz of a smoked bowl, I got the munchies and decided to walk the five blocks to a 7/11 for some snackables. As I'm strolling in the clear spring evening, the swinging tribal sounds of Loop Guru playing from my discman, I come to a startling revelation: I'm honestly and truly free, the boundless opportunities of bachelorhood open before me. I'm living in my own apartment, doing recreational drugs when I want without worry of neighbours or roommates, going for strolls in the middle of the night with nary a care or concern of where I wander, in a city I hadn't even dreamed to live in but a few years past. And this all dawned upon me while listening to this album. Now, I'm not saying it wouldn't have occurred to me if I hadn't been playing Amrita at the time, but I cannot deny something about the music here made everything click right in that moment.
And without a doubt, there is a freeing jubilation in Amrita, the sort of tribal exuberance that makes you want to kick off your shoes and dance up a dust storm in the sandy floors of an outdoor party. Yeah, Papasus and Fumi show their dubbier, chill side too, but damn, those drums in Gianyar! That chant in Yayli! That flute in Diwana! That rhythm in Sun! Can you blame me for being hesitant in exploring Loop Guru's discography further? How could anything else they do top such ebullience?
(sorry, that seems like the sort of cheeky word they'd use in liner notes)
(click here to read my original TranceCritic review)
It's been over half a decade since I last talked up Loop Guru, and I still haven't gathered any more of their albums. Not that they're super-hard to find or anything, most going for a tidy pop on the Amazon market now, but something keeps me from finally diving into their domain proper-like. Trepidation, that's it. A worry that they just won't live up to whatever expectation I have on them, even with the limited amount of exposure I've thus far provided myself. Wait, how is that even an excuse now? Most of their albums are also on Spotify (though not this one, oddly), so if I want to hear them to confirm my unfounded fears, I can at any time. No, there must be something else, something buried deep in my subconscious that's holding me back. I wonder what it is?
Actually, I think I know: no matter what, I will never recapture the feeling I had when I first heard Amrita. It's not a terribly significant event, but it's a vivid moment, furiously flashing across my memory membranes every time I hear Diwana or Often Again. It was a few months after I'd moved out on my own into Vancouver, and I'd just gotten this CD on one of my trips to an A&B Sound (RIP), intended for a TranceCritic review because why not.
Sometime in the wee minutes past midnight and feeling the buzz of a smoked bowl, I got the munchies and decided to walk the five blocks to a 7/11 for some snackables. As I'm strolling in the clear spring evening, the swinging tribal sounds of Loop Guru playing from my discman, I come to a startling revelation: I'm honestly and truly free, the boundless opportunities of bachelorhood open before me. I'm living in my own apartment, doing recreational drugs when I want without worry of neighbours or roommates, going for strolls in the middle of the night with nary a care or concern of where I wander, in a city I hadn't even dreamed to live in but a few years past. And this all dawned upon me while listening to this album. Now, I'm not saying it wouldn't have occurred to me if I hadn't been playing Amrita at the time, but I cannot deny something about the music here made everything click right in that moment.
And without a doubt, there is a freeing jubilation in Amrita, the sort of tribal exuberance that makes you want to kick off your shoes and dance up a dust storm in the sandy floors of an outdoor party. Yeah, Papasus and Fumi show their dubbier, chill side too, but damn, those drums in Gianyar! That chant in Yayli! That flute in Diwana! That rhythm in Sun! Can you blame me for being hesitant in exploring Loop Guru's discography further? How could anything else they do top such ebullience?
(sorry, that seems like the sort of cheeky word they'd use in liner notes)
Saturday, August 18, 2018
Porya Hatami & Darren McClure - In-Between Spaces
...txt: 2015
You'd think after a dozen years of doing this, I'd know how to avoid the aftermath. Indeed, I've done everything in the How To Avoid Post-Festival Flu handbook, and yet I still get hit with some bout of sickness after coming home from Shambhala. To be fair, the dusty farm environment makes it a challenge even under the best conditions. Not only do you have some twenty thousand souls kicking up dirt, but also all the cow-patty particulates that populate the pasture year-round. Wearing a handkerchief or bandana for cover helps, and I even take things a step further with medical masks when I know I'll be working in a super-heavy dust area for a while (those parking lots get it bad). Throw in the killer combo of extreme temperature changes (oh God, the heat this year!), and all around tom-foolery and chicanery that comes with any music festival, no matter how 'responsible' one remains, and yeah, it's no surprise folks come away from them feelin' the flu, even veterans who should know better. Or maybe I just get an allergic reaction to the being back in the rat-race so soon after a week out. Yeah, let's go with that instead!
So coming back, feeling down with the sickness, but still having to drag my sagging ass to work, you can forgive my lack brain power for a brief while following Shamb's. Getting the ol' writing juices flowing again sometimes takes a little effort, a little inspiration, a little kick in the cerebellum-butt. On the other hand, it's nice to ease back into things with a little sonic fluff, musical cotton-candy that doesn't require much in the way of actual analysis and critique, an album where I can spend the bulk of a review waxing on about anecdotal bull before getting into the meat 'n grits of the CD. Yes, this here In-Between Spaces from Porya Hatami and Darren McClure will do nicely.
I've gone over Mr. Hatami's work a fair deal now, and you might remember Mr. McClure from such collaborative projects like Memex. I honestly forgot he was a part of that though, and I wrote the review of that album with Lee Norris only a year ago! For a brief refresher, Darren's something of an abstract ambient journeyman, and possibly came into association with Porya either via their time spent in Japan, or their works released through Inner Ocean Records (because I gotta' give Canadian labels all attention they can get).
In-Between Spaces is a modest little collection of ambient pieces, only five tracks long, ranging from seven to twelve minutes in length. It's all very minimalist with soft, glitchy effects and static fuzz warping distant pianos, pads and field recordings. At points, I'm surprised just how natural some of these effects sound. Like, is that actual rain fall in Summer Rain, or treated static? Sends me into sweet, soothing calm of mental contentment, either way, as does the rest of In-Between Spaces. Mmm, recovery sleep...
You'd think after a dozen years of doing this, I'd know how to avoid the aftermath. Indeed, I've done everything in the How To Avoid Post-Festival Flu handbook, and yet I still get hit with some bout of sickness after coming home from Shambhala. To be fair, the dusty farm environment makes it a challenge even under the best conditions. Not only do you have some twenty thousand souls kicking up dirt, but also all the cow-patty particulates that populate the pasture year-round. Wearing a handkerchief or bandana for cover helps, and I even take things a step further with medical masks when I know I'll be working in a super-heavy dust area for a while (those parking lots get it bad). Throw in the killer combo of extreme temperature changes (oh God, the heat this year!), and all around tom-foolery and chicanery that comes with any music festival, no matter how 'responsible' one remains, and yeah, it's no surprise folks come away from them feelin' the flu, even veterans who should know better. Or maybe I just get an allergic reaction to the being back in the rat-race so soon after a week out. Yeah, let's go with that instead!
So coming back, feeling down with the sickness, but still having to drag my sagging ass to work, you can forgive my lack brain power for a brief while following Shamb's. Getting the ol' writing juices flowing again sometimes takes a little effort, a little inspiration, a little kick in the cerebellum-butt. On the other hand, it's nice to ease back into things with a little sonic fluff, musical cotton-candy that doesn't require much in the way of actual analysis and critique, an album where I can spend the bulk of a review waxing on about anecdotal bull before getting into the meat 'n grits of the CD. Yes, this here In-Between Spaces from Porya Hatami and Darren McClure will do nicely.
I've gone over Mr. Hatami's work a fair deal now, and you might remember Mr. McClure from such collaborative projects like Memex. I honestly forgot he was a part of that though, and I wrote the review of that album with Lee Norris only a year ago! For a brief refresher, Darren's something of an abstract ambient journeyman, and possibly came into association with Porya either via their time spent in Japan, or their works released through Inner Ocean Records (because I gotta' give Canadian labels all attention they can get).
In-Between Spaces is a modest little collection of ambient pieces, only five tracks long, ranging from seven to twelve minutes in length. It's all very minimalist with soft, glitchy effects and static fuzz warping distant pianos, pads and field recordings. At points, I'm surprised just how natural some of these effects sound. Like, is that actual rain fall in Summer Rain, or treated static? Sends me into sweet, soothing calm of mental contentment, either way, as does the rest of In-Between Spaces. Mmm, recovery sleep...
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
Bluescreen - Undercurrents
Shadow Records: 2001
That the label that gave America an early taste of Ninja Tune and all things trip-hoppy, abstract-funky would throw its hat into the trance game was remarkable, daft even, among the most unexpected things I’ve ever come across in my music buying time. Still, with that scene popular enough with young punters, what harm was there in giving it a shot with a couple, nicely-priced compilations in Trance Sessions? Besides, it helped promote one of their signed acts, one Anthony Voitik, or Bluescreen as he goes by here.
This debut album came out a short while before Trance Sessions did, in of itself remarkable. Forget that whole ‘jumping on the trance bandwagon’ angle the compilations kinda-sorta reeked of, Shadow went and signed a totally unknown dude for a trance album. Not just any trance either, but deliberately old-school leaning stuff, tunes that wouldn’t sound out of place coming from MFS’ heyday, a style almost extinct by the year 2001 courtesy of the drudge-Dutch invasion. How’d they even make contact with him? Mr. Voitik hailed from the literal opposite end of the continent from Shadow headquarters, mostly residing in the hinterlands of British Columbia. For a time, only a few streets away from me.
Okay, full disclosure: I know ol’ Anthony. Like, went to the same high school as him. Drank at the same house parties as him. Rode four hours in his car to the same bush raves in Smithers with him. This probably doesn’t sound like a big deal to those living in major hubs of electronic music (London, Detroit, Berlin, New York City, San Francisco, Montreal… Vancouver?), where talent of all sort mingled with regular joes as they grew up. When I say our hometown is out on the fringes of Western society though, I ain’t kidding. It’s amazing that anyone from there ended up getting a record deal for a trance album, much less on a well-known trip-hop print like Shadow Records.
Thus me saying I like Undercurrents obviously comes with degree of bias, since I quite like the brand of trance Mr. Voitik enjoyed as well. If you fancied yourself some of that Paul van Dyk vibe but hated his turn towards the pop side of things, you’ll probably like this too. There isn’t much in the way of surprises, Bluescreen mostly sticking to an easy-going, traditional template to his tunes. Of notables diversions, he goes a little prog-house with Vanishing, Daybreak has some fun with the acid, and Surfacing works as a nice summation to the melodic points touched upon throughout. Aliendisco is about the only tune that leaps way out of Mr. Voitik’s established comfort zone - it’s speed garage, but with a sci-fi twist. I’ve never heard another speed garage track do this, much less produced by a trance guy. Corsten hasn’t gone there. Lieb sure never went there. Armin hasn’t gone there, and he’s gone to some wack places over the years. Tiësto probably would have though, if there was money to be made.
That the label that gave America an early taste of Ninja Tune and all things trip-hoppy, abstract-funky would throw its hat into the trance game was remarkable, daft even, among the most unexpected things I’ve ever come across in my music buying time. Still, with that scene popular enough with young punters, what harm was there in giving it a shot with a couple, nicely-priced compilations in Trance Sessions? Besides, it helped promote one of their signed acts, one Anthony Voitik, or Bluescreen as he goes by here.
This debut album came out a short while before Trance Sessions did, in of itself remarkable. Forget that whole ‘jumping on the trance bandwagon’ angle the compilations kinda-sorta reeked of, Shadow went and signed a totally unknown dude for a trance album. Not just any trance either, but deliberately old-school leaning stuff, tunes that wouldn’t sound out of place coming from MFS’ heyday, a style almost extinct by the year 2001 courtesy of the drudge-Dutch invasion. How’d they even make contact with him? Mr. Voitik hailed from the literal opposite end of the continent from Shadow headquarters, mostly residing in the hinterlands of British Columbia. For a time, only a few streets away from me.
Okay, full disclosure: I know ol’ Anthony. Like, went to the same high school as him. Drank at the same house parties as him. Rode four hours in his car to the same bush raves in Smithers with him. This probably doesn’t sound like a big deal to those living in major hubs of electronic music (London, Detroit, Berlin, New York City, San Francisco, Montreal… Vancouver?), where talent of all sort mingled with regular joes as they grew up. When I say our hometown is out on the fringes of Western society though, I ain’t kidding. It’s amazing that anyone from there ended up getting a record deal for a trance album, much less on a well-known trip-hop print like Shadow Records.
Thus me saying I like Undercurrents obviously comes with degree of bias, since I quite like the brand of trance Mr. Voitik enjoyed as well. If you fancied yourself some of that Paul van Dyk vibe but hated his turn towards the pop side of things, you’ll probably like this too. There isn’t much in the way of surprises, Bluescreen mostly sticking to an easy-going, traditional template to his tunes. Of notables diversions, he goes a little prog-house with Vanishing, Daybreak has some fun with the acid, and Surfacing works as a nice summation to the melodic points touched upon throughout. Aliendisco is about the only tune that leaps way out of Mr. Voitik’s established comfort zone - it’s speed garage, but with a sci-fi twist. I’ve never heard another speed garage track do this, much less produced by a trance guy. Corsten hasn’t gone there. Lieb sure never went there. Armin hasn’t gone there, and he’s gone to some wack places over the years. Tiësto probably would have though, if there was money to be made.
Wednesday, December 9, 2015
Flowjob - Support Normality (2015 Update)
Iboga Records: 2006
(Click here to read my original TranceCritic review.)
At the tail end of that very, very, very long original review of Support Normality, I quipped about how pricey these old, ace albums in the psy scene can get on the collector’s market. Hell, even lesser CDs have fetched remarkable prices at Discogs. From my pile alone, U-Recken’s Aquatic Serenade once sold for $143! The compilation Goa Spirit 3, $102! ICE MC’s Ice N’ Green, $81 (wait, what?). Several Ultimae albums have moved in the $75-$100 range, with plenty more psy leaning discs going in the tidy $30-$50 bracket. Flowjob’s sophomore album, Zentertainment, which I found weaker than their debut, brought home $40 for a former owner. Surely Support Normality then, a great collection of ultra-groovy progressive trance, would command a gracious price of… seven… teen… dollars? Are you kidding me? That’s an injustice! This should be going for well over $50! Did Iboga flood the market with too many copies or something? Am I blinded by some unaccounted bias? I’ll admit I was going through some interesting transitional times when I first came across this album, but still.
No, wait, let’s examine this. Did my situational living impact upon my reaction to Support Normality in a significant way? It’s no secret we often associate music with events in our lives, such that hearing a song can send a flood of memories from the time you first heard it. When I play this album back now, three immediate things come to mind: a rave where I had a bad 2CB trip, shitty Vancouver weather (even more so than usual), and being home wretchedly sick watching Season 1 of Battlestar Galactica. I can’t say these are at all pleasant memories on the surface, but they were significant, where after a year of big city bachelorhood, I was learning just what it took to survive in the Lower Mainland. Don’t be so irresponsible at parties, get some proper rainwear, and don’t binge watch such a depressing, brilliant sci-fi series. Oh God, the flood of feels, I tells ya’!
I suppose Support Normality provided a brief bright spot in that dour February of 2006. The chipper vibes, dubby synths, and oh-so infectious rhythms gave me a glimmer of optimism, rejuvenated my interest in electronic music in such a way that hadn’t happened since electroclash emerged onto the scene. Flowjob wasn’t doing anything I hadn’t heard before, but they did it with such finesse and skill, I was instantly hooked. They found a sweet spot that catered to my deep, dubby prog needs, the sort of music none of the genre’s standard bearers were crafting anymore, all content pursuing their own roads instead (tech, minimal, Mc.). It obviously didn’t happen like that for others, some probably bored by what Flowjob was selling. But no one can deny they have albums of similar connection to them as this one has with me.
PS: no, I’m not looking to sell anything from my collection, but if I was, hoo boy, would I clean up!
(Click here to read my original TranceCritic review.)
At the tail end of that very, very, very long original review of Support Normality, I quipped about how pricey these old, ace albums in the psy scene can get on the collector’s market. Hell, even lesser CDs have fetched remarkable prices at Discogs. From my pile alone, U-Recken’s Aquatic Serenade once sold for $143! The compilation Goa Spirit 3, $102! ICE MC’s Ice N’ Green, $81 (wait, what?). Several Ultimae albums have moved in the $75-$100 range, with plenty more psy leaning discs going in the tidy $30-$50 bracket. Flowjob’s sophomore album, Zentertainment, which I found weaker than their debut, brought home $40 for a former owner. Surely Support Normality then, a great collection of ultra-groovy progressive trance, would command a gracious price of… seven… teen… dollars? Are you kidding me? That’s an injustice! This should be going for well over $50! Did Iboga flood the market with too many copies or something? Am I blinded by some unaccounted bias? I’ll admit I was going through some interesting transitional times when I first came across this album, but still.
No, wait, let’s examine this. Did my situational living impact upon my reaction to Support Normality in a significant way? It’s no secret we often associate music with events in our lives, such that hearing a song can send a flood of memories from the time you first heard it. When I play this album back now, three immediate things come to mind: a rave where I had a bad 2CB trip, shitty Vancouver weather (even more so than usual), and being home wretchedly sick watching Season 1 of Battlestar Galactica. I can’t say these are at all pleasant memories on the surface, but they were significant, where after a year of big city bachelorhood, I was learning just what it took to survive in the Lower Mainland. Don’t be so irresponsible at parties, get some proper rainwear, and don’t binge watch such a depressing, brilliant sci-fi series. Oh God, the flood of feels, I tells ya’!
I suppose Support Normality provided a brief bright spot in that dour February of 2006. The chipper vibes, dubby synths, and oh-so infectious rhythms gave me a glimmer of optimism, rejuvenated my interest in electronic music in such a way that hadn’t happened since electroclash emerged onto the scene. Flowjob wasn’t doing anything I hadn’t heard before, but they did it with such finesse and skill, I was instantly hooked. They found a sweet spot that catered to my deep, dubby prog needs, the sort of music none of the genre’s standard bearers were crafting anymore, all content pursuing their own roads instead (tech, minimal, Mc.). It obviously didn’t happen like that for others, some probably bored by what Flowjob was selling. But no one can deny they have albums of similar connection to them as this one has with me.
PS: no, I’m not looking to sell anything from my collection, but if I was, hoo boy, would I clean up!
Sunday, October 11, 2015
The Beach Boys - Sounds Of Summer: The Very Best Of
Capitol Records: 2003
First, it was The Police and Boney M. Then, it was Raffi and Disney singalongs. After that... not a whole lot. Music, which had been such a vital part of my early childhood, ceased having much influence. It was those darn Transformers, you see, taking my attention away for a few years, soon replaced by all sorts of marketable cartoons and media. Who has time for bands and songs when there's more The Real Ghostbuster toys to get, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bubblegum cards to buy, or Star Wars movies to obsess over? I still played the odd CD from my folks' collection, but seldom gave it much more thought than a passive distraction. One day though, after listening to a cheery compilation called Sun Jammin', the final track caught my attention like few songs had for a very, very long time. I had to hear more from this group, those sweet vocal harmonies, those starry-eyed lyrics of fun in the Caribbean sun and holiday bliss. The song was Kokomo.
Look, it was the '80s, and The Beach Boys’ most recent hit, so it was about the only way I'd have 'stumbled' upon them back then. Man though, after hearing that song, I scoured for more, the first time in my life I started digging for a specific group. It probably didn't hurt I was heavy into Archie Comics at the time (shad'up, we've all been there!), and saw kinship between the two representatives of clean-cut, all-American youth culture as envisioned by the late '50s and early '60s. I even compiled my findings onto my very first mixtape. True, all I had to work with was whatever was in my father's CDs, but as an initiation into the glorious world of music hunting obsession, The Beach Boys wasn't such a bad place to start.
Of course, had Tween Sykonee been around when Sounds Of Summer came about, I wouldn’t have needed to bother. There were numerous ‘Best Of’ and ‘Greatest Hits’ and ‘Essential Sounds’ on the market up through the ‘80s, but it didn’t seem The Beach Boys were quite done scoring the occasional charter even long after most figured their music way dated. Then the ‘90s hit and, well, yeah. With no new hits for a decade, the new millennium seemed as good a time as any for an authentic, definitive gathering of all their memorable, classic, vintage, glorious tunes. And Getcha Back, for some stupid reason (ugh... those ‘80s drums, so bad).
Sounds Of Summer is about as perfect a collection of Beach Boys music you could want without splurging on a zillion LPs for three or four great tunes surrounded by filler. It’s got all the surf rock hits, the hot-rodding car odes, the rowdy party tunes (Barbara Ann, so drunk), their introspective aging songs, and an assortment of odds and sods in the ensuing years. The only thing missing is selections from their wonderful Christmas album, but that’d defeat the ‘summer’ theme, wouldn’t it.
First, it was The Police and Boney M. Then, it was Raffi and Disney singalongs. After that... not a whole lot. Music, which had been such a vital part of my early childhood, ceased having much influence. It was those darn Transformers, you see, taking my attention away for a few years, soon replaced by all sorts of marketable cartoons and media. Who has time for bands and songs when there's more The Real Ghostbuster toys to get, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles bubblegum cards to buy, or Star Wars movies to obsess over? I still played the odd CD from my folks' collection, but seldom gave it much more thought than a passive distraction. One day though, after listening to a cheery compilation called Sun Jammin', the final track caught my attention like few songs had for a very, very long time. I had to hear more from this group, those sweet vocal harmonies, those starry-eyed lyrics of fun in the Caribbean sun and holiday bliss. The song was Kokomo.
Look, it was the '80s, and The Beach Boys’ most recent hit, so it was about the only way I'd have 'stumbled' upon them back then. Man though, after hearing that song, I scoured for more, the first time in my life I started digging for a specific group. It probably didn't hurt I was heavy into Archie Comics at the time (shad'up, we've all been there!), and saw kinship between the two representatives of clean-cut, all-American youth culture as envisioned by the late '50s and early '60s. I even compiled my findings onto my very first mixtape. True, all I had to work with was whatever was in my father's CDs, but as an initiation into the glorious world of music hunting obsession, The Beach Boys wasn't such a bad place to start.
Of course, had Tween Sykonee been around when Sounds Of Summer came about, I wouldn’t have needed to bother. There were numerous ‘Best Of’ and ‘Greatest Hits’ and ‘Essential Sounds’ on the market up through the ‘80s, but it didn’t seem The Beach Boys were quite done scoring the occasional charter even long after most figured their music way dated. Then the ‘90s hit and, well, yeah. With no new hits for a decade, the new millennium seemed as good a time as any for an authentic, definitive gathering of all their memorable, classic, vintage, glorious tunes. And Getcha Back, for some stupid reason (ugh... those ‘80s drums, so bad).
Sounds Of Summer is about as perfect a collection of Beach Boys music you could want without splurging on a zillion LPs for three or four great tunes surrounded by filler. It’s got all the surf rock hits, the hot-rodding car odes, the rowdy party tunes (Barbara Ann, so drunk), their introspective aging songs, and an assortment of odds and sods in the ensuing years. The only thing missing is selections from their wonderful Christmas album, but that’d defeat the ‘summer’ theme, wouldn’t it.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
DJ Moe Sticky - RnB State Of Mind 32
promo: 2015
Well, if this doesn't look all kinds of sketchy, ghetto, amateur, and scrub. Folks, you don't know the half of it. That's the only piece of art I got with this, and it's on nothing more than a piece of scissor-cut paper, printed with an ink jet. The accompanying burned CD itself is completely blank, not even a single scribble of a felt marker telling you what's on the disc. And a proper jewel case or cardboard digi-sleeve to hold it in? Oh, that's cute. All you get is a small plastic slip, though mine does have my name scribbled on it by a felt marker. Personalization, yo'! Gads, even the mix CDs I made back in the day had more effort put into them than this.
Of course, this is the sort of thing one expects from demos handed out at parties by desperate DJs looking to make their mark. Sometimes you get a burned disc with more care and attention given to it, but since these are freebies anyway, you typically overlook whatever faults the packaging may have. Except this wasn't free. I paid ten dollars for this. And for a second one. Twenty bones on cheap-as-fuck demos. How could I have been so stupid and careless with my money, you ask? Oh, don't worry, there's a tale I must tell. The actual music critiquing of these RnB State Of Mind discs can wait for the next review.
I don't doubt for a second I looked like an easy mark wandering the Vegas Strip, but frugal spending and marketing cynicism kept my wallet deep in my pocket. Besides, what do I care for passes to casinos I'll never attend, or burlesque clubs I couldn’t properly tip at, or- wait, these two black dudes are selling some music? Tell me more!
Were they ever hustlin', telling me how the DJ – one Brooklyn native Moe Sticky – was set to blow up huge in the world of rap and RnB. Since they were also shilling for a strip club, they insisted these two discs would get any woman within hearing distance naked, horny, droppin’ drawers, etc. They talked a good game, and while there was zero chance of me playing this back at the Hard Rock Hotel while entertaining eager ho's (“sorry, Dad, you'll have to hang at the casino tonight”), I enjoyed the game they were playing enough to drop a Jackson into their palms. Look, I've paid far more dollars on old Namlook CDs, so it's not that big an investment where I'm standing from.
Naturally, with my wallet currently out, their wingman swooped in looking to hawk a DVD accompaniment to these promo CDs. Seeing as how it'd cost me an additional twenty, forget that noise. He was persistent though, selling how the whole combo was essential to get ladies wet or some-such. Then he reached towards my wallet to extract a twenty, at which point I Noped!, and strolled off, counting my bills just in case.
Well, if this doesn't look all kinds of sketchy, ghetto, amateur, and scrub. Folks, you don't know the half of it. That's the only piece of art I got with this, and it's on nothing more than a piece of scissor-cut paper, printed with an ink jet. The accompanying burned CD itself is completely blank, not even a single scribble of a felt marker telling you what's on the disc. And a proper jewel case or cardboard digi-sleeve to hold it in? Oh, that's cute. All you get is a small plastic slip, though mine does have my name scribbled on it by a felt marker. Personalization, yo'! Gads, even the mix CDs I made back in the day had more effort put into them than this.
Of course, this is the sort of thing one expects from demos handed out at parties by desperate DJs looking to make their mark. Sometimes you get a burned disc with more care and attention given to it, but since these are freebies anyway, you typically overlook whatever faults the packaging may have. Except this wasn't free. I paid ten dollars for this. And for a second one. Twenty bones on cheap-as-fuck demos. How could I have been so stupid and careless with my money, you ask? Oh, don't worry, there's a tale I must tell. The actual music critiquing of these RnB State Of Mind discs can wait for the next review.
I don't doubt for a second I looked like an easy mark wandering the Vegas Strip, but frugal spending and marketing cynicism kept my wallet deep in my pocket. Besides, what do I care for passes to casinos I'll never attend, or burlesque clubs I couldn’t properly tip at, or- wait, these two black dudes are selling some music? Tell me more!
Were they ever hustlin', telling me how the DJ – one Brooklyn native Moe Sticky – was set to blow up huge in the world of rap and RnB. Since they were also shilling for a strip club, they insisted these two discs would get any woman within hearing distance naked, horny, droppin’ drawers, etc. They talked a good game, and while there was zero chance of me playing this back at the Hard Rock Hotel while entertaining eager ho's (“sorry, Dad, you'll have to hang at the casino tonight”), I enjoyed the game they were playing enough to drop a Jackson into their palms. Look, I've paid far more dollars on old Namlook CDs, so it's not that big an investment where I'm standing from.
Naturally, with my wallet currently out, their wingman swooped in looking to hawk a DVD accompaniment to these promo CDs. Seeing as how it'd cost me an additional twenty, forget that noise. He was persistent though, selling how the whole combo was essential to get ladies wet or some-such. Then he reached towards my wallet to extract a twenty, at which point I Noped!, and strolled off, counting my bills just in case.
Labels:
2015,
anecdotes,
Burned CDs,
DJ Moe Sticky,
RnB,
trap
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Opus III - Guru Mother
PWL International: 1994
Opus III are known for two things: being responsible for early UK house hit It's A Fine Day, and Orbital sampling said hit for Halcyon (and on and on-om-nom). They could have been known for so much more though, had they carried on longer than two albums worth. The talent was definitely there, productions capably toeing the line between respectable club anthems and easy home listening. They had a marketable look with Kirsty Hawkshaw as the face of the group, a distinct voice and presence in a scene filled with pretty but unremarkable singers.
Kirsty though, she sensed the group getting a little commercial for her taste, and Opus III disbanded. Ms. Hawkshaw then went on to provide vocals for, um, BT, Tiesto, Lange, and Delerium. Hey, there's some respectable collaborations during that period too (Orbital-proper, Swayzak, Hybrid), but man, did trance producers ever line-up for ol' Kirsty's pipes. Not sure what happened to the other three members of Opus III though. Even Lord Discogs provides little.
Fortunately, they went out in fine fashion, their sophomore album Guru Mother a remarkable record for the year 1994. This is progressive house as its finding its footing, figuring out what it could be, and maybe getting a little ‘epic’ in the process. This is BT music before BT had made a name for himself with Ima, Grace music before Oakenfold got tired of the goa thing, and Renaissance music just as that seminal clubnight was making Sasha & Diggers deities behind the decks. There’s sing-along house anthems (Dreaming Of You, When You Made The Mountain, Hand In Hand), darker, chugging prog numbers (Outside, Guru Mother, Sushumna), ethereal trance groovers (Release The Joy, Elemental), and chill, bliss-out ambient pieces (Cozyland?, When She Rises). Listening to this album two decades on, I’m astounded Guru Mother isn’t talked up more as one of those Very Important progressive house records. Were Opus III really seen as that much of a one-hit wonder that all their other efforts were so dismissed?
Perhaps so. I certainly never gave Opus III much care in all these years. Heck, the only reason I’m reviewing Guru Mother now is because I noticed it during a recent used-CD shop splurge. Of course I knew of It’s A Fine Day, but that song wasn’t on here. And that cover, man does it ever look cheesy, more suitable for a medieval folk group than anything with a dance beat. Then I recalled a similar sentiment shared with a Rupert pal long ago. He’d bought Guru Mother solely for recognizing Opus III as the It’s A Fine Day group, and was surprised how much better the album turned out compared to that single. While I didn’t doubt his judgment of Guru Mother, I simply couldn’t get past that cover, much less the photo of Kirsty Hawkshaw looking like some woodland pixie on the back. Just no way Guru Mother could be class, no way at all.
God, was I an arrogant idiot sometimes.
Opus III are known for two things: being responsible for early UK house hit It's A Fine Day, and Orbital sampling said hit for Halcyon (and on and on-om-nom). They could have been known for so much more though, had they carried on longer than two albums worth. The talent was definitely there, productions capably toeing the line between respectable club anthems and easy home listening. They had a marketable look with Kirsty Hawkshaw as the face of the group, a distinct voice and presence in a scene filled with pretty but unremarkable singers.
Kirsty though, she sensed the group getting a little commercial for her taste, and Opus III disbanded. Ms. Hawkshaw then went on to provide vocals for, um, BT, Tiesto, Lange, and Delerium. Hey, there's some respectable collaborations during that period too (Orbital-proper, Swayzak, Hybrid), but man, did trance producers ever line-up for ol' Kirsty's pipes. Not sure what happened to the other three members of Opus III though. Even Lord Discogs provides little.
Fortunately, they went out in fine fashion, their sophomore album Guru Mother a remarkable record for the year 1994. This is progressive house as its finding its footing, figuring out what it could be, and maybe getting a little ‘epic’ in the process. This is BT music before BT had made a name for himself with Ima, Grace music before Oakenfold got tired of the goa thing, and Renaissance music just as that seminal clubnight was making Sasha & Diggers deities behind the decks. There’s sing-along house anthems (Dreaming Of You, When You Made The Mountain, Hand In Hand), darker, chugging prog numbers (Outside, Guru Mother, Sushumna), ethereal trance groovers (Release The Joy, Elemental), and chill, bliss-out ambient pieces (Cozyland?, When She Rises). Listening to this album two decades on, I’m astounded Guru Mother isn’t talked up more as one of those Very Important progressive house records. Were Opus III really seen as that much of a one-hit wonder that all their other efforts were so dismissed?
Perhaps so. I certainly never gave Opus III much care in all these years. Heck, the only reason I’m reviewing Guru Mother now is because I noticed it during a recent used-CD shop splurge. Of course I knew of It’s A Fine Day, but that song wasn’t on here. And that cover, man does it ever look cheesy, more suitable for a medieval folk group than anything with a dance beat. Then I recalled a similar sentiment shared with a Rupert pal long ago. He’d bought Guru Mother solely for recognizing Opus III as the It’s A Fine Day group, and was surprised how much better the album turned out compared to that single. While I didn’t doubt his judgment of Guru Mother, I simply couldn’t get past that cover, much less the photo of Kirsty Hawkshaw looking like some woodland pixie on the back. Just no way Guru Mother could be class, no way at all.
God, was I an arrogant idiot sometimes.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Various - Rave-Trance 2001
Electronic Dance Essentials: 2001
On the surface, Rave-Trance 2001 is the chintziest pieces of bargain-bin detritus you'll ever come across. I certainly thought so, and prepared for a good guffaw upon flipping it over to see what names made up the track list. I wasn't disappointed, such hilarious credits including DJ Ibiza, DJ Airbourne, DJ Pebbles, DJ Glamer, and Bypass Unit. Wait, Bypass Unit? Those guys were awesome, a dope blend of German trance and early goa. What are they doing on this? For that matter, might the other tracks be just as good?
Not really, most of the tunes sounding quite dated by post-millennial standards. The mixing's barely adequate, occasional vocals corny as all Hell, and CD1 features an awful, flat mono mastering, utterly shameful for the modern era. Still, it's mid-'90s German trance, with plenty of spacey acid, driving rhythms, and delicious minor-key melodies throughout, thus giving me the wayback feels no matter how dodgy the packaging. It was something of a revelation even finding such a CD in 2001, figuring all the sounds that drew me into trance had been kicked to the curb in favour grotesque Dutch excess. But music aside, Rave-Trance 2001 is rather fascinating in its own right.
For instance, Electronic Dance Essentials is a sub-label of Big Eye Records, whom in turn is a sub-label of Cleopatra. Suddenly the cheap presentation made a lot more sense, but this story gets even better. While submitting Rave-Trance 2001 to the mighty Lord Discogs (because of course I'd be the only contributor with a copy), I discovered an identical tracklist on an obscure 1999 ZYX Music double-disc set called The World Of Dream & Trance. So not only did a sub-sub label of Cleopatra release a cheap-looking collection of trance with music far better than expected, but did so by 'copy & pasting' another unremarkable release from a label that has – as far as I know – absolutely no association with Cleopatra, for no reason other than 'just because'.
But wait, this story gets even better! The World Of Dream & Trance may not have much going for it, but regarding its origins... hoo boy! The World Of... is a long-running series of double-disc collections from ZYX Music featuring such eclectic gatherings as rock, soul, reggae, house, salsa, techno, italo, rap, schlager, Russische folklore, surf music, krautrock, Indian pop, jodeln, truckers, and telefonansagen. What. The. F!? There's even a release for phone sex conversations. Who buys this stuff?
All this delightful associative info, but possibly the most interesting comes from an anecdote. While moving from one Canadian hinterland to another, I stopped over at a town where a couple friends lived for a rave happening that night. At the pre-party house, I rummaged through the host’s CDs as I’m wont to do, and saw a familiar blue sleeve with tacky clip-art and unrelated Time Magazine quote on the back. “Oh, wow,” I say to owner, “You have this too?” “Yeah,” she replied, “It’s a great CD, isn’t it!” It sure is.
On the surface, Rave-Trance 2001 is the chintziest pieces of bargain-bin detritus you'll ever come across. I certainly thought so, and prepared for a good guffaw upon flipping it over to see what names made up the track list. I wasn't disappointed, such hilarious credits including DJ Ibiza, DJ Airbourne, DJ Pebbles, DJ Glamer, and Bypass Unit. Wait, Bypass Unit? Those guys were awesome, a dope blend of German trance and early goa. What are they doing on this? For that matter, might the other tracks be just as good?
Not really, most of the tunes sounding quite dated by post-millennial standards. The mixing's barely adequate, occasional vocals corny as all Hell, and CD1 features an awful, flat mono mastering, utterly shameful for the modern era. Still, it's mid-'90s German trance, with plenty of spacey acid, driving rhythms, and delicious minor-key melodies throughout, thus giving me the wayback feels no matter how dodgy the packaging. It was something of a revelation even finding such a CD in 2001, figuring all the sounds that drew me into trance had been kicked to the curb in favour grotesque Dutch excess. But music aside, Rave-Trance 2001 is rather fascinating in its own right.
For instance, Electronic Dance Essentials is a sub-label of Big Eye Records, whom in turn is a sub-label of Cleopatra. Suddenly the cheap presentation made a lot more sense, but this story gets even better. While submitting Rave-Trance 2001 to the mighty Lord Discogs (because of course I'd be the only contributor with a copy), I discovered an identical tracklist on an obscure 1999 ZYX Music double-disc set called The World Of Dream & Trance. So not only did a sub-sub label of Cleopatra release a cheap-looking collection of trance with music far better than expected, but did so by 'copy & pasting' another unremarkable release from a label that has – as far as I know – absolutely no association with Cleopatra, for no reason other than 'just because'.
But wait, this story gets even better! The World Of Dream & Trance may not have much going for it, but regarding its origins... hoo boy! The World Of... is a long-running series of double-disc collections from ZYX Music featuring such eclectic gatherings as rock, soul, reggae, house, salsa, techno, italo, rap, schlager, Russische folklore, surf music, krautrock, Indian pop, jodeln, truckers, and telefonansagen. What. The. F!? There's even a release for phone sex conversations. Who buys this stuff?
All this delightful associative info, but possibly the most interesting comes from an anecdote. While moving from one Canadian hinterland to another, I stopped over at a town where a couple friends lived for a rave happening that night. At the pre-party house, I rummaged through the host’s CDs as I’m wont to do, and saw a familiar blue sleeve with tacky clip-art and unrelated Time Magazine quote on the back. “Oh, wow,” I say to owner, “You have this too?” “Yeah,” she replied, “It’s a great CD, isn’t it!” It sure is.
Monday, June 16, 2014
Boney M. - Nightflight To Venus (Anecdotal 'Review')
Song BMG Music Entertainment: 1978/2007
Say what you want about Boney M. – and believe me, you won't be saying anything new – it's undeniable their popularity's endured thanks to Frank Farian's impeccable production chops and savvy marketing. Hell, it sure worked for me, Nightflight To Venus an irresistible concept to a kid just discovering things like Star Wars and other cool space-orientated- ack, no, no! I won’t turn this review into an endless parade of anecdotes. My self-imposed word count doesn’t allow for it. Okay, focus, focus...
Nope, not happening. I’m not getting through this review without dropping more. Sure, I could be all professional and shit about Nightflight To Venus, but there’s no fun in that. I’ve so many stories tied to this record, so many memories as a kid listening to it. You know what, screw it. I’m going all the way down Anecdote Alley here, and if that’s a problem, come back tomorrow where I’ll deal with the album proper-like. I gotta’ get this nostalgia outta’ my system, folks.
Nightflight To Venus is undeniably ground zero for my enjoyment of so many things musically: catchy hooks and harmonies, DJ mixes, dance rhythms, space-themed music, and Neil Young. For a kid getting into sci-fi, the titular opener was utter catnip for a fruitful imagination. Those robot voices, sound effects, gnarly guitar licks, and thumping rhythms was unlike anything I’d heard before, purely driven by a concept than actual song writing. Then it kept going into a totally different song about a bizarre Russian named Rasputin, with some of ear-wormiest hooks I’d ever heard. It blew my young mind you could even do that with music, make two separate tunes seem like one! And those awesome choruses are filled throughout Nightflight To Venus, some with lyrics that seem almost intended to be sung along with by kids (Painter Man, Rivers Of Babylon, Brown Girl In The Ring).
What’s elevated Nightflight To Venus above so many other albums of my young life, however, is the fact it was the first record I recall listening to front-to-back, and aside from Raffi’s Baby Beluga (shaddap), would remain the only one I would repeatedly do so for many years. For as much as I enjoyed The Police’s records too, I still could only ever get through half a Side A before getting bored. While Boney M.’s fun music was part of my willingness to go the distance, the fact one of my favourite songs on the album, Heart Of Gold, was at the end, forced me to sit patiently through the whole record to hear it (the original’s country? No way, this is the real version!). Even the slower ‘message’ song before it, Never Change Lovers In The Middle Of The Night, couldn’t deter me from waiting in anticipation for those wonderful vocal harmonies and funky disco guitar licks emerging. It instilled a listening habit that persists to this day, of appreciating albums as collective wholes rather than jumping from song to song. Well done, Nightflight To Venus. Well done.
Say what you want about Boney M. – and believe me, you won't be saying anything new – it's undeniable their popularity's endured thanks to Frank Farian's impeccable production chops and savvy marketing. Hell, it sure worked for me, Nightflight To Venus an irresistible concept to a kid just discovering things like Star Wars and other cool space-orientated- ack, no, no! I won’t turn this review into an endless parade of anecdotes. My self-imposed word count doesn’t allow for it. Okay, focus, focus...
Nope, not happening. I’m not getting through this review without dropping more. Sure, I could be all professional and shit about Nightflight To Venus, but there’s no fun in that. I’ve so many stories tied to this record, so many memories as a kid listening to it. You know what, screw it. I’m going all the way down Anecdote Alley here, and if that’s a problem, come back tomorrow where I’ll deal with the album proper-like. I gotta’ get this nostalgia outta’ my system, folks.
Nightflight To Venus is undeniably ground zero for my enjoyment of so many things musically: catchy hooks and harmonies, DJ mixes, dance rhythms, space-themed music, and Neil Young. For a kid getting into sci-fi, the titular opener was utter catnip for a fruitful imagination. Those robot voices, sound effects, gnarly guitar licks, and thumping rhythms was unlike anything I’d heard before, purely driven by a concept than actual song writing. Then it kept going into a totally different song about a bizarre Russian named Rasputin, with some of ear-wormiest hooks I’d ever heard. It blew my young mind you could even do that with music, make two separate tunes seem like one! And those awesome choruses are filled throughout Nightflight To Venus, some with lyrics that seem almost intended to be sung along with by kids (Painter Man, Rivers Of Babylon, Brown Girl In The Ring).
What’s elevated Nightflight To Venus above so many other albums of my young life, however, is the fact it was the first record I recall listening to front-to-back, and aside from Raffi’s Baby Beluga (shaddap), would remain the only one I would repeatedly do so for many years. For as much as I enjoyed The Police’s records too, I still could only ever get through half a Side A before getting bored. While Boney M.’s fun music was part of my willingness to go the distance, the fact one of my favourite songs on the album, Heart Of Gold, was at the end, forced me to sit patiently through the whole record to hear it (the original’s country? No way, this is the real version!). Even the slower ‘message’ song before it, Never Change Lovers In The Middle Of The Night, couldn’t deter me from waiting in anticipation for those wonderful vocal harmonies and funky disco guitar licks emerging. It instilled a listening habit that persists to this day, of appreciating albums as collective wholes rather than jumping from song to song. Well done, Nightflight To Venus. Well done.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Loreena McKennitt - Live In Paris And Toronto
Quinlan Road: 1999
When I lived in the hinterlands of Canada, I rented in a house with various other roomers who'd come and go. As I was the one with a decent stereo, my gear took up residence in the living room, where I'd often load the 3-CD tray with my own music. Fair enough, as my housemates shared similar tastes, what with being 'Rupert Ravers' and all. Every so often though, I'd play a combination of albums that threw them for a loop. One such day included a run of some EDM (I forget which now), the Hieroglyphics LP 3rd Eye Blind (“homie-b” music, the girl living with us called it), followed by this particular album from ethereal Celtic-folk artist Loreena McKennitt. They remarked how little sense it made for me to have such bizarre range of interest (for a 20 year old, anyway), and while hip-hop still had some connection to EDM, how did Loreena fit the puzzle of my interests?
It was likely my mother's influence, who was into Enya and all that New Age stuff when it broke into the early ‘90s mainstream (yeah yeah, total cliché there). Enigma was also a part of her musical rotation of the time, which led to ambient and world beat I still enjoy, but another act she liked was Loreena McKennitt. I... didn't quite latch onto her the same way, though my sister did. Hm, guess that makes sense, Enigma's 'tough' beats appealing to male sensibilities (no, stay with me on this theory!), and Ms. McKennitt's harps and singing more of a chick’s thing. What gender stereotypes?
Okay, sorry for that lengthy, anecdotal introduction. I felt it necessary to explain why, on a blog called Electronic Music Critic, there's also a live Loreena McKennitt album here. I've strayed off the EDM path often, but this must be the furthest I’ve gone yet. I don’t think there are any other ethereal Celtic folk-pop records in my collection, so at least it’s a one-off.
For those unaware of McKennitt, she gained international fame mostly through association with the New Age market. While her music is definitely of an Irish and Celtic tradition, she imbued her music with mystical qualities that set herself apart from staunch traditionalists, an incredibly appealing attribute for ladies into fantasy works and that; the guys had their Viking metal, the girls got their Arthurian romanticism (was this all Excaliber’s fault?). While having a deal with Warner Music gave McKennitt greater exposure (especially here in Canada, where the Winnipeg native enjoyed plenty of Canadian Content rotation), she’s remained an independent artist, self-producing and publishing her music through her own Quinlan Road print. Proper underground t’ings, mon! (whoops, wrong sub-culture)
There’s plenty more to her story, but I’m not the best person to detail it. Maybe try Ethereal Celtic Music Critic. All you need to know from my end is I liked her music enough to get a live album of it (essentially a greatest hits package), and that’s about it.
When I lived in the hinterlands of Canada, I rented in a house with various other roomers who'd come and go. As I was the one with a decent stereo, my gear took up residence in the living room, where I'd often load the 3-CD tray with my own music. Fair enough, as my housemates shared similar tastes, what with being 'Rupert Ravers' and all. Every so often though, I'd play a combination of albums that threw them for a loop. One such day included a run of some EDM (I forget which now), the Hieroglyphics LP 3rd Eye Blind (“homie-b” music, the girl living with us called it), followed by this particular album from ethereal Celtic-folk artist Loreena McKennitt. They remarked how little sense it made for me to have such bizarre range of interest (for a 20 year old, anyway), and while hip-hop still had some connection to EDM, how did Loreena fit the puzzle of my interests?
It was likely my mother's influence, who was into Enya and all that New Age stuff when it broke into the early ‘90s mainstream (yeah yeah, total cliché there). Enigma was also a part of her musical rotation of the time, which led to ambient and world beat I still enjoy, but another act she liked was Loreena McKennitt. I... didn't quite latch onto her the same way, though my sister did. Hm, guess that makes sense, Enigma's 'tough' beats appealing to male sensibilities (no, stay with me on this theory!), and Ms. McKennitt's harps and singing more of a chick’s thing. What gender stereotypes?
Okay, sorry for that lengthy, anecdotal introduction. I felt it necessary to explain why, on a blog called Electronic Music Critic, there's also a live Loreena McKennitt album here. I've strayed off the EDM path often, but this must be the furthest I’ve gone yet. I don’t think there are any other ethereal Celtic folk-pop records in my collection, so at least it’s a one-off.
For those unaware of McKennitt, she gained international fame mostly through association with the New Age market. While her music is definitely of an Irish and Celtic tradition, she imbued her music with mystical qualities that set herself apart from staunch traditionalists, an incredibly appealing attribute for ladies into fantasy works and that; the guys had their Viking metal, the girls got their Arthurian romanticism (was this all Excaliber’s fault?). While having a deal with Warner Music gave McKennitt greater exposure (especially here in Canada, where the Winnipeg native enjoyed plenty of Canadian Content rotation), she’s remained an independent artist, self-producing and publishing her music through her own Quinlan Road print. Proper underground t’ings, mon! (whoops, wrong sub-culture)
There’s plenty more to her story, but I’m not the best person to detail it. Maybe try Ethereal Celtic Music Critic. All you need to know from my end is I liked her music enough to get a live album of it (essentially a greatest hits package), and that’s about it.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Asura - Life² (Original TC Review)
Ultimae Records: 2007
(2014 Update:
This was my first exposure to Ulitmae, and does this review ever show it. That is, I knew absolutely nothing about the label, so barely bring them up at all; plenty of research into Asura, however. Interestingly enough, even from the start, I was bemoaning the lack of journalistic coverage these guys were getting, though perhaps in a more confrontational way than I do now. Not much else to add to this review, though like much of my old stuff, a little wordy in places.
'Tis funny, my covering of Life² was practically by random chance. I was in the process of giving my old TranceCritic writing partner, Jack Moss, a rather ineffectual pep-talk, as he was going through review writer's doldrums, dissatisfied with new material to cover in 2007. I urged him to take a chance on something unknown, perhaps discovering gold in the process. As an example, I fired up Juno Records and, browsing through their new releases, clicked the first cover which caught my eye, which happened to be this. "There," I told him, "why not review this CD? Looks interesting." He wasn't convinced at the time, but the samples piqued my curiosity further, so I went about getting it for myself to review instead. Ultimae has gone on to be a favorite label for both of us, though it was likely an eventuality regardless of that first arbitrary exposure.)
IN BRIEF: Don’t you dare miss this one.
I think I’m going to go right ahead and straight-off declare this album a front-runner for Criminally Overlooked Releases In 2007. It seems unavoidable, really. Already there are factors limiting its success, despite the music contained being exquisite: tiny French label few are aware of; paltry promotional power; general lack of awareness for the name Asura; a form of music folks tend to be afraid to take a chance on these days due to the overabundance of downtempo bilge souring tastes for it.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. The psy scene has unofficially adopted Asura into their ranks, despite the fact the man behind the project, Charles Farewell, has never really claimed to be a part of it. And although he’s produced some music that easily fits into the psy chill category, Asura covers a far broader sonic canvas than mere trippy synthy soundscapes.
I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let me backtrack a bit.
Although the brainchild of Mr. Farewell, there have been a few other names tied to the project over the years. However, on this third album, Farewell has gone at it solo, and raised the question if he’d be able to handle the marriage of organic and synthetic instrumentation that had become the group’s recognized style. Titled Life², the album makes for an incredibly strong argument in his favor.
Opener Golgotha will have you wondering if you even have an electronic album on. Thunderous percussion, somber symphonic swells, ethereal woodwinds, and haunting chants all combine to create something out of an epic biblical soundtrack; without the heavy-handiness such epics are often victim of, mind. It’s a gripping piece of music though, grabbing your attention right out of the gate.
Back To Light brings the synths and sequencers into focus, with many organic sounds wrapped around them. What may strike you as a bit odd, though, is just how plastic the beats sound. Considering the richly textures of everything else, it’s a bizarre contrast, yet fits within the context of the music just the same. The song itself? Lovely; stirring; exhilarating, especially in the second half where the rhythms turn breakbeat rather than steady... I could ramble on a number of adjectives, but I’d end up using them all up way too soon in this review, and this is only the second track.
Diversity is also the name of the game when it comes to Asura. Recalling the old synth composers of the ‘70s at their best, Galaxies Part One makes use of cascading soundscapes and pulsing melodies as soft gentle rhythms and chants float in the background. The second part, meanwhile, has a more modern take on this style, with urgency in its melodies, moodier synths, and grumbling dubby beats carrying it along. And unlike many ambient pieces, there’s never a sense of aimless meandering; it’s a meticulous path the way Farewell has written his music. Even The Prophecy, which even at seven plus minutes in length comes off more like an interlude in the album’s flow, has more going for it than a mere somber sonic doodle.
Of course, Farewell wouldn’t be known to the psy community unless he dabbled in that style too. Celestial Tendencies, Butterfly FX, and the title track pick up the pace, dipping into more proggy territory. There’s chunky acid burbling in the background, various synthy pads, electronic effects, tasteful vocal samples, and ethnic instruments sprinkled in for good measure to keep you constantly grounded. And while these tracks aren’t quite as evocative as the slower songs, they nonetheless manage to stir the soul with just as much finesse while providing something heavier to groove on.
There’s a couple more on here I could talk about too, but I’ll leave it up to you to find out how they sound - why should I spoil the surprise, after all (I will say the final track is a perfect capper) ? However, of important mention is how Life² is a complete package as an album. Everything flows seamlessly together, creating a gripping listening experience beginning to end. Typically, disparate tempo changes between songs can throw a wrench into things on other albums, but it works perfectly fine here, coming off like chapters rather than separate individual parts.
And all this probably doesn’t mean a lick to all but the most adventurous anyway. Well, maybe the psy scene will be more boned up on this release, but the rest of you. Yes, YOU! The one that doesn’t believe it, that Life² couldn’t possibly be as great as I say it is. Where is, after all, the love from the major players in this industry? Why hasn’t there been a glowing exposé in the magazines? How come there isn’t a ton of buzz online in all the trendy forums?
Honestly, I haven’t a clue why, but this isn’t an uncommon occurrence. Many fine albums slip through the cracks, often rediscovered by hunters of great music in later years. If this is to be Asura’s fate, so be it. In the meantime, those who have found Life² in their players shall have their ears richly rewarded.
(2014 Update:
This was my first exposure to Ulitmae, and does this review ever show it. That is, I knew absolutely nothing about the label, so barely bring them up at all; plenty of research into Asura, however. Interestingly enough, even from the start, I was bemoaning the lack of journalistic coverage these guys were getting, though perhaps in a more confrontational way than I do now. Not much else to add to this review, though like much of my old stuff, a little wordy in places.
'Tis funny, my covering of Life² was practically by random chance. I was in the process of giving my old TranceCritic writing partner, Jack Moss, a rather ineffectual pep-talk, as he was going through review writer's doldrums, dissatisfied with new material to cover in 2007. I urged him to take a chance on something unknown, perhaps discovering gold in the process. As an example, I fired up Juno Records and, browsing through their new releases, clicked the first cover which caught my eye, which happened to be this. "There," I told him, "why not review this CD? Looks interesting." He wasn't convinced at the time, but the samples piqued my curiosity further, so I went about getting it for myself to review instead. Ultimae has gone on to be a favorite label for both of us, though it was likely an eventuality regardless of that first arbitrary exposure.)
IN BRIEF: Don’t you dare miss this one.
I think I’m going to go right ahead and straight-off declare this album a front-runner for Criminally Overlooked Releases In 2007. It seems unavoidable, really. Already there are factors limiting its success, despite the music contained being exquisite: tiny French label few are aware of; paltry promotional power; general lack of awareness for the name Asura; a form of music folks tend to be afraid to take a chance on these days due to the overabundance of downtempo bilge souring tastes for it.
Well, that’s not entirely accurate. The psy scene has unofficially adopted Asura into their ranks, despite the fact the man behind the project, Charles Farewell, has never really claimed to be a part of it. And although he’s produced some music that easily fits into the psy chill category, Asura covers a far broader sonic canvas than mere trippy synthy soundscapes.
I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Let me backtrack a bit.
Although the brainchild of Mr. Farewell, there have been a few other names tied to the project over the years. However, on this third album, Farewell has gone at it solo, and raised the question if he’d be able to handle the marriage of organic and synthetic instrumentation that had become the group’s recognized style. Titled Life², the album makes for an incredibly strong argument in his favor.
Opener Golgotha will have you wondering if you even have an electronic album on. Thunderous percussion, somber symphonic swells, ethereal woodwinds, and haunting chants all combine to create something out of an epic biblical soundtrack; without the heavy-handiness such epics are often victim of, mind. It’s a gripping piece of music though, grabbing your attention right out of the gate.
Back To Light brings the synths and sequencers into focus, with many organic sounds wrapped around them. What may strike you as a bit odd, though, is just how plastic the beats sound. Considering the richly textures of everything else, it’s a bizarre contrast, yet fits within the context of the music just the same. The song itself? Lovely; stirring; exhilarating, especially in the second half where the rhythms turn breakbeat rather than steady... I could ramble on a number of adjectives, but I’d end up using them all up way too soon in this review, and this is only the second track.
Diversity is also the name of the game when it comes to Asura. Recalling the old synth composers of the ‘70s at their best, Galaxies Part One makes use of cascading soundscapes and pulsing melodies as soft gentle rhythms and chants float in the background. The second part, meanwhile, has a more modern take on this style, with urgency in its melodies, moodier synths, and grumbling dubby beats carrying it along. And unlike many ambient pieces, there’s never a sense of aimless meandering; it’s a meticulous path the way Farewell has written his music. Even The Prophecy, which even at seven plus minutes in length comes off more like an interlude in the album’s flow, has more going for it than a mere somber sonic doodle.
Of course, Farewell wouldn’t be known to the psy community unless he dabbled in that style too. Celestial Tendencies, Butterfly FX, and the title track pick up the pace, dipping into more proggy territory. There’s chunky acid burbling in the background, various synthy pads, electronic effects, tasteful vocal samples, and ethnic instruments sprinkled in for good measure to keep you constantly grounded. And while these tracks aren’t quite as evocative as the slower songs, they nonetheless manage to stir the soul with just as much finesse while providing something heavier to groove on.
There’s a couple more on here I could talk about too, but I’ll leave it up to you to find out how they sound - why should I spoil the surprise, after all (I will say the final track is a perfect capper) ? However, of important mention is how Life² is a complete package as an album. Everything flows seamlessly together, creating a gripping listening experience beginning to end. Typically, disparate tempo changes between songs can throw a wrench into things on other albums, but it works perfectly fine here, coming off like chapters rather than separate individual parts.
And all this probably doesn’t mean a lick to all but the most adventurous anyway. Well, maybe the psy scene will be more boned up on this release, but the rest of you. Yes, YOU! The one that doesn’t believe it, that Life² couldn’t possibly be as great as I say it is. Where is, after all, the love from the major players in this industry? Why hasn’t there been a glowing exposé in the magazines? How come there isn’t a ton of buzz online in all the trendy forums?
Honestly, I haven’t a clue why, but this isn’t an uncommon occurrence. Many fine albums slip through the cracks, often rediscovered by hunters of great music in later years. If this is to be Asura’s fate, so be it. In the meantime, those who have found Life² in their players shall have their ears richly rewarded.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Perfect Stranger - Learning = Change (2013 Update)
Iboga Records: 2006
(Click here to wander the barren wastes of my old writing.)
*blink* ...*blink-blink*
Sorry about that. My eyes dried out while trying to read that old review of mine. I still couldn't get through it. In fact, just thinking about it has left my creative process a desolate desert. I'm utterly stumped on what to say in this Update. It's still a good prog-psy album, far better than most of the material Iboga Records churned out in later years. What kind of material? Ah, you don't want me to tell you, it's really not interesting. I'm going to though, aren't I, just to burn some word count here.
Iboga was making a name for itself in the mid-'00s as a worthy contributor to a growing prog-psy scene, their finest offerings easily on par with the likes of Spiral Trax. Then, for some totally daft reason, the Iboga roster started getting bit by the minimal bug. Their tunes often had a deeper, tribal tone to them, sandwiched between the driving, melodic numbers, but not any longer. Perfect Stranger, Iboga's main man remember, was particularly smitten by this trend, churning out some of the driest tracks you could imagine. I don't know if they ever recovered from that nonsense, as I lost touch with the label as this decade took form. Didn't want to bother springing for music if it was gonna' be the listening equivalent of traversing the Gobi Desert.
I did have a chance to see if Perfect Stranger had changed his sound this summer, as he was one of the headliners at the Shambhala Music Festival. Unfortunately, he was slotted for a ridiculously early time at the psytrance-worldbeat-hippieshit stage, at which point I was slotted to work on the clean-up crew as part of my volunteer duties. Yeah, after six years attending this festival, I gave back to that which gave so much to me – the early-entry, gettin' fed, warm showers, and cool co-workers was a good incentive too. That Friday evening shift, I rode around on the trash collection truck; dirty work true, but a lot of fun too, hopping on a moving vehicle chanting “Trash! Trash! Trash!” along the way, dancing to music whenever we neared one of the stages. It was one, big, moving party, keeping the grounds tidy and that.
Still, my fondest memory of that trip didn't occur at the festival, but the night before my travelling posse got there. We stayed overnight in a small town called Trail, famous for a massive steel mill in the centre. We thought maybe a pub might be open late, but as it was a holiday night, Trail's downtown was dead, not a soul on the street, and a disconcerting sight for us city goers. Meanwhile, looming in the background of this abandoned area lay the massive factory, its evening lights eerily illuminating massive smoke stacks billowing thick clouds into the warm summer night. A real steampunk sight for this day in age.
What? Oh hey, Learning = Change. Still worth a listen, it is. Trust.
(Click here to wander the barren wastes of my old writing.)
*blink* ...*blink-blink*
Sorry about that. My eyes dried out while trying to read that old review of mine. I still couldn't get through it. In fact, just thinking about it has left my creative process a desolate desert. I'm utterly stumped on what to say in this Update. It's still a good prog-psy album, far better than most of the material Iboga Records churned out in later years. What kind of material? Ah, you don't want me to tell you, it's really not interesting. I'm going to though, aren't I, just to burn some word count here.
Iboga was making a name for itself in the mid-'00s as a worthy contributor to a growing prog-psy scene, their finest offerings easily on par with the likes of Spiral Trax. Then, for some totally daft reason, the Iboga roster started getting bit by the minimal bug. Their tunes often had a deeper, tribal tone to them, sandwiched between the driving, melodic numbers, but not any longer. Perfect Stranger, Iboga's main man remember, was particularly smitten by this trend, churning out some of the driest tracks you could imagine. I don't know if they ever recovered from that nonsense, as I lost touch with the label as this decade took form. Didn't want to bother springing for music if it was gonna' be the listening equivalent of traversing the Gobi Desert.
I did have a chance to see if Perfect Stranger had changed his sound this summer, as he was one of the headliners at the Shambhala Music Festival. Unfortunately, he was slotted for a ridiculously early time at the psytrance-worldbeat-hippieshit stage, at which point I was slotted to work on the clean-up crew as part of my volunteer duties. Yeah, after six years attending this festival, I gave back to that which gave so much to me – the early-entry, gettin' fed, warm showers, and cool co-workers was a good incentive too. That Friday evening shift, I rode around on the trash collection truck; dirty work true, but a lot of fun too, hopping on a moving vehicle chanting “Trash! Trash! Trash!” along the way, dancing to music whenever we neared one of the stages. It was one, big, moving party, keeping the grounds tidy and that.
Still, my fondest memory of that trip didn't occur at the festival, but the night before my travelling posse got there. We stayed overnight in a small town called Trail, famous for a massive steel mill in the centre. We thought maybe a pub might be open late, but as it was a holiday night, Trail's downtown was dead, not a soul on the street, and a disconcerting sight for us city goers. Meanwhile, looming in the background of this abandoned area lay the massive factory, its evening lights eerily illuminating massive smoke stacks billowing thick clouds into the warm summer night. A real steampunk sight for this day in age.
What? Oh hey, Learning = Change. Still worth a listen, it is. Trust.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Banco de Gaia - Last Train To Lhasa
Mammoth Records: 1995
I was so disappointed when I first got Last Train To Lhasa. All the expectations and preconceived notions of what Toby Marks' proper sophomore effort would bring, and none of them came about. In fact, what the Hell is this music on here? House beats? Techno? Weird wibbly ambient excursion? I thought Banco de Gaia was supposed to be a cooler sounding Deep Forest. This isn’t what I'd heard from him before. Okay, so it was only two tracks by that point, both on an ambient dub compilation, but it was enough to know exactly what my new favourite electronic act was all about. Don't judge me. I'm old enough to know what's up with music in the world, at this old age of seventeen.
Yeah, 1996 Sykonee had a lot to learn, but I'm continuously amused by that first impression of this album, one that obviously dissipated after a couple more play-throughs. Some things still hold it back from being a great Banco LP, yet there’s also things you’re not gonna find elsewhere in his discography either.
Like that thirty-six minute version of Kincajou on CD2! Essentially carrying on where the main album version faded off, story goes Duck! Asteroid came about during a studio jam. What, was Pete Namlook hanging out at the time? It definitely has the hallmarks of the ambient wizard’s lengthy noodle-fests, but somehow never meanders, feeling like you’re travelling about the galaxy in a space-born Tibetan monastery. The fact it’s followed upon by another spacey dub cut (Eagle) completes the sonic trip through the cosmos (I guess the tribal-trance Gnomes Mix of Kuos is the launch).
What about CD1, then? Well, Last Train To Lhasa’s here, made popular by its inclusion on the first Northern Exposure. I like it fine, but not as much as others do – good atmospheric moments and all, but rather lacking in the rhythm department. In fact, most of this album has that ‘some-good, some-meh’ production going on. Kuos has a fun idea somewhere, but is undone by using such an overplayed African sample for its hook. Amber builds wonderfully at the beginning (that bass!), then doesn’t go much of anywhere after; alternatively, 887 has a great finish, but ambles far too long to get there. White Paint’s pretty good, what with its soaring choral pads and dubby beat, but I’ve been spoiled by the chipper version on the Live At Glastonbury CD. China’s a pleasant little chill number, portraying the culture in a more positive light compared to the scathing indictment Marks mentions in the liner notes regarding Tibetan atrocities. Take a stance, guy.
Speaking of stances, I’m always surprised by how many point to Last Train To Lhasa as their favourite Banco album. Sillies, his follow-up albums were far better, ol’ Toby finally and firmly breaking away from standard dance music moulds marked by his early work. This one has its share of brilliant, sublime moments within the Banco discography, but not to the degree latter efforts offered.
I was so disappointed when I first got Last Train To Lhasa. All the expectations and preconceived notions of what Toby Marks' proper sophomore effort would bring, and none of them came about. In fact, what the Hell is this music on here? House beats? Techno? Weird wibbly ambient excursion? I thought Banco de Gaia was supposed to be a cooler sounding Deep Forest. This isn’t what I'd heard from him before. Okay, so it was only two tracks by that point, both on an ambient dub compilation, but it was enough to know exactly what my new favourite electronic act was all about. Don't judge me. I'm old enough to know what's up with music in the world, at this old age of seventeen.
Yeah, 1996 Sykonee had a lot to learn, but I'm continuously amused by that first impression of this album, one that obviously dissipated after a couple more play-throughs. Some things still hold it back from being a great Banco LP, yet there’s also things you’re not gonna find elsewhere in his discography either.
Like that thirty-six minute version of Kincajou on CD2! Essentially carrying on where the main album version faded off, story goes Duck! Asteroid came about during a studio jam. What, was Pete Namlook hanging out at the time? It definitely has the hallmarks of the ambient wizard’s lengthy noodle-fests, but somehow never meanders, feeling like you’re travelling about the galaxy in a space-born Tibetan monastery. The fact it’s followed upon by another spacey dub cut (Eagle) completes the sonic trip through the cosmos (I guess the tribal-trance Gnomes Mix of Kuos is the launch).
What about CD1, then? Well, Last Train To Lhasa’s here, made popular by its inclusion on the first Northern Exposure. I like it fine, but not as much as others do – good atmospheric moments and all, but rather lacking in the rhythm department. In fact, most of this album has that ‘some-good, some-meh’ production going on. Kuos has a fun idea somewhere, but is undone by using such an overplayed African sample for its hook. Amber builds wonderfully at the beginning (that bass!), then doesn’t go much of anywhere after; alternatively, 887 has a great finish, but ambles far too long to get there. White Paint’s pretty good, what with its soaring choral pads and dubby beat, but I’ve been spoiled by the chipper version on the Live At Glastonbury CD. China’s a pleasant little chill number, portraying the culture in a more positive light compared to the scathing indictment Marks mentions in the liner notes regarding Tibetan atrocities. Take a stance, guy.
Speaking of stances, I’m always surprised by how many point to Last Train To Lhasa as their favourite Banco album. Sillies, his follow-up albums were far better, ol’ Toby finally and firmly breaking away from standard dance music moulds marked by his early work. This one has its share of brilliant, sublime moments within the Banco discography, but not to the degree latter efforts offered.
Thursday, September 5, 2013
Various - Human Traffic
FFRR: 1999
Movies properly capturing club culture are rare and often crap, but Human Traffic’s one of the few that got it close. Sure, it's a comedy, exaggerating all the highs and lows associated with “clubs, drugs, pubs, and parties”, and it only highlights one aspect of a global phenomenon – specifically the UK in the late '90s. Still, I can't think of another country that had as much sway within dance music as the Brits did at the turn of the century, what with so many self-important DJs, clubbing brands, and magazines exporting their narrative across the world. Even in the hinterlands of Canada, we were lapping it up. Groove may have been more realistic in the parties we actually went to, but we yearned to be a part of the Human Traffic ones.
Funnily enough, us far-flung Northwest Coasters almost never learned of the movie's existence. Quite by chance, I’d stumbled upon the soundtrack in a local shop, a double-disc of music featuring names and tunes I was familiar with. Upon realizing there was a whole picture associated with it, I special ordered the DVD to sate my curiosity over what sort of movie could have such mint music. It fast turned into a hit within my party crew, getting umpteen repeated plays almost every weekend as we showed it off to any and all (almost always while stoned). For most of 2001 (yes, we were really that late to the Human Traffic revelry), we would not stop quoting the damn thing, and I somehow suspect similar occurrences went down in other areas to the world who dug the flick.
But enough about the movie, how's the soundtrack? Pretty darn good, I'd say, though like its cinema counterpart, very much a product of its time. Almost all the big producers and genres of the late '90s are accounted for, plus nods to classic tracks of clubbing yore are included too. Interspersed throughout the discs are clips of dialogue from the movie itself (like I said, damn quotable!), often leading into music associated with those scenes (Orbital's Belfast after the Comedown Sermon, for instance; or William Orbit's Ogive after What Was I Talking About?).
The two-discs also separate the music between a DJ mix (handled by Pete Tong) for CD2 and a 'miscellaneous' CD1. For my money, the mix disc is most fun, running from garagey house through trance and finishing hard with techno – a proper clubbing disc. The first one features mostly broken beat music (trip hop, gangsta rap, downtempo, breaks, etc.) with a few ambient pieces added; in other words, where all the music that couldn't fit on the DJ mix ended up.
Whether fresh-faced ravers will find much of interest in Human Traffic, I'm not sure, as there's almost an entire generational gap from when this came out. On the other hand, there's yet to be another movie celebrating dance music hedonism as entertainingly as this one did, retaining a timeless quality to it. Nice one, bruv.
Movies properly capturing club culture are rare and often crap, but Human Traffic’s one of the few that got it close. Sure, it's a comedy, exaggerating all the highs and lows associated with “clubs, drugs, pubs, and parties”, and it only highlights one aspect of a global phenomenon – specifically the UK in the late '90s. Still, I can't think of another country that had as much sway within dance music as the Brits did at the turn of the century, what with so many self-important DJs, clubbing brands, and magazines exporting their narrative across the world. Even in the hinterlands of Canada, we were lapping it up. Groove may have been more realistic in the parties we actually went to, but we yearned to be a part of the Human Traffic ones.
Funnily enough, us far-flung Northwest Coasters almost never learned of the movie's existence. Quite by chance, I’d stumbled upon the soundtrack in a local shop, a double-disc of music featuring names and tunes I was familiar with. Upon realizing there was a whole picture associated with it, I special ordered the DVD to sate my curiosity over what sort of movie could have such mint music. It fast turned into a hit within my party crew, getting umpteen repeated plays almost every weekend as we showed it off to any and all (almost always while stoned). For most of 2001 (yes, we were really that late to the Human Traffic revelry), we would not stop quoting the damn thing, and I somehow suspect similar occurrences went down in other areas to the world who dug the flick.
But enough about the movie, how's the soundtrack? Pretty darn good, I'd say, though like its cinema counterpart, very much a product of its time. Almost all the big producers and genres of the late '90s are accounted for, plus nods to classic tracks of clubbing yore are included too. Interspersed throughout the discs are clips of dialogue from the movie itself (like I said, damn quotable!), often leading into music associated with those scenes (Orbital's Belfast after the Comedown Sermon, for instance; or William Orbit's Ogive after What Was I Talking About?).
The two-discs also separate the music between a DJ mix (handled by Pete Tong) for CD2 and a 'miscellaneous' CD1. For my money, the mix disc is most fun, running from garagey house through trance and finishing hard with techno – a proper clubbing disc. The first one features mostly broken beat music (trip hop, gangsta rap, downtempo, breaks, etc.) with a few ambient pieces added; in other words, where all the music that couldn't fit on the DJ mix ended up.
Whether fresh-faced ravers will find much of interest in Human Traffic, I'm not sure, as there's almost an entire generational gap from when this came out. On the other hand, there's yet to be another movie celebrating dance music hedonism as entertainingly as this one did, retaining a timeless quality to it. Nice one, bruv.
Friday, May 24, 2013
The Police - Ghost In The Machine
A & M Records: 1981
2 Unlimited was incredibly influential in developing my musical tastes – it’s possible I might not even be writing electronic music reviews were it not for them (what would this blog be instead? Rap Music Critic? Grunge Music Critic? Country Music Cri- oh, God no!). There is a group, however, that I heavily enjoyed well before that, predating even the obligatory Raffi stage we all go through as children. Well, two, but no point in getting into Boney M right now, as this review’s already in danger of getting lost down Anecdote Alley.
Right, The Police. I’m surprised how ingrained memories of playing Ghost In The Machine are. Fiddling through my father’s record collection, always looking for that distinct black cover with the weird LCD markings (it's the band's faces, Toddler Sykonee). Putting it on the turntable, instantly being mesmerized by the opening synth stabs of Spirits In The Material World, feeling giddy over the pop-romp of Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, and eagerly anticipating that haunting, emergent pulse of Invisible Sun. I don’t recall listening to much beyond that. I was only ever after the opening salvo, the rest of the tunes going way over my young head.
I could also point to this album as planting seeds for my fascination for things electronic based, but that's stupid, exposure to themes of technology overtaking humanity an inevitability growing up in the '80s (well, where such technology existed anyway). Maybe it was the recession of the time souring moods, but Ghost In The Machine finds The Police (re: Sting, mostly) far more contemplative than they'd been in the years prior. Sure, they still have time for uptempo rock numbers like Rehumanize Yourself, reggae jam One World and the like, but aside from Hungry For You (a sort of sister track to Everything...), the themes of fear for the future and where mankind's heading persist. End the album with a melancholy track titled Darkness? Yeah, definitely far more mature topics than I could have hoped to understand.
Significantly older now, I've not only come to appreciate the themes of this album (if somewhat snicker with the benefit of hindsight), but the musicianship as well. The Police have long been one of those remarkable bands where their talents were often overshadowed by their hit-making ability. Four albums deep now, and they've started experimenting with jazz fusion (oh, Sting loves to honk on that sax throughout) and prog rock (Secret Journey has lovely guitar effects in play); and yes, more synthesizers than ever used before. And damn, that bassline in Spirits In A Material World is bonkers, utterly remarkable how such a screwy hook gels with the rest of the song. I got to catch their reunion tour, and Sting couldn't get it right, causing a muddled rendition of the song.
Ack, that's yet another anecdote. Too many, gotta abort this review now. Check out Ghost In The Machine if you haven't already, it's easily the darkest of The Police's efforts.
2 Unlimited was incredibly influential in developing my musical tastes – it’s possible I might not even be writing electronic music reviews were it not for them (what would this blog be instead? Rap Music Critic? Grunge Music Critic? Country Music Cri- oh, God no!). There is a group, however, that I heavily enjoyed well before that, predating even the obligatory Raffi stage we all go through as children. Well, two, but no point in getting into Boney M right now, as this review’s already in danger of getting lost down Anecdote Alley.
Right, The Police. I’m surprised how ingrained memories of playing Ghost In The Machine are. Fiddling through my father’s record collection, always looking for that distinct black cover with the weird LCD markings (it's the band's faces, Toddler Sykonee). Putting it on the turntable, instantly being mesmerized by the opening synth stabs of Spirits In The Material World, feeling giddy over the pop-romp of Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic, and eagerly anticipating that haunting, emergent pulse of Invisible Sun. I don’t recall listening to much beyond that. I was only ever after the opening salvo, the rest of the tunes going way over my young head.
I could also point to this album as planting seeds for my fascination for things electronic based, but that's stupid, exposure to themes of technology overtaking humanity an inevitability growing up in the '80s (well, where such technology existed anyway). Maybe it was the recession of the time souring moods, but Ghost In The Machine finds The Police (re: Sting, mostly) far more contemplative than they'd been in the years prior. Sure, they still have time for uptempo rock numbers like Rehumanize Yourself, reggae jam One World and the like, but aside from Hungry For You (a sort of sister track to Everything...), the themes of fear for the future and where mankind's heading persist. End the album with a melancholy track titled Darkness? Yeah, definitely far more mature topics than I could have hoped to understand.
Significantly older now, I've not only come to appreciate the themes of this album (if somewhat snicker with the benefit of hindsight), but the musicianship as well. The Police have long been one of those remarkable bands where their talents were often overshadowed by their hit-making ability. Four albums deep now, and they've started experimenting with jazz fusion (oh, Sting loves to honk on that sax throughout) and prog rock (Secret Journey has lovely guitar effects in play); and yes, more synthesizers than ever used before. And damn, that bassline in Spirits In A Material World is bonkers, utterly remarkable how such a screwy hook gels with the rest of the song. I got to catch their reunion tour, and Sting couldn't get it right, causing a muddled rendition of the song.
Ack, that's yet another anecdote. Too many, gotta abort this review now. Check out Ghost In The Machine if you haven't already, it's easily the darkest of The Police's efforts.
Labels:
1981,
A&M Records,
album,
anecdotes,
reggae,
rock,
The Police
Thursday, May 16, 2013
Nebula - Gate To Infinity
Disturbance: 1997
As with so many shopping splurges at local record stores (back when they were still plentiful), the cover caught my attention, sitting amongst so many forlorn DJ mug shots in the ‘Electronic/Dance’ section. Oh, charming mid-'90s CG art, you never make sense, but you're always much more fun to look at. With a back cover promising tracks with such spacey names as Galaxy NGC 2997 and Cygnus A, you bet your ass I went into this one sight-unheard. And, well... Gate To Infinity turned out a'ight. Mostly acid techno, though incredibly under-produced even by mid-'90s standards. I suspect that was partly the intent, to go for a raw, underground sound, but compared to the slamming stuff being churned out by the London Acid Techno Crew, Nebula's material comes off weak.
Oh well, let’s see what he does get right. Elvio Trampus, the man behind this project (and nearly a dozen other ones) kicks Gate To Infinity off in fine form, using a crafty blend of jungle, acid, and ambient techno - heck, Galaxy NGC 2997 could almost have appeared in an LTJ Bukem set. Irregular Area is a strong follow-up in this vein, and third track Sky is a dubbed-out downbeat variant of the sound. Frankly, if the whole album had been tunes of this nature, I’d rate it higher (erm, if I gave out scores anymore, that is).
After that though, there’s little for me to note. Ol’ Elvio does mix things up between quirky off-beat tunes and serious hard-hitters, but I’m not getting any decent sense of flow on this album. The tracks almost sound like batches of previously released singles all lumped together for a full-length, but Lord Discogs tells me these were all original works for Gate To Infinity. I’m rather stunned that someone who showed such capable beat-craft on the opening three cuts would also produce such drab sludge as in Audichromatik (really? a gabber kick??). Though the trancey titular cut and Cygnus A help keep the back end of this album from being a total write-off, it just can’t quite reach the potential promise that opening salvo hinted at.
But hey, there was enough good stuff here to at least give Nebula another chance should I happen across another of his releases. Lo’ and behold, I actually did stumble upon another Nebula album in the ‘Electronic/Dance’ section a couple years later, titled Atomic Ritual. “Sweet,” thinks I, “it’s even got an updated take on Gate To Infinity's cover.”; star-like symbol, seemingly floating in the void of space. Yet, something about it seemed off, appearing too slick for an almost entirely unknown mid-‘90s techno producer. Maybe a quick play at the shop’s listen station was called for.
What the…? Guitars? Metal?? This can’t be the same act. Don’t the staff check these things? Man, good thing I double-checked on that one, as I’ve no need for any- eh? You say Atomic Ritual’s actually pretty good? Uh… guess I’ll have to take your word for it.
As with so many shopping splurges at local record stores (back when they were still plentiful), the cover caught my attention, sitting amongst so many forlorn DJ mug shots in the ‘Electronic/Dance’ section. Oh, charming mid-'90s CG art, you never make sense, but you're always much more fun to look at. With a back cover promising tracks with such spacey names as Galaxy NGC 2997 and Cygnus A, you bet your ass I went into this one sight-unheard. And, well... Gate To Infinity turned out a'ight. Mostly acid techno, though incredibly under-produced even by mid-'90s standards. I suspect that was partly the intent, to go for a raw, underground sound, but compared to the slamming stuff being churned out by the London Acid Techno Crew, Nebula's material comes off weak.
Oh well, let’s see what he does get right. Elvio Trampus, the man behind this project (and nearly a dozen other ones) kicks Gate To Infinity off in fine form, using a crafty blend of jungle, acid, and ambient techno - heck, Galaxy NGC 2997 could almost have appeared in an LTJ Bukem set. Irregular Area is a strong follow-up in this vein, and third track Sky is a dubbed-out downbeat variant of the sound. Frankly, if the whole album had been tunes of this nature, I’d rate it higher (erm, if I gave out scores anymore, that is).
After that though, there’s little for me to note. Ol’ Elvio does mix things up between quirky off-beat tunes and serious hard-hitters, but I’m not getting any decent sense of flow on this album. The tracks almost sound like batches of previously released singles all lumped together for a full-length, but Lord Discogs tells me these were all original works for Gate To Infinity. I’m rather stunned that someone who showed such capable beat-craft on the opening three cuts would also produce such drab sludge as in Audichromatik (really? a gabber kick??). Though the trancey titular cut and Cygnus A help keep the back end of this album from being a total write-off, it just can’t quite reach the potential promise that opening salvo hinted at.
But hey, there was enough good stuff here to at least give Nebula another chance should I happen across another of his releases. Lo’ and behold, I actually did stumble upon another Nebula album in the ‘Electronic/Dance’ section a couple years later, titled Atomic Ritual. “Sweet,” thinks I, “it’s even got an updated take on Gate To Infinity's cover.”; star-like symbol, seemingly floating in the void of space. Yet, something about it seemed off, appearing too slick for an almost entirely unknown mid-‘90s techno producer. Maybe a quick play at the shop’s listen station was called for.
What the…? Guitars? Metal?? This can’t be the same act. Don’t the staff check these things? Man, good thing I double-checked on that one, as I’ve no need for any- eh? You say Atomic Ritual’s actually pretty good? Uh… guess I’ll have to take your word for it.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Various - Dark Hearts 1: A Harthouse Compilation (2012 Update)
Harthouse America: 1995
(Click here to read my original TranceCritic review)
So this was going to happen eventually too. I've already written a review for Dark Hearts, and it's already on this blog. What now? Well, if you're interested in the musical content, follow the link above to brave my early crummy writing. For this post, I'm going one-hundred percent anecdotal on your asses, so feel free to skip if tales of CD purchases bore.
In 1997, I was in full-blown trancecracker mode, having finally cast off all lingering eurodance interest but dismissive of anything outside the realm of energetic, acid space music. Unfortunately, my regular resource for it, the label Hypnotic Records, was no longer satisfying my need; hard German trance was fine for a while, but quite tired in ninty-seven. Seeing as how the internets proved useful in recommending material for my other ongoing passion of ambient dub, I fired up the ol' Webcrawler in search of lists of trance music.
This probably seems impossible to fathom for trancecrackers following the '99/2000 era, but finding info on trance wasn't so easy at that time. There was nothing like Discogs, no online radio stations or MP3 sharing, and wide publicity for the genre was still in its infancy, Oakenfold's ridiculously popular Tranceport more than a year away. I'd seen a few other compilations around like the Psychotrance series from Moonshine and the old Studio !K7 X-Mix videos, but wanted to dig a bit deeper. What would reveal itself to me on those old websites?
Eventually, I stumbled upon a site that not only listed a good hundred releases, but had even sorted them by genre. At the time, I was only aware of three types of trance: regular trance (re: underground/German), psychedelic goa trance (they were interchangeable far as I was concerned), and club trance. What the devil were all these other sub-genres? Progressive trance? Dark trance? Man, too much to remember, much less afford to buy. Moving on.
A couple months later, while browsing through one of my favorite music shops in Vancouver, I noticed a CD that I remembered from the 'dark trance' list, Dark Hearts. And hey, I recognized a couple names from other compilations I’d bought: Sven Väth and Alter Ego. Sure, I’ll give it a shot.
And lo, I threw that disc on back home, heard the opening haunting intro to Metal Master’s Spectrum, and instantly knew I’d made a purchase that would get heavy rotation from me for many years to come.
Dark Hearts pretty much closed the door on one aspect of German trance for me, and opened a whole new one, introducing me to such artists as Oliver Lieb, Pete Namlook, and Ralf Hildenbeutel. Anytime I noticed the Harthouse logo, I’d snatch that CD up. To say it was influential in developing my taste in trance music would be a vast understatement, easily ranking top five of such compilations were I to ever make such a list. And yet, that’s not quite the end of this tale...
(Click here to read my original TranceCritic review)
So this was going to happen eventually too. I've already written a review for Dark Hearts, and it's already on this blog. What now? Well, if you're interested in the musical content, follow the link above to brave my early crummy writing. For this post, I'm going one-hundred percent anecdotal on your asses, so feel free to skip if tales of CD purchases bore.
In 1997, I was in full-blown trancecracker mode, having finally cast off all lingering eurodance interest but dismissive of anything outside the realm of energetic, acid space music. Unfortunately, my regular resource for it, the label Hypnotic Records, was no longer satisfying my need; hard German trance was fine for a while, but quite tired in ninty-seven. Seeing as how the internets proved useful in recommending material for my other ongoing passion of ambient dub, I fired up the ol' Webcrawler in search of lists of trance music.
This probably seems impossible to fathom for trancecrackers following the '99/2000 era, but finding info on trance wasn't so easy at that time. There was nothing like Discogs, no online radio stations or MP3 sharing, and wide publicity for the genre was still in its infancy, Oakenfold's ridiculously popular Tranceport more than a year away. I'd seen a few other compilations around like the Psychotrance series from Moonshine and the old Studio !K7 X-Mix videos, but wanted to dig a bit deeper. What would reveal itself to me on those old websites?
Eventually, I stumbled upon a site that not only listed a good hundred releases, but had even sorted them by genre. At the time, I was only aware of three types of trance: regular trance (re: underground/German), psychedelic goa trance (they were interchangeable far as I was concerned), and club trance. What the devil were all these other sub-genres? Progressive trance? Dark trance? Man, too much to remember, much less afford to buy. Moving on.
A couple months later, while browsing through one of my favorite music shops in Vancouver, I noticed a CD that I remembered from the 'dark trance' list, Dark Hearts. And hey, I recognized a couple names from other compilations I’d bought: Sven Väth and Alter Ego. Sure, I’ll give it a shot.
And lo, I threw that disc on back home, heard the opening haunting intro to Metal Master’s Spectrum, and instantly knew I’d made a purchase that would get heavy rotation from me for many years to come.
Dark Hearts pretty much closed the door on one aspect of German trance for me, and opened a whole new one, introducing me to such artists as Oliver Lieb, Pete Namlook, and Ralf Hildenbeutel. Anytime I noticed the Harthouse logo, I’d snatch that CD up. To say it was influential in developing my taste in trance music would be a vast understatement, easily ranking top five of such compilations were I to ever make such a list. And yet, that’s not quite the end of this tale...
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