SSSM – sssm - 126
Friday, January 7, 2022
Phương Tâm - (2021) Magical Nights: Saigon Surf Twist & Soul 1964-1966 CD
Sublime Frequencies – SF120
Sublime Frequencies is honored to present the first ever retrospective of Phương Tâm, the groundbreaking Saigon teenager who became one of the first singers to perform and record rock and roll in 1960s Vietnam.
By chance in early 2020, Hannah Hà (USA) learned that her mother, Phương Tâm, had once been a famous young singer, performer and recording artist at the heart of Saigon’s music scene in the early 1960s. The family had heard some mention of their mom as a singer at the time, but the extent of her legacy and the many songs she had recorded came as a big surprise. Further investigations soon led Hannah to producer Mark Gergis, compiler of Saigon Rock and Soul (2010, Sublime Frequencies), enlisting him to join her on a journey of discovery and recovery. The result is this essential document of Phuong Tam’s brief but prolific career, and at the same time, reuniting the long-lost music with its singer.
The unique strengths and qualities of Phương Tâm’s voice, coupled with her commanding stage presence, had swiftly elevated her to top billings on Saigon’s nightclub stages. Parallel to the brutality and uncertainty of an already protracted war, South Vietnam’s music and recording industry were developing at a rapid pace in the early 1960s. Globally, musical trends with wild, ephemeral dance crazes were being thought up weekly; the twist, hully gully, the mashed potato – none of them a problem for Phương Tâm. She soon caught the attention of Saigon’s leading recording companies and composers (Y Vân, Khánh Băng, Trường Hải, Thanh Sơn, Y Vũ and Mặc Thế Nhân, among others). Her energy translated unsurprisingly well in the studio, backed by electric guitars, contrabass, drums, lush brass sections, saxophone, piano, organ and rich backing vocals.
Between 1964-1966, Phương Tâm would record almost 30 known tracks, released by the three main record companies in Saigon. The teenage starlet became a vital centerpiece of pop music of the time, and one of the very first singers to perform and record rock and roll (known locally as nhạc kích động, or, action music) – though as you’ll hear, she could also transform a jazz ballad into something otherworldly. While these musical styles were undeniably influenced by contemporary trends worldwide, the musicians and composers worked to localize the sounds, incorporating linguistic adaptations, lyrical content and past artistic traditions into something all their own.
In 1966, as Saigon’s music scene continued to evolve and escalate, Phương Tâm walked away from her singing career without looking back – marrying the man she loved and beginning the next rich chapter of her life. But her recorded output had laid the stylistic groundwork for the following generations of singers, and many of the songs she first sang would later be further popularized by others. Her impactful, but short- spanning career has seen her legacy remain historically understated until now.
Due to the lack of master tapes or documentation from pre-1975 Vietnam, and the scarcity of records and tapes that had survived the war, it was difficult to grasp the extent of Phương Tâm’s discography. A collective effort was required in sourcing materials and information to compile this record, involving key collectors and producers internationally (Jan Hagenkötter - Saigon Supersound, Cường Phạm, Adam Fargason, Khoa Hà – granddaughter of composer Y Vân, and researcher Jason Gibbs). As the veils of history were slowly lifted, the genuine thrill was witnessing Phương Tâm herself, hearing these songs for the first time in over 50 years – sometimes since the day she recorded them.
At the heart of this project is a family story – Hannah Hà’s dedication to recovering and sharing her mother’s musical legacy is helping put Phương Tâm back on center stage after 55 years. But it is also a story that adds critical context to the fragmented understanding of Vietnamese popular culture during the 20th century, particularly after so much has been lost to war and dislocation.
25 tracks spanning Phương Tâm’s recording career: early rock and roll, surf, twist, soul, blues and jazz ballads recorded in Saigon between 1964-1966, featuring electric guitars, contrabass, lush brass, saxophone, drums and organ, and rich backing vocal arrangements. Restored and remastered from original records and reel tapes.
Deluxe CD release comes housed in a 6-panel digipak, with two 32-page booklets in English and Vietnamese, featuring extensive liner notes by Hannah Hà and Mark Gergis, exclusive photos, album and sheet music art, original magazine and newspaper extracts, nightclub advertisements + more. Digital version is accompanied by a 41-page pdf booklet. Vinyl release forthcoming in 2022.
Mien (Yao) - (2021) Canon Singing In China, Vietnam, Laos LP
Sublime Frequencies – SF117
The YAO who call themselves MIEN , which means “people." Yao is a Chinese expression that means “dog” or “savage." , totalizing 4 million people and are spread over the southern Chinese provinces of Guizhou, Guangxi, Yunnan. They also migrated to Vietnam, Laos and Thailand for centuries. Belonging to the Miao-Yao (Hmong Mien) ethno-linguistic family they have many subgroups usually defined according to colors of their traditional clothes. According to legend the Yao were founded by a dog who saved the life of the daughter of a Chinese emperor and thus was rewarded with her hand in marriage. Because of their Chinese origins, the Yao consider themselves to be culturally superior to other hill tribes, having incorporated elements of Taoism in their own beliefs and the use of Chinese written system for men. The Yao women produce wonderful embroidered cloth and that s the main reason why they re being noticed by outsiders.
Mein GlasFabrik - (2020) Exotic Percussion , Death TV 2xLP
Vinyl-on-demand – VOD163
In the heart of Sheffield's electronic / industrial music scene of 1979, Peter Bargh and Mark Holmes created the experimental project Mein Glas Fabrik.
"This VOD release is a combination of their two cassette albums, recorded on simple equipment using tape loops, home made synths, samples, random radio frequencies and a legendary Shergold guitar. Death TV was favourably reviewed in local fanzine "Tigers on the Moor", Exotic Percussion followed soon after. While influenced by a wide spectrum of musical genres, Mein Glas Fabrik created a fusion of sounds, not adhering to any specific genre...expect the unexpected!"
Minor Threat - 2003 - First Demo Tape CDr
Dischord Records – DIS 140 CD
A demo tape is already an argument against there being only one correct copy of a recording. Its original purpose is movement: record the songs, duplicate them, hand them to somebody, let the sound escape the room where it was made. First Demo Tape eventually became an official Dischord release in 2003, but this post returns it to that less stable condition. The images present a compact disc object, the title calls it a CDr, and the download carries the music as MP3 files. Tape becomes official CD, CD becomes home-burned disc, disc becomes compressed data, and the same eight performances continue traveling without waiting for one format to be declared their permanent home.
That chain suits Minor Threat particularly well. The band’s music was created inside a small network where friendship, recording, printing, correspondence and distribution overlapped. Nobody needed to occupy only one professional role. Musicians helped operate the label, friends supplied photographs and artwork, records were assembled by hand, and listeners became participants by copying tapes, organizing shows or beginning bands of their own. The music did not emerge first and acquire a community afterward. The community was part of the instrument.
These demos were recorded at Inner Ear in early 1981, only a few months after Minor Threat’s first performance. Ian MacKaye, Lyle Preslar, Brian Baker and Jeff Nelson were still teenagers, or barely beyond being teenagers, yet the essential architecture is already in place. The guitar does not spread into a continuous wall. It arrives in clipped blocks, leaving tiny spaces for the bass and drums to alter the direction of the music. MacKaye does not float above the band as a separate singer. His words enter as another percussive element, struck into the arrangement before the structure closes around them.
“Minor Threat” opens by converting dismissal into identity. A minor threat is something authority believes can be safely ignored, too young, too small or too socially insignificant to change anything important. The band accepts the description and discovers mobility inside it. They possess none of the protections associated with a professional career, but they also have almost nothing to defend. The song moves with the freedom of people who have not yet been informed which ambitions are considered realistic.
Lyle Preslar’s guitar establishes the design through hard, economical shapes. Brian Baker’s bass does not merely reinforce those shapes from below; it gives them another edge and sometimes makes a stationary chord feel as though it is leaning forward. Jeff Nelson’s drumming supplies both momentum and punctuation, continually announcing turns before the rest of the band has fully reached them. The speed comes partly from their ability to stop together. Every tiny absence makes the next entrance feel larger.
“Stand Up” reduces the method to less than a minute. The song contains almost no introductory politeness, explanation or afterthought. It states an action, gives that action a physical rhythm and disappears. Hardcore’s brevity was not only a rejection of elaborate rock songwriting. It was an attempt to shorten the distance between recognizing something and responding to it. Minor Threat did not need to pretend every thought deserved ten minutes merely because a vinyl side could accommodate it.
“Seeing Red” captures anger before anger has organized its legal defense. The title describes a physical condition, the instant when emotion changes perception and the world appears through one hot color. MacKaye sings from inside that state rather than reporting upon it later. The fascinating contradiction is that the band beneath him remains extremely disciplined. Nelson’s accents are deliberate, Baker preserves the lower movement and Preslar’s chords retain clear boundaries. The words approach loss of control while the musicians demonstrate the concentration required to give that loss a usable shape.
“Bottled Violence” examines intoxication not as liberation but as storage. Aggression is placed inside a socially acceptable container, shaken, released and then excused because the person responsible was supposedly no longer fully present. The song refuses the idea that surrendering consciousness becomes rebellious merely because respectable adults disapprove of it. Minor Threat’s early sobriety was not a retreat into obedience. It was another refusal to accept a ritual simply because the surrounding subculture had decided the ritual belonged to freedom.
“Small Man, Big Mouth” applies the same scrutiny to intimidation. The person attempting to dominate the room through noise may be using volume to conceal his own sense of smallness. Punk and hardcore could easily reward this performance because loudness, aggression and physical confrontation were already part of their musical vocabulary. Minor Threat turns that vocabulary back upon the bully. They make a faster and louder object that exposes loudness without purpose as weakness wearing stage clothes.
“Straight Edge” is the point where the demo becomes almost impossible to hear without its future. The phrase would eventually identify an international subculture, a personal commitment, a support network, a symbol, an argument and sometimes another collection of rules. Here it remains seed-sized. MacKaye is not announcing an organization or claiming jurisdiction over anybody else’s body. He is identifying the substances and behaviors he does not need in order to live his own life.
The song’s brevity leaves enormous unfinished space around that decision. Later listeners entered the space and built very different structures. Some found permission to remain sober when every available social setting seemed to demand intoxication. Some found friendships, bands and a language for protecting themselves. Others converted personal refusal into group authority and began measuring strangers against it. The original performance contains the possibility of these futures without yet knowing that any of them will exist.
Its cultural size remains wildly disproportionate to its physical dimensions. Less than a minute of recorded sound altered how people around the world understood music, rebellion and responsibility toward their own bodies. In MP3 form, the whole song occupies only a small quantity of data. A file light enough to pass through an old modem or disappear among thousands of tracks can contain an idea large enough to redirect a life. Minor Threat’s musical compression and digital compression meet here, although they operate differently. One removes unnecessary structure from the song; the other removes information predicted to be less audible. Both make movement easier.
“Guilty of Being White” remains the sequence’s most difficult object. MacKaye has explained the lyric through his school experiences and anti-racist intention, but intention cannot permanently govern a recording after it enters public circulation. The blunt title and the severe compression of its argument leave openings through which very different meanings have entered, including meanings opposed to the politics of the people who made it.
The demo preserves the song before decades of dispute accumulate around it, but listening historically does not require pretending those decades disappear. It is possible to understand the young writer’s immediate experience while recognizing that race, inherited history and collective responsibility cannot be contained comfortably inside such a narrow frame. Hardcore’s concision can remove camouflage and expose an idea with extraordinary force. It can also remove distinctions that become essential once the idea leaves its original room.
That unresolved tension belongs in the archive. Preservation does not require declaring every object innocent, complete or permanently correct. Minor Threat’s own work repeatedly asks people to inspect inherited assumptions rather than protecting them from examination. The band’s importance becomes more convincing, not less, when the songs are allowed to remain the work of young people responding urgently to the world rather than sacred statements delivered from outside history.
“I Don’t Want to Hear It” closes the demo with slightly more breathing room than the later version. The riff has a heavier tread, revealing some of the older hard rock and punk weight that the official EP recording would compress into an even sharper instrument. Hearing the two versions together shows that Minor Threat’s development was not simply a race toward higher tempo. They were learning how removing a pause, shortening a transition or changing the duration of a riff could make the listener experience speed without every beat necessarily becoming faster.
The demo is therefore valuable not because it replaces the familiar recordings but because it exposes decisions that the familiar recordings have made invisible. The later versions feel inevitable because they have occupied the ear for decades. These takes loosen that illusion. A chorus could last longer. An entrance could arrive differently. A vocal phrase had not yet hardened into the exact shape repeated by generations of listeners. Minor Threat’s language is recognizable, but its grammar is still being tested.
The personalities of the four musicians are already unusually distinct. Preslar’s guitar is dry, angular and architectural, using full chords and sudden interruptions rather than continuous distortion. Baker refuses the traditional expectation that bass should vanish beneath guitar, supplying both weight and melodic direction. Nelson plays as though he is editing the songs while performing them, adding a fill where the structure needs emphasis and removing every beat that would allow the momentum to become ordinary.
MacKaye is the visible point of impact, but his authority depends upon the structure made by the other three. His sentences sound urgent because the music gives him very little time in which to complete them. His phrasing bends around Nelson’s accents, Baker’s movement and Preslar’s abrupt closures. The lyrics are inseparable from breath. The listener can hear not only what is being said but the physical effort required to deliver the words before the song vanishes.
Henry Garfield is also present on the recording, contributing backing vocals before he became widely known as Henry Rollins. More importantly, he is present in the photographs as a person rather than a historical caption. On the back cover, he is not commanding a stage, performing toughness or thrashing inside some imaginary pit. He is simply a very young punk in the room, vibing while his friends make music. The photograph captures participation before fame rearranged everybody into separate monuments.
That ordinariness is the image’s real historical power. Henry and Ian had been school friends, neighborhood friends and record-listening friends. They spent time in one another’s rooms, made tapes, visited shops and discovered punk together. Henry was not a future Black Flag icon making a cameo in Minor Threat’s mythology. He was Henry Garfield, somebody close enough to be present while the band rehearsed or recorded, adding his voice when another voice was useful and enjoying the sound because it belonged to people he knew.
The friendship has lasted far beyond the bands that first made it visible. That continuity changes the photograph again. We are not looking only at two famous careers before they separated into different branches of hardcore history. We are seeing the early portion of a relationship that continued after scenes changed, groups ended and public identities accumulated around both men. The music is historically important, but the friendship is longer than the historical event.
This corrects one of the easiest distortions created by punk retrospection. Once somebody becomes known for physical intensity, every old image is interpreted as evidence that the legend was already fully formed. A young Rollins moving with music must be “moshing.” A room becomes a “pit.” Ordinary enthusiasm is converted into a preview of future ferocity. The back-cover photograph resists that machinery when we look carefully. Henry is not yet illustrating a biography written later. He is hanging out.
The other playful photographs around First Demo Tape perform similar work. Minor Threat’s later visual reputation can make the band appear permanently severe: shaved heads, crossed arms, direct stares, black-and-white moral urgency. The demo artwork restores silliness, costumes, friendship and the private behavior that exists around serious creative work. These people cared deeply about what they were making, but caring deeply did not require them to stop laughing or behaving like young weirdos together.
That distinction matters because later admirers often transform influential artists into marble figures and then feel intimidated by the result. The monument appears to have been born complete, certain and historically necessary. The photographs show something much more useful. A group of young people can joke, dress absurdly, argue, learn their instruments and still create work capable of traveling for decades. Importance does not need to announce itself by behaving important every minute.
When Ian MacKaye and Don Zientara mixed these recordings in 2001, they were handling performances made by people they had been twenty years earlier. The tape had remained outside the official catalog while the later versions became foundational records. Its eventual release could have been promoted as a revelation that overturned everything listeners knew about Minor Threat. Dischord instead presented it modestly: eight previously unreleased demo versions of previously released songs.
That wording respects the difference between historical value and inflated rarity. The demo does not need to be “better” than the first EP to deserve existence. It offers proximity. We can hear the songs before repeated shows and another studio visit tightened their outlines. We can hear how quickly the group’s collective identity emerged and which details still required negotiation. The release makes the archive more granular rather than replacing the familiar story with a more marketable secret history.
The CDr identity of this post introduces another kind of private granularity. Recordable compact discs occupied a useful zone between manufactured product and homemade tape. A person could download files, burn them onto a disc, write the title by hand, print or photocopy a cover and place the result on a shelf beside official releases. The home computer briefly became a tiny pressing plant, capable of producing one copy at a time without determining whether that copy was a backup, gift, trade, personal edition or all four.
That ambiguity belongs naturally to Private Release. A CDr can be official, promotional, bootlegged, self-issued, reconstructed or simply made because somebody wanted music to possess a physical body again. Its underside carries data as a fragile change in dye rather than a mechanically stamped pattern. It looks durable but can fail unexpectedly. Labels peel, markers fade, drives refuse to recognize it and the files occasionally survive only because somebody extracted them before the object stopped speaking.
The MP3 download continues that rescue in another direction. It does not preserve every bit of information present on the compact disc, but it frees the recording from dependence upon the disc. The files can move through drives, players, phones and shared folders while remaining identical from one digital copy to the next. Analog tape generations accumulate hiss and soften with duplication. MP3 performs its losses deliberately during encoding, then allows the reduced result to reproduce without further generational decay.
There is no need to pretend this makes MP3 the ideal archival format. Lossless files retain more of the source and provide greater freedom for future conversion. But listening history is not composed only of ideal masters. People encountered life-changing music through dubbed cassettes, damaged records, radio signals, portable players, small computer speakers and low-bitrate files mislabeled by strangers. A recording’s cultural force often depends upon its ability to survive technically imperfect conditions.
Minor Threat survives them exceptionally well because the arrangements are built from durable information. Preslar’s guitar shapes remain recognizable when frequency detail is reduced. Nelson’s attack still defines the structure. Baker’s bass continues pulling the songs forward, and MacKaye’s voice retains the grain necessary to make each phrase strike. The finer atmosphere around the recording may change, but the skeleton is difficult to damage. These songs were designed, consciously or not, to pass through hostile little machines.
The old Private Release post participates in that history through its sparseness. Two images, a catalog number and a link were enough. It belongs to a layer of the blog where putting the object into circulation carried priority over explaining why it mattered. The post did not attempt to compete with the recording, deliver a final critical judgment or establish an official context. It opened a small door and left the visitor to decide whether to enter.
Returning now and adding language does not invalidate that earlier method. It lets two periods of the archive occupy the same page. The older post preserves the direct gesture: here it is. The review records what becomes visible after years of listening, collecting and thinking about why different copies matter. Neither form has to defeat the other. An archive can contain silence around an object and later conversation growing from that silence.
This is also why another First Demo Tape post is not a problem. A conventional database attempts to eliminate duplicates so that every release occupies one approved position. A personal archive may preserve the official CD, a vinyl pressing, a CDr, an MP3 folder and another copy encountered years later. The recordings repeat, but the surrounding intentions do not. One post documents catalog history. Another documents a transfer, an artwork variation, a forgotten download source or simply the moment when the object returned to attention.
Memory behaves this way too. It does not retain one final master of an experience. A song reappears beside different circumstances and activates another part of the listener. The person hearing Minor Threat in 2026 is not the person who filed the post in 2022, and neither is the person who first heard the band decades before. Repetition is how the differences become audible.
First Demo Tape already contains several dates layered inside it. The music was recorded in 1981, mixed in 2001, released in 2003 and posted here in 2022. The CDr and MP3 may add other unknown moments of manufacture, extraction, encoding and sharing. Every date describes a different kind of arrival. None cancels the first instant when four very young musicians entered Inner Ear and attempted to capture songs they had barely finished inventing.
For nine minutes, all the later history remains both present and impossible. “Straight Edge” has not yet named a worldwide culture. Dischord has not become a model studied by generations of independent labels. Henry Garfield has not joined Black Flag. Ian MacKaye has not formed Fugazi. Minor Threat does not know it will end in 1983 or that every small piece of recorded rehearsal-room energy will one day be examined as evidence.
The back-cover photograph may communicate this more clearly than any timeline. Henry is there because friendship placed him there, not because history arranged a summit meeting. Nobody needs to recognize the future singer, label operator, author or cultural symbol. He is a kid enjoying his friends’ band. The room has not yet divided into famous people and supporting characters.
That may be the deepest reason to keep this version beside the other one. The official discography tells us what Minor Threat became. The CDr, MP3 files and photographs return attention to how cultural history actually begins: somebody finds a room, somebody brings a guitar, somebody else knows how to record, and a friend stands nearby moving with the sound. No monument is visible. There are only people close enough to hear one another.
The recordings themselves possess that closeness. They are not perfect predictions of the later versions and do not need to be. They preserve effort before effort becomes fluency, statements before statements become slogans and friendship before friendship becomes historical context. Their roughness is not romantic proof that earlier automatically means purer. It is evidence that completed forms are assembled through repeated human decisions.
A demo tape asks to be copied because it has not yet been told that scarcity makes an object important. A CDr asks to be burned because one more copy may keep the files alive. An MP3 asks to be moved because movement is what its smallness makes possible. First Demo Tape has now occupied all three conditions. Its route keeps changing, but the room at the center remains surprisingly intact.
Minor Threat sound young, serious, playful, disciplined and unfinished all at once. Henry is nearby, not as prophecy but as a friend. Don Zientara’s basement studio is still simply the place available to record. Skip Groff helps produce. Eight songs are captured before anybody can know how much life will gather around them. The later records perfect the language. This version lets us hear the language while everyone in the room is still discovering that they can speak it.
Lost in America (1985)
1h 31m 4.36GB .ISO file
In this hysterical satire of Reagan-era values, written and directed by Albert Brooks, a successful Los Angeles advertising executive (Brooks) and his wife (Julie Hagerty) decide to quit their jobs, buy a Winnebago, and follow their Easy Rider fantasies of freedom and the open road. When a stop in Las Vegas nearly derails their plans, they’re forced to come to terms with their own limitations and those of the American dream. Brooks’s barbed wit and confident direction drive Lost in America, an iconic example of his restless comedies about insecure characters searching for satisfaction in the modern world that established his unique comic voice and transformed the art of observational humor.
Nymphomaniac: Vol. I (2013)
1h 57m 4.36GB .ISO file
Nymphomaniac (stylised as NYMPH()MANIAC onscreen and in advertising) is a 2013 European two-part erotic art film written and directed by Lars von Trier. The film stars Charlotte Gainsbourg, Stellan Skarsgård, Stacy Martin, Shia LaBeouf, Christian Slater, Jamie Bell, Uma Thurman, Jean-Marc Barr, Willem Dafoe and Connie Nielsen. The plot follows Joe (played by Gainsbourg and Martin), a self-diagnosed nymphomaniac, who recounts her erotic experiences to a bachelor who helps her recover from an assault. The narrative chronicles Joe's promiscuous life from adolescence to adulthood and is split into eight chapters told across two volumes. The film was originally supposed to be only one complete entry, but, because of its length, von Trier made the decision to split the project into two separate films. Nymphomaniac was an international co-production of Denmark, Belgium, France, and Germany.
The world premiere of the uncut Volume I occurred on 16 February 2014 at the 64th Berlin International Film Festival, while the uncut Volume II premiered at the 71st Venice International Film Festival. The world premiere of the Director's Cut took place in Copenhagen on 10 September 2014. It was nominated for the 2014 Nordic Council Film Prize.
Nymphomaniac is the third and final installment in von Trier's unofficially titled Depression Trilogy, following Antichrist and Melancholia.
Thursday, January 6, 2022
Metropolis (1927)
3.05GB .ISO file
Metropolis is a 1927 German expressionist science-fiction drama film directed by Fritz Lang, and written by Thea von Harbou in collaboration with Lang from von Harbou's 1925 novel of the same name. Intentionally written as a treatment, it stars Gustav Fröhlich, Alfred Abel, Rudolf Klein-Rogge, and Brigitte Helm. Erich Pommer produced it in the Babelsberg Studios for Universum Film A.G. (UFA). The silent film is regarded as a pioneering science-fiction movie, being among the first feature-length movies of that genre. Filming took place over 17 months in 1925–26 at a cost of more than five million Reichsmarks, or the equivalent of about €19,000,000 in 2020.
Made in Germany during the Weimar period, Metropolis is set in a futuristic urban dystopia and follows the attempts of Freder, the wealthy son of the city master, and Maria, a saintly figure to the workers, to overcome the vast gulf separating the classes in their city and bring the workers together with Joh Fredersen, the city master. The film's message is encompassed in the final inter-title: "The Mediator Between the Head and the Hands Must Be the Heart".
Metropolis met a mixed reception upon release. Critics found it visually beautiful and powerful – the film's art direction by Otto Hunte, Erich Kettelhut, and Karl Vollbrecht draws influence from opera, Bauhaus, Cubist, and Futurist design, along with touches of the Gothic in the scenes in the catacombs, the cathedral and Rotwang's house – and lauded its complex special effects, but accused its story of being naive. H. G. Wells described the film as "silly", and The Encyclopedia of Science Fiction calls the story "trite" and its politics "ludicrously simplistic". Its alleged Communist message was also criticized.
The film's long running time also came in for criticism. It was cut substantially after its German premiere. Many attempts have been made since the 1970s to restore the film. In 1984, Italian music producer Giorgio Moroder released a truncated version with a soundtrack by rock artists including Freddie Mercury, Loverboy, and Adam Ant. In 2001, a new reconstruction of Metropolis was shown at the Berlin Film Festival. In 2008, a damaged print of Lang's original cut of the film was found in a museum in Argentina. Per the opening explanation: "...The material was heavily damaged and, because it had been printed on 16mm film stock, does not have the full-aperture silent picture ratio. ...In order to maintain the scale of the restored footage, the missing portion of the frame appears black. Black frames indicate points at which footage is still lost." After a long restoration process that required additional materials provided by a print from New Zealand, the film was 95% restored and shown on large screens in Berlin and Frankfurt simultaneously on 12 February 2010.
Metropolis is now widely regarded as one of the greatest and most influential films ever made, ranking 35th in Sight & Sound's 2012 critics' poll. In 2001, the film was inscribed on UNESCO's Memory of the World Register, the first film thus distinguished.
Monday, January 3, 2022
Baligh Hamdi - (2021) Instrumental Modal Pop of 1970's Egypt
Sublime Frequencies – SF119
Sublime Frequencies finally unleashes it’s ESSENTIAL compilation from 1970’s Egypt. Modal instrumental tracks from Baligh Hamdi - one of the most important Arabic composers of the 20th Century (writing for legends Umm Kalthum, Abdel Halim Hafez, Sabah, Warda, and many others). Features his legendary group the “Diamond Orchestra” with Omar Khorshid on guitar, Magdi al-Husseini on organ, Samir Sourour on saxophone, and Faruq Salama on accordion. All of these musicians were discovered and recruited by Hamdi to interpret his vision of a modernized, hybrid Arabic music. Under Hamdi’s direction, this orchestra charted a new melodic direction and created a new musical language. This compilation is culled from a specific era of Hamdi’s long career, a decade where he fully realized an international music which incorporated beat driven Eastern tinged jazz, theremin draped orchestral noir, tracks that feature searing guitar solos from none other than Omar Khorshid, and a selection of buzzing, sitar driven, Indo-Arabic tracks establishing a meeting of mid-east and eastern psychedelic exotica, and a vision that created some of the hippest music coming out of the Middle East from the late 1960’s and throughout the 1970’s.
VA - (2021) Tickets For Doomsday: Heavy Psychedelic Funk And Soul (Ballads & Dirges 1970-1975)
Now-Again Records – NA 5226
Now-Again Records follow up to one of its most well-loved compilations, Forge Your Own Chains, with another batch of rare, largely uncompiled--and sometimes barely heard--heavy psych-rock and funk. Pounding drums, scathing fuzz guitar and morose, contemplative lyrics will bring you up on a downer. Tickets For Doomsday, as the title hints, is and rumination on what might befall the human race – made especially salient by the past year’s trials and tribulations – as performed by prison funk ensembles, Indonesian hippies, Krautrock legends, Icelandic prog-rock bands and even Bay Area rap catalyst E-40’s uncle, the man to rst distribute Master P’s No Limit Records, and the creator of this album’s title track, St. Charles “Chucky” Thurman. A unique and compelling listen, and surely a worthy companion for these times.
VA - (2021) Back Up: Mexican Tecno Pop 1980-1989
| Dark Entries – DE-285 |
On Back Up: Mexican Tecno Pop, Dark Entries brings us 10 divergent tracks of Mexican electronics from 1980-1989, full of skittering analog drum boxes and saucy synthesizer hooks. 8 of these songs were culled from the 2005 CD-only compilation Backup: Expediente Tecno Pop on AT-AT records. Also included are two previously unreleased cuts. This release marks the first time many of these songs will have appeared on vinyl; it is also the first ever vinyl compilation of Mexican New Wave and post-punk.
While synth pop and obscure electronics from Europe and the United States have been extensively documented, much less attention has been paid to such offerings from the periphery. Back Up serves as a vital document of Mexico’s flourishing DIY scene in the 1980’s, surveying a wide range of styles and moods. By using home recording techniques, the bands featured here were able to circumvent relying on the expensive studios of the era. Tracks by Avant Garde, Vandana, and Silueta Pálida mine the kind of dreary-but-infectious wave that long-time Dark Entries fans will celebrate. Meanwhile, Volti and Artefacto offer a floor-ready pop sound that has echoes of NY freestyle, with Latin percussion and boxy beats. But darker turns are present as well, with Década 2’s New Beat-inflections and electro experiments of Syntoma and their side project Escuadrón Del Ritmo.
Nat Birchall - (2021) Ancient Africa
Ancient Archive of Sound – AAOS 211
Hailed by Gilles Peterson as “one of the best musicians in the UK”, saxophonist Nat Birchall remains one of the UK’s hidden jazz treasures. Playing tenor and soprano saxophones, he is a band leader, composer and arranger ( and occasional DJ ) who has grabbed listeners attention with his soulful sound and inspirational spiritual music.
Lee "Scratch" Perry's & New Age Doom - (2021) Lee "Scratch" Perry's Guide To The Universe
We Are Busy Bodies – WABB-099
New Age Doom follows up its critically acclaimed 2020 drone metal opus Himalayan Dream Techno with a serendipitous LP featuring the dub legend Lee "Scratch" Perry as lead vocalist.
With its central themes of experimentation and dreaming, the album takes listeners on a sonic trip through a genre-defying blend of drone, jazz, stoner rock, noise and (of course) dub.
"It felt natural to team up with an artist well known for boldness and experimentation," reflects drummer and co-producer Eric J. Breitenbach on the choice of approaching Lee "Scratch" Perry to appear on the album. "We never expected him to say yes, but at the same time, never doubted that he would. Once he was aboard, everything else just fell into place."
Delivering a life-affirming performance equal parts blessing and warning, Lee "Scratch" Perry drops benevolent wisdom bombs and soaring melodies of holy adoration. Possessed of blessed inspiration, the legendary Upsetter "kills us down with love" with his singular brand of freestyle proselytizing.
Meanwhile, New Age Doom continues to draw more artists into its instrumental orbit. The new LP brings together a who's-who of fearless musicians from the jazz, rock and post-rock scenes. Returning are bassist Tim Lefebvre on acoustic bass, electric bass and synthesizers, as well as Cola Wars on synthesizers and keyboards. The expanded lineup now features Bowie Blackstar bandleader Donny McCaslin on saxophone, jazz trumpeter Daniel Rosenboom, Dahm Majuri Cipolla of MONO on drums and gong, The Passenger on synthesizers and Ryan Dahle of Mounties and Limblifter on multi-instruments and backing vocals. Dahle is also responsible for the album’s immaculate analog mix and master, bringing to life the manifold textures and nuances of the instruments and voices.
Little Roy & Friends - (1999) Packin House
Pressure Sounds – PSCD26
Earl "Little Roy" Lowe began cutting singles in the rocksteady era, but it wasn't until the reggae age that the singer notched up his first hit, 1970s "Bongo Nyah." By then Lowe was a fervid Rastafarian, composing exclusively conscious numbers. In 1973, discouraged by producers' less than avid response to his cultural songs, Lowe began self-producing his own music and, in conjunction with the Jackson brothers, Maurice and Melvin, launched the Earth and Tafari labels.
The Tafari Earth Uprising compilation bundled up Lowe's biggest songs from this period, with Packin House picking up rarer or unreleased numbers, as well as packing in singles and versions from other artists released by his labels. Working with top engineers, including Errol Thompson, Barnabus, and Sylvan Morris, and the cream of Jamaica's musicians, the high quality of Lowe's work on both sides of the console continues to impress. The singing-co-producer's own quartet of songs are an eclectic batch, ranging from the Wailers styled "Hurt Not the Earth" to the calypso tinged, blues flecked "Natty Yard," across the militant "Rat Trap" to the splendid "Ticket to Zion," a fabulous version of the Beatles' "Ticket to Ride." The Heptones, too, deliver a pair of scorchers -- the fiery, funky "Revolution" and the rocking "Forward on a Yard," proceeded by their instrumental versions, and in the case of "Revolution," a surprising DJ cut from Heptones' member Leroy Sibbles. Dennis Brown fans will be thrilled to see his rare "Set Your Heart Free" single included here, which also is twinned with its instrumental version. John Clarke is no relation to the far more famous Johnny Clarke, but his desperate search for a job during Jamaica's "Recession" will resonate with anyone who's been left unemployed with the wolf at their door. However, it's Carl Dawkins' searing "Burnin' Fire" that is arguably the best track on this set, running a very close second is DJ Winston Scotland's incendiary "Zion Fever."
There again, everything on this album deserves attention, even if the sound quality is a bit patchy in places. An excellent compilation from an artist/producer only now beginning to garner the reputation he's so long deserved.
Lee Perry & Friends - (2021) Black Art From The Black Ark
Pressure Sounds – PSCD108
A quick internet search brings up some extraordinary footage of Lee ‘Scratch’ Perry producing a session at the Black Ark. Taken from the film ‘Roots, Rock, Reggae’, directed by Jeremy Marre, the sequence shows Junior Murvin collaborating with members of the Congos and the Heptones on a song improvised on the spot for the film crew. Before the vocals are recorded, the Upsetters lay down the backing track. The musical director of the session is the afro-haired bass player, Boris Gardiner; unusually, it is he who counts in the band to start each take. After a long conversation with Boris a few years back, I asked Lee about his contribution to the Black Ark sound.
Lee Perry: ‘Boris Gardiner was a good person, just a humble person, and he’s the best person I ever met in the music business so far. Boris is a very top musician, and with him you could put anything together, him do “Police And Thieves” and all that. You just tell him what you want and him can do it. A very great person.’
Boris is probably best remembered today for his huge international hit from 1986, the schmaltzy ‘I Want To Wake Up With You’. Yet in the 60s and 70s he was one of Jamaica’s top bass players and arrangers, having an international hit with ‘Elizabethan Reggae’, and creating a run of classic tunes at Studio One.
Boris Gardiner: ‘I did at least seventy or eighty songs at Studio One, all in this one short period between January and April 1968. And we used to work four days per week, and we did four rhythms per day for 30 pounds a week – it was good money. I played on songs like “Feel Like Jumping”, “Nanny Goat”, “Baby Why” by the Cables, the whole “Heptones On Top” album, and “Party Time”. Lee Perry used to be at Studio One same time as me, kind of working around, so he know me from there. So he came and roped me into the group when the Black Ark studio was in progress. He built it right there at the back of his home. So Scratch called me and asked me to come and do some sessions around his studio. I was always ahead of my time as I can see it, in the music in Jamaica. So the songs that I made you always hear chord progressions and changes. Sometimes I think it’s as if I was born in the wrong country, because I just couldn’t do a two chord tune – heheh! To me it need more than two chords to give it some excitement, like it need some changes or something.’
After years of moving between Jamaica’s competing facilities, Perry had decided to build his own studio at the back of his house in Washington Gardens.
Lee Perry: ‘The Black Ark make over a pile of shit – my pile and me put it under the Black Ark. I make the Black Ark over my shit piss, so the bass always go “Poo Poo Poo Poo”! Errol Thompson put the machines in there, and make the patch panel. So the studio was all waiting, but only me could operate it. I didn’t have the Soundcraft mixer then, I did buy a lickle thing you call a Alice mixer. We didn’t have anything professional, but the sound was in my head and I was going to get down what I hear in my head. And it’s like a toy, a toy affair, that’s the way music is. You see like when you buy a kid’s toy, well you bring a joy to them, so is that way I see music. I don’t see music like how other people see it, I see it just like a toy.’
Unusually, Lee decided to do everything himself, both producing and engineering. The film clip shows Lee fully relaxed as he simultaneously directs the musicians and adjusts his recording machines.
Boris Gardiner: ‘To me Scratch always knew what he wanted. Out of all of them Scratch was a true producer, because he would be in the studio and he would listen and say change this or I don’t like that, and he was his own engineer also, so he was always around there listening. So he knew what he wanted and how to try and get it from the start, unlike Coxsone Dodd or Duke Reid, who knew what they liked or didn’t like only after they heard it. Scratch was in there with everybody, so he is really doing a full production as a true producer.’
Lee Perry: ‘I used to do them all by myself. Anybody in my studio could sit down in the visitor’s chair and look, but me do everything – me have a chair that can move from here to there, a chair that have wheels. So I could be turning in any area or any direction, so I could have my hand over here and my hand over there. Heh heh.’
And at a time when 8 and 16 track recording had become the norm in most high end studios, Lee recorded everything to a semi-professional TEAC 4 track recorder, which he can be seen casually adjusting with a screwdriver in the film clip. He explained that since he would end up mixing down to a stereo (or two track) master, more tracks would just be a distraction.
Lee Perry: ‘It was not a professional tape recorder, I was using those TEAC 4 track set that they was trying like experiment to see what would happen. Well, I have it all set up. The first thing I’d think about, all right, is you have to mix everything back down to the 2 track stereo or 1 track mono. Then you can press it and release it. So I knew what I wanted at the end, and I balance it just like that in the studio with the instruments. Sometime when you put only four or five instrument in the studio, you have a better, cleaner record, you can hear what everybody play. And if you have maybe eight musician in the studio, it’s more like a confusion, because everybody wants to play a different thing, yunno. If you is the producer and you can tell them what you want to hear it will be better. So I can put the bass and drum together on one track because me know exactly what me need. If you don’t know, then you need more tracks so you can balance it later. So for the backing, I would just do the two tracks: the bass and drum and percussion track, that is one; and the guitar, organ and piano on another track, that is two. So you still have two more tracks if you want to do vocal, that would be three. And if you want to do horns or a harmony vocal, you can do that on the fourth track. To me it’s a waste of time, a waste of energy with a 24 track machine, waste of current and waste of money. Because it all have to come down to one or two tracks in the end.’
The early Black Ark sound was stripped down and minimal, often with only one or two musicians playing keyboard or guitar. Lee would also use extreme EQ to emphasize the bass and tops, and his hi-hat sound is instantly recognisable from the earliest days of the Ark.
Lee Perry: ‘Well, I used to have an equaliser for the bass drum, and it’s like for heaviness on the beat, and then I had another equaliser for the cymbal, to give it that “Ssshhh ssshhh”. So we have different machine to send different instrument through that they can sound different. I managed to change the vibration of the music, because the music was just local music produced by rum drinkers and cannibals. So me turn on the music to a higher range.’
Boris Gardiner: ‘I think I always use a DI box to record bass at the Black Ark. Because bass want to fade into the other instruments’ microphone, so we often plug it straight into the board and then Perry sets the EQ on the board and take it straight. Then we built a drum booth so the drums really sound separate too – it give him more control.’
As the Black Ark evolved, Lee developed a richer collage of sound, built around three primary effects: the Mu-tron Bi-Phase phaser, a spring reverb and a Roland Space Echo.
Boris Gardiner: ‘One thing about Scratch was that he always used his effects – that was his sound. He always phase the ska guitar, but you don’t always know he’s recording it like that until he play it back. So until he play it back you have no idea what it will sound like.’
Lee Perry: ‘I did have a phaser that I buy, and then when I’m in the studio, in the machine room, and phasing them, the musicians don’t hear it, what I am doing, until them come in the studio, and them hear the phasing. So we did it all live. And the musicians they won’t even know what goes on! While the musicians are playing, I am doing the phasing. I take the musician from the earth into space, and bring them back before they could realize, and put them back on the planet earth. The phaser was making things different, like giving you a vision of space and creating a different brain, a phasing brain. So that’s where I take the music out of the local system and take it into space. The Space Echo also have something to do with the brain. You send out telepathic message and it return to you, so that’s how the Roland Space Echo chamber come in – what you send comes back to you. And while you know you send the telegrams out, you are waiting for what is the reply of the telegrams coming back. So that’s why the Space Echo go and come, rewinding the brain and forward winding the brain. I was also using a spring echo chamber, but just for drum, for the clash of the drum. And everything just fit in, like the thing I want to do it just come to me and come from nowhere, and then it appear and it happen.’
Boris Gardiner: ‘He loved to do things that nobody had done before, him always try a new thing. And he was a good writer too you know. Perry bring in a drum machine sometimes and we use that on some songs for the Congos and everyone. Well I actually like playing with a drum machine cos a drum machine is always steady. Most drummers they either push forward or pull back – they call it the human touch, but I call it out of time! Hahaha. “Row Fisherman Row” was really the great hit with the Congos, but that is all real drums and percussion, it’s just that Perry makes it sound almost like a machine with his echoes on the percussion. I played on “Police and Thieves” and that was a big hit too, maybe it was Sly Dunbar on that. One day Bob Marley came to him with a song on a tape and said “boy Perry, I don’t really like the bass and drum on this song here, if you can do anything to it then just change it and see if we can get something better”. Well Perry had only 4 track tape at his studio, but this was a 24 track tape that Bob bring. So Perry called me and Mikey Boo and took us down to Joe Gibbs studio and started playing the rhythm and all that on the 24 track. So I was on bass and Mikey Boo was on drums and we listen and we listen, and then we dub it back over to make new drum and bass. Well that song became “Punky Reggae Party”, so that shows you how Bob trusted Perry.’
Lee’s other great innovation was adding layers of sound effects, sometimes live through an open mic, but often pre-recorded onto a cassette tape which he would add to the collage on mixdown. Because these effects – bells, cymbals, animal noises, dialogue from the TV – were not synched to the music, they would add a layer of randomness to the sound.
Lee Perry: ‘You know cassette? I make cassette with sound track, and all those things with cymbal licking, flashing. In my Black Ark studio if you listen the cymbal was high, like “Ssshhh ssshhh”. But I did have them all recording on cassette, and while I was running the track and it was taking the musician from the studio, I was playing the cassette to balance with the drum cymbals and things like that, so them didn’t have to play that because it was already on cassette playing. You could call that sampling. And I have this “Mooooow”, like the cow, running on the cassette, and it go onto the track that I wanted to sound like that. Somebody discover it in a toilet. You know when the toilet paper is finished, and you have the roll, and the hole that come in the middle. Well you put it to your mouth and say “Hoooooo”, and it sound like a cow. You put it to your mouth and you imitating a cow and say “Moooooo”. Heh heh heh. Yeah, sound sampling. Well somebody had to start it, and we was loving to do those things.’
Boris Gardiner: ‘Well the Black Ark did have a strong vibe, but, once everybody all there, most of those guys who smoke really like it, but those who didn’t smoke didn’t really like it, like myself. Scratch is a man who never joke fi draw him herbs, you know? Heheh. But I am not a smoker cos it’s not good for my heart. I have a heart problem called tachycardia, an irregular beat of the heart. So it could be upsetting at times when there’s so much smoking going on.’
By the late 70s the relaxed atmosphere at the Black Ark had soured, as Lee attempted to extricate himself from various outside pressures, and his behaviour became more erratic.
Lee Perry: ‘What happened I did for myself not to be working with jinx and duppy called dread. And those duppies they think that me owe them favour. I open the door, and the duppies them find that me is the door opener, and then the duppies them take shape inna me yard and inna me house, and they were a jinx. Jinx mean bad luck. So to get rid of them, me had to burn down the Black Ark studio fi get rid of jinx.’
Boris Gardiner: ‘Was Scratch crazy? Well some say now that he was just putting on an act. But I think, why did he put it on? After all the problems he was having and that sort of thing, and they were saying that he was getting off his head, and he start to act strange, well I just stopped going. I stopped working there. It wasn’t a good atmosphere – nobody could really enjoy that again. So I called it a day. It is sad after all the good work we did. But when you try to be smart and try to outsmart others, well it don’t work out for long with you. He came and did a show here in Jamaica the other day, but I didn’t really know Lee Perry as a singer. He won the Grammy not long ago, but I find it surprising that he got a Grammy as a performer not a producer. He’s been very lucky: now he is successful in a sense and some people love him cos he’s a character, and they don’t see nobody dressed like that. Hahahah!’
Speaking to Lee in February 2021, via WhatsApp to Jamaica, he sounded relaxed and positive, with more praise for Boris and optimism for the future.
Lee Perry: ‘Boris Gardiner was very good, very great in the brain. He really intelligent in music, and me and him work miracle together! And remember that there was no end to the Black Ark, the Black Ark will be coming back. The Black Ark keep on living and cannot die.’
VA - (2021) Cameroon Garage Funk
Analog Africa – AACD 092
Yaoundé, in the 1970´s, was a buzzing place. Every neighbourhood of Cameroon´s capital, no matter how dodgy, was filled with music spots but surprisingly there were no infrastructure to immortalise those musical riches. The country suffered from a serious lack of proper recording facilities, and the process of committing your song to tape could become a whole adventure unto itself. Of course, you could always book the national broadcasting company together with a sound engineer, but this was hardly an option for underground artists with no cash. But luckily an alternative option emerged in form of an adventist church with some good recording equipment and many of the artists on this compilation recorded their first few songs, secretly, in these premises thanks to Monsieur Awono, the church engineer. He knew the schedule of the priests and, in exchange for some cash, he would arrange recording sessions. The artists still had to bring their own equipment, and since there was only one microphone, the amps and instruments had to be positioned perfectly. It was a risky business for everyone involved but since they knew they were making history, it was all worth it.
At the end of the recording, the master reel would be handed to whoever had paid for the session, usually the artist himself..and what happened next? With no distribution nor recording companies around this was a legitimate question. More often then not it was the french label Sonafric that would offer their manufacturing and distribution structure and many Cameroonian artist used that platform to kickstart their career. What is particularly surprising in the case of Sonafric was their willingness to take chances and judge music solely on their merit rather than their commercial viability. The sheer amount of seriously crazy music released also spoke volumes about the openness of the people behind the label.
But who exactly are these artists that recorded one or two songs before disappearing, never to be heard from again? Some of the names were so obscure that even the most seasoned veterans of the Cameroonian music scene had never heard of them. A few trips to the land of Makossa and many more hours of interviews were necessary to get enough insight to assemble the puzzle-pieces of Yaoundé’s buzzing 1970s music scene. We learned that despite the myriad difficulties involved in the simple process of making and releasing a record, the musicians of Yaoundé’s underground music scene left behind an extraordinary legacy of raw grooves and magnificent tunes.
The songs may have been recorded in a church, with a single microphone in the span of only an hour or two, but the fact that we still pay attention to these great creations some 50 years later, only illustrates the timelessness of their music.
Danakil - (2021) Rien ne se tait
Baco Records – LDAN6CD
Since Danakil is a French reggae band, it's not surprising that they'd be more influenced by the Birmingham scene than by Kingston. This is extremely easy listening dubby reggae in the vein of Steel Pulse and UB40.
Blue Heron - (2021) The Lost Music of Canterbury
| Blue Heron Renaissance Choir – none |
A must-have for any serious collector of early choral music, this is a 5-CD set of the complete music from Blue Heron's groundbreaking, long-term Music from the Peterhouse Partbooks project (2010-2017). The package includes a new 84-page booklet with thousands of words on the works and history by Dr. Nick Sandon, as well as essays by Scott Metcalfe on performance practice, all illustrated with gorgeous color pictures. Complete texts and translations for the complete set are compiled in the single booklet, as well. The discs and booklet come housed in an attractive, early-to open box.
The set includes mostly world premiere recordings and features masses by Nicholas Ludford, antiphons by Hugh Aston and Richard Pygott, the complete surviving works of Robert Jones, and the gifted though previously completely unknown composers Hugh Sturmy and Robert Hunt, and all but one of the surviving works of John Mason. The missing tenor parts have been supplied by Nick Sandon, who has dedicated much of his professional life to the Peterhouse partbooks, which were copied for Canterbury Cathedral in 1540 and are now named for the college currently housing them, Peterhouse Cambridge.
Michael Hurley - (2021) The Time of the Foxgloves
No Quarter – NOQ075-1
July is when the foxgloves bloom in Astoria, Oregon. July is also Michael Hurley’s favorite month, whether it finds him at home in Astoria or somewhere else. He’s often somewhere else, but last summer he was home, as reasonable people were, which is where and when The Time of the Foxgloves began.
The Rope Room studio, in the Fort George brewery complex, was the place. After several sessions transferring home recordings Michael had made over the past few years on his stalwart TEAC A-3340S four-track tape machine, friends and colleagues—some local, some further flung—sang, played, and engineered what is the most varied, hi-fi Snock album heard in a while; arguably since 1988’s Watertower. Four different banjos are played by four different banjoists; there’s a battery of harmony singers (Kati Clayborn, Lindsay Clark, Josephine Foster, Betsy Nichols); upright bass, baritone ukulele, and bass clarinet address the lower ends. Beloved songs from albums past—“Lush Green Trees” (from Watertower); “Love Is the Closest Thing” (as “Time Is Right” on 1995’s Parsnip Snips)—are reassembled with some new elements (e.g., xylophone) but, lacking none of their original wonder or impact, the new versions impart an uncanny sense of continuity, as though they’ve been slowly but unceasingly evolving in the interim. (This phenomenon is a central quality of Michael Hurley performances on both records and stages). “Se Fue En La Noche” will be familiar to anyone who’s seen a Snock show over the last half-dozen years—“better put your shoesies on before you die of the cold” being among Michael’s more unforgettable adjurations—but surprisingly this is its first appearance on record. The old reliable Wurlitzer A200, instantly identifiable to all fans of Bellemeade Phonics productions, leads the way on “Blondes and Redheads,” where it’s accompanied by a nylon-stringed slide guitar. One of the banjos—this one played by Snock—is joined on “Knocko the Monk” by a sighing pump organ, making a prototypical Hurley instrumental into something disorientingly but satisfyingly wistful. Twin fiddles fiddle on opener “Are You Here For the Festival?”, this listener’s favorite recent song of Michael's since “The Corridor" (c. 2010).
“Are You Here...” came to Hurley this past June. He was out in the yard, cutting back wild blackberry. It was his second June running without a trip to Ohio for the Nelsonville Festival; it was called off this year too. Home in July to witness the foxgloves bloom again, he saw them torched come August by the extreme heat that assaulted the Pacific Northwest. But time and Snock soldier on undaunted. He’ll turn 80 in December, just after this record’s release. The Time of the Foxgloves is now.
Cosmic Drag - (2021) Jungle Bag CS
Chemical Imbalance. – CH.IMB.151
'Jungle Bag' is the debut album, following self-released digital EP in 2020 entitled 'Hoops', from Cosmic Drag, ie. the latest project of Victorian* artist/musician Timothy K. Brown (known for thee ambient works under his own name, as well as being a member of Mount Trout, Rat Filth & other great acts/bands on the "fringe"), with a wee bit of help from fellow Mount Trout-er, Will Fagan, who plays the sticks on a few tracks.
~ This latest offering is described as "..music that sounds like Scott Walker's fried cousin playing black metal in the Solomon Islands or Arnold Swartzenegger doing The Shaggs' covers" - which is pretty spot on!
The Electronic Circus - (1981) Direct Lines 7''
Scratch Records – SCR 002
Though famous for other things (including doing the synths on GARY NUMAN’s iconic “Pleasure Principal” album and co-writing VISAGE’s massive hit, “Fade To Grey”), Chris Payne brought THE ELECTRONIC CIRCUS to life in 1981. At the time, poised to become his next major project, the initial single “Direct Lines” gained little traction and quickly found its way to quiet obscurity. There it remained until some genius made a video using footage from Swedish film “Summer With Monika” that so perfectly fit the surging melancholy of youth’s temporary romances that the song garnered a million views and a new cult of rabid fans (me included! -Jensen). Once this synth-pop perfection enters you it will find permanent purchase and continue to be a joyous wellspring for years to come, truly a gift that keeps giving.
Richard Youngs - (2011) Long White Cloud
Grapefruit Records – GY1-2
Every new album by Richard Youngs may as well be the first you hear, as there is no promise that it will sound anything whatsoever like his previous recordings. Just this year, he reissued “Beyond The Valley Of The Ultrahits” on Jagjaguwar and arguably created some of the best pop songs of the year – all on a dare from a friend. Other times, he’s wavered from some of the most emotionally compelling to repetitively transfixing to sonically aggressive compositions anyone is likely to create. After traveling New Zealand, Youngs describes the record as “a meditation on native birdsong, Maori place names, the pacific ocean, satellite navigation, and clutch failure in Wanaka.
Dump - (2013) The Silent Treatment LP
| Grapefruit Records – GY2-4 Grapefruit is a subscription-based record club now in its third year, founded by musician Simon Joyner and Ba Da Bing Records head Ben Goldberg to release exclusive, limited-edition, vinyl-only albums as part of an annual series, sharing identical cover art but in different colors. Subscribers receive an LP every three months, by artists that are of some renown, or are just getting started. The only connection between each group is that Joyner and Goldberg are both fans. Only 300 copies of each release are pressed—and for a limited time, these LPs are now available outside a direct subscription in extremely low quantities. Dump is James McNew, known primarily for his work as a member of Yo La Tengo. The Silent Treatment, collection of new recordings, comes on the heels of a series of Dump reissues and features a couple covers (“You Say You Don’t Love Me” by The Buzzcocks and “Yo Yo Bye Bye” by Why?) amidst the beautiful originals. |
Maria Zerfall - (2020) Anthology 1983-1993 9xLP
Vinyl-on-demand – VOD162
The German one-woman-solo-project MARIA ZERFALL started 1982 in Crailsheim named as ZERFALL. The year 1983 was beginning of MARIA ZERFALL and her private cassette distribution MUSIC TO TURN TO, based in Düsseldorf, Germany. The music was recorded and duplicated privately on a 4-track-tape-recorder, and given away to friends and people, who were interested in it.
In 1986-1991 MZ often appeared in different projects, like AKTIVE STAGNATION, MARIA ZERFALL IN PHASE PERVERS, ZEROSE, and collaborated with other musicians like KONRAD KRAFT, ROMAN RÜTTEN, etc.
From the years 1987 to 1989 MZ gave only three concerts, two in Düsseldorf and one in Nürnberg.
Gentleman Jesse - (2021) Lose Everything
Beach Impediment Records – BIR-057
After ten long years away from the studio, Gentleman Jesse returns to us bearing a new ten-track album that benefits greatly from the wisdom and heartbreak that a decade of life on this planet affords. An album titled "Lose Everything" is bound to have its dark side, and behind the powerful melodies and jangly guitars a hint of sadness hangs in the air. But Jesse makes a bad time a good listen—after all, he's responsible for tunes like Carbonas' "Phone Booth" and his debut single "I Don't Wanna Know." While age tends to water down the output of older musicians, it's had the opposite effect on Jesse. Gone is any semblance of kitsch or power-pop convention. Also gone are his band—he's flying solo this time. What remains is a dazzling, mature earworm of a guitar-pop album. Each record comes in a matte jacket adorned with the photography of Riley McBride and also includes a lovingly assembled booklet featuring lyrics and original woodcut prints made by the Gentleman himself.
Ice 9 - (2021) The Fifth Column Years 2xLP
Vinyl-on-demand – VOD 170
VOD presents The Fifth Column Years by ICE 9. This double LP release contains 1981 and P.F.L.P. Ice 9 was a collective centered around Onnyk (Yoshiaki Kinno) a well-known on the field of Japan's underground and free improvisation, acted as 'The Fifth Column", also called 'Daigoretsu', in mid 70's to 80's.
Onnyk is Yoshiaki Kinno, a talented guitar improviser and also the owner of the Allelopathy label of Japan. In the 1980's he established a cassette label Fifth Column featuring a wide range of improvised musics.
The Fifth Column Years by Ice 9 compiles their two incredibly rare cassette releases 1981 & PFLP (from 1981 & 1983 respectively) on this double vinyl compilation, their first pressing on wax in their almost forty year existence. The brainchild of Japanese multi-instrumentalist Yoshiakki Kinno, the two tapes take strides in all things scuzzed out. Encompassing noise, post-punk, krautrock and abrasive jazz complimented with dubbed out early electronics and hefty distortion, The Fifth Column Years is a throwback trip into a wildly experimental epoch. Sure to be as sought after as the original tapes, the vinyl doesn’t lose the early editions charm.
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