Chris Abrahams - Play Scar

Chris Abrahams
Play Scar
(2010, Room40)
RIYL = Lawrence English, Keith Fullerton Whitman, The Necks

In addition to aural maturity, there is a rich religiosity brewing throughout Play Scar. Not, though, that new wave religiousness so often caught up in these new experimentations (the immature ones), but a thick, meaningful presences, almost Christian – not to categorize Abrahams – in the way it sets itself pleasantly in the pews, reassuring you while enabling the wholesale destruction of everything outside your periphery. I, personally, subscribe to a form of Christianity myself, perhaps an odd one; one that has been mythologized (quite wonderfully) by the penchant its members have for growing horns. Still, I’m not oblivious to the institutional nature of things, how the history of faith organizations have systematically collapsed millions; billions even. It’s a conflict between the deep rooted essence of the faith’s most principled tenants and the cloistered, maniacal fingertips of its so easily manipulated body - like a costume awaiting a bolt of blood and flesh. The complications here are part of the beauty of it, almost. Where am I, what am I talking about? Music? Abrahams work on Play Scar perhaps doesn’t fit wholeheartedly into my religious deviations, but it does, in its own way, assert itself as principally astute and pure, while still managing a gloriously secular, pulsing aesthetic. Abrahams’ master here. A sound engineer of incredible depth and intelligence. A teacher of what is possible, of skill, restraint, texture and volume. So, kiddies, with your laptops and pedals, look up – this is how it’s done, and these are the ways to do it. In this category, Abrahams aligns himself with the likes of Fennesz and Keith Fullerton Whitman, though neither of the two have managed something at the level of Play Scar in recent years. Thankfully Abrahams came to bat. Play Scar, in addition to being smart, tinny and confident, is wildly diverse without feeling like patchy or thrown together. Really, in the simplest terms, it’s an epic, in that spiritually grandiose way. Like art. That white-pure art. What more could you ask for? (A competent review.)

-Thistle

Play Scar stream on Boomkat

Waggers Over The Station - Upekkha

Waggers Over The Station
Upekkha
(2010, self released)
RIYL = The Microphones’ Mt. Eerie, Paavoharju, Chris Rehm, Green Gerry

The factual soundness concerning information about Waggers Over The Station being indeed the sole individual, Casey Shew (that impervious wreck), is an illusion. Many invisibles contributed here, and that Mr. Shew would even consider shutting out their mouths and fingers from the paint-black thread lining every crease in this album is, in and of itself, a travesty. Credit to hooded malefactors brimming with alcohol, tied to the tracks and humming their death hum; credit to light fissures that bursted maniacal into the seams of Shew’s pockets and socks; credit to the wind (what Casey, do you own the wind?!); credit wooden cogs pumping water, sloshing and creaking properly under balloons of liquid weight; credit to the heartless metal gods tricked into patient vibration – and that’s just for opening track. Truth be truth, Upekkha carries forward, barreling, like a catatonic train – its metallic chugga chugga as it trollies down the track –shifting and contorting, dog-faced ambivalent, a tigerbelly carriage roaring all the way until the slowed point of the next stop; stops that flutter, and fritz gorgeously, bursting out in equal parts Isaac Brock and Phil Elverum (at least on “I Stand on the Hilltop. Light Falling on the Grass”). Upekkha devours all, carnivorously chompcrunching the bones of its forbearers (Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Animal Collective, Natural Snow Buildings, etc.) and bleeding the remains out into this wholly new construction, fully organic, completely mechanized, rooted and branched, the whole atmosphere, deep deep deep, thick, immersive and soul-sucking. The whole of the world will crumble around you in imaginative verve, soil and leaf, sunk to the pit. And you, Mr. Shew, seek to take the recognition, to aggrandize yourself as thee wagger, to loom heavy over the station all by your lonesome. Your ribs can’t shadow it. Your thin fingers couldn’t grip it if they tried. Upekkha is bigger than you…bigger than all of us. But not so big, perhaps, even as it disassembles matter around us, that the songs seeping through won't tug righteous at the tiniest heart strings left wafting. (Thanks Casey.)

-Thistle

PS - album of the year contender

Place. The Light Falling on the Cabin by Waggers
I Stand on the Hilltop. The Light Falling on the Grass by Waggers

Mark Templeton - Ballads EP

Mark Templeton
Ballads
(2010, self released)
RIYL = Tim Hecker, The Field, Belong

I’m not much for EPs. Maybe you’ve noticed, all one bajillion of you who have sent me your debut EPs without a response. Forgive me, really. I don’t know what stops me from being able to commit myself to downloading and listening to something of that length. It should be easier right? (Don’t give up, send me your full lengths.) Yet, I do take exception for some. Enter Mark Templeton’s Ballads. While I genuinely loved his collaboration with aA. Munson on Acre Loss, I think I forced myself to enjoy his sophomore album, Inland. It wasn’t bad by any means, but not near as good as Standing On A Hummingbird either. It almost kept me from immersing myself in his latest EP. However, Ballads marks a return to his previously achieved, outstanding form. The concept for Ballads is a brief, but rich suite of tracks derived from the one-and-only Lionel Richie. The opening track, “February 23rd,” is quick to find the Richie’s single, “Hello,” bleeding through the guitars and static. It’s a plunderphonic dream that you never knew you had and now, in its earshot, can’t help but slip away into again and again. The closer, "Drowning in Memories," thickens things up a bit and provides ample evidence of the man's expertise in sound collage. Looks like Mr. Templeton is back on top and Ballads definitely has me interested in what’s coming next from the textured Canadian soundsmith.

-Thistle

Mark Templeton - "Fabruary 23rd"
Mark Templeton's website

Polar Bear - Peepers

Polar Bear
Peepers
(2010, Leaf)
RIYL = Charles Mingus, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis

What do I know about jazz? I mean real jazz with all of its genre specific denotations and in-crowd posturing? Nothing. Absolutely. But, one thing I know is that I love it regardless. So, in reviewing this, Polar Bear’s fourth or fifth or whatever album, Peepers, I am here to simply assert that, yes, I like it. I like it a lot. That’s pretty plain right? I mean normally I find it pretty easy, when reviewing the abstract stuff, to just drift off into meaninglessness; it’s effortless. But here, no. Peepers cannot be solely understood/passed-off on the basis of my mind bent in its direction. That said, this is what I know: 1 – Polar Bear’s got funk. Things open up kicking on “Happy For You,” and “Bap Bap Bap.” However, “Bap Bap Bap” is dual natured and a transition piece with that. Which brings me to 2 – Polar Bear’s got soul. That deep, sucking mass that hits you low and drags you down like an anchor. 3 – Polar Bear’s got imagination. Honestly, a lot of what Peepers presents feels like the classic jazz of those late greats, which is a total compliment to its fluidity and pulse, but that doesn’t mean that Polar Bear doesn’t break into some shifty, cranky, avant garde territory. “Drunken Pharaoh” dabbles expertly, straddling the line between that standard funk and falling apart. And that’s just three tracks in. Peepers is comprehensive, slick and choppy in all the right places, and quintessential for jazz fanboys and casual listeners alike. It’s an indie crossover for suresies.

-Thistle

High Wolf - Ascension

High Wolf
Ascension
(2010, Not Not Fun)
RIYL = Stag Hare, Niagara Falls, Mountains

That old Indian drum. The dangling dream catcher. The hollow breeze drifting. It’s not an unfamiliar song at this point in the game. The fact that it can be revitalized is something of a miracle though. I mean how many blazed-to-high-heaven hippy jamdrones does one need in their personal collection? It’s a bit played I think. Still, High Wolf, being that almighty champion of the form, their silken musk pulsing, have conjured a Lamanite dreamspace of resonance and distinction. Things float dusty through to “Diego,” where the soil-gravity-lift is scissored through with electronics, beams of green and blue projected into the thick air. This is when I think to myself: yes, yes, I can handle another album extracted from the blood of this land, from its original inhabitants and their horse’s skulls. As the album progresses, the level of play is consistently elevated. In five pieces High Wolf manages the straight-forward mission statement embedded in his album title and proves himself complicit with the objects of ascension. I feel like, in listening to the album, my body is weighted down into a cross-legged slump beneath a headdress of a thousand feathers crushing me into a higher plane.

-Thistle

High Wolf on MySpace

Samamidon - I See The Sign

Samamidon
I See The Sign
(2010, Bedroom Community)
RIYL = Bill Calahan, Nick Drake, Sun Kil Moon

Sam Amidon’s I See The Sign is one of the most delicate pieces of music I’ve heard in a long, long time. There may be no other way to state it. It floats fragile, like a paper boat, pushed and pulled in the soft eddies and simple current of a forest creek. A member of the tight knit Bedroom Community, Sam Amidon has enlisted the talents of fellow Bedromm Community members like Valgeir Sigurdsson and Nico Muhly (in addition to others) to assist him in perfecting his beautifully lush, awe-inspiring folk. While they aren’t the same tonally, there is an honesty in Amidon’s voice, a subtle, rootsy drawl, reminiscent of Bill Calahan. This rural air is probably also lifted from much of the old source material and lyrics Amidon has transformed and transplanted into I See The Sign. In addition, orchestral flourishes throughout are applied with perfect restraint, reminiscent of Joanna Newsom’s watershed album, Ys. Characterized by a quaint reverence and lyrical repetition, I See The Sign is the kind of album that will kill you peacefully, fold you up, and lay you to rest. Seriously, folk music doesn’t get more intelligent or more gorgeous than this.

-Thistle

Pigeons - SI Faustine

Pigeons
Si Faustine
(2010, Olde English Spelling Bee)
RIYL = Broadcast, Forest Swords, Green Gerry

Olde English Spelling Bee is cranking it up a notch this year, delivering heavy on the serpentine murk. They already dropped that illustrious Forest Swords LP, and the new Julian Lynch is psych-pop wonderful, and this…this. Following their namesake, Pigeons are beautifully feathered and dirty. A lilting flutter of female vocals twisting and harmonizing up towards the clouds, occasionally taking roost upon mucky windowsills and oily industrial silos. That’s where Pigeons fly. Si Faustine, the group’s debut (I think? Lazy), is a sort of psych-folk animal, not necessarily a carnivore, but certainly untamed, free roaming entity with a heartbeat and a collapsed lung. Si Faustine carries pastoral guitars in one moment, like an animal caught in the frame of a National Geographic camera lens, and off into caterwauling horned dirges, digging through an alley dumpster the next. Though, still, everything is framed artistically, gorgeous in its white, black and brown hues. Oh, and red. This has been one of the biggest surprises for me this year. So much depth and diversity twisted up in a praline dropped on the ground and dusted off. It’s too good not to devour again and again.

-Thistle

Harlem - Hippies

Harlem
Hippies
(2010, Matador)
RIYL = Girls, The Strokes, Hanoi Janes

I just realized that I haven’t written up Hippies. Well, let me go ahead and present this formal recommendation. Hippies is bread and butter. The ingredients aren’t new, but it is super delicious and, similar to actual occassions I've had with bread and butter, Harlem’s version just so happens to be that one time when this simplified recipe seems to hit the spot just that much harder. The band’s sound is strongly reminiscent of Girls’ breakthrough, Album, last year; however, whereas that album left me only slightly peaked and then patently bored, Hippes has me all warm and excited. The lyrics are as crisp as the instrumentation. The whole aesthetic hits squarely, and what more can you ask for than that when pumping some blissful revivalist garage tunes. Harlem plays music for convertibles and road trips (something we got around to at about 2AM on our way to Minneapolis). And that’s about it. This is your summer bread and butter.

-Thistle

Skullflower - Strange Keys to Untune Gods' Firmament

Skullflower
Strange Keys to Untune Gods’ Firmament
(2010, Neurot)
RIYL =Yellow Swans, Kevin Drumm, Millipede

The album title sums it up quite beautifully, actually. This double disc Skullflower outing offers just that, strange keys melted into the sky, contorting divinity into some alternate realm of existence, some abstract blackness that, though dark and menacing, finds beauty that only a deity can. Of course, this isn’t a wholly new idea from the likes of Matthew Bower, the long time noisesmith. Even so, Strange Keys is all-consuming and absolutely enthralling. Bower, through his various pseudonyms and collaborations, over the course of his historied and expansive career, has obviously learned a thing or two about the disintegration of sound at high volumes. Strange Keys offers just that, the meticulous corruption of a guitar and all its inherently noisy textures, through mountains of pedals and rows of clenched teeth. It can be suitably considered harsh. However, Bower knows that harshness alone won’t cut it, that there is a necessity of some deep rooted beauty. Or perhaps I’m just demented enough to hear such a thing when listening to Strange Keys. I imagine that it is only a small few of us who agree on this. Still, for those with internal wiring eccentric enough to endure this kind of thing, walls of sound thicker than a mile wide moat of decaying corpses, it is indeed beautiful. I’ve read complaints or puzzlement over the need for two discs on a release like this. One that, despite the recognizable variations from one track to another, is essentially a body of like-minded textures that travel to the same destination. It puzzles me, at least slightly. If you don’t feel the need to rummage through both discs, don’t. I for one find more in this circumstance, is more. Strange Keys to Untune Gods’ Firmament is definitely a pillar of an already astounding year in terms of its offerings in experimental and noise music.

-Thistle

Moonhearts - Moonhearts

Moonhearts
Moonhearts
(2010, Tic Tac Totally!)
RIYL = Ty Segall, Thee Oh Sees, Woven Bones

Oh bliss! Look at my fried & scrambled brains, all hissing and popping, steaming, served up on a dirty diner's plate. Thank you Moonhearts, oh thank you thank you! I know it wasn’t much of a week or so ago when I was discussing the Moonhearts (formally Charlie and the Moonhearts) and their garage rock superiority with the 2008 tape/CD, Thunderbeast. Well, they’ve dropped Charlie, though I hope not literally. Even if they did, this self titled outing under the shinyfresh Moonhearts moniker is absolutely the bee’s friggin’ knee caps. Oh me oh my, is it delicious! Better than Thunderbeast, better than any other brick-toothed garage rock album that I can think of. Moonhearts has erased all of that; those memories. This is that type of coiled, manic, liquor-doused rock n’ roll that burns your lungs and exalts your ears. Hooks mudded and tangled in barbed wire, guitars strung out like ripped tendons, drums mashed flat like potatoes, it’s all here and noisy like Boise. Hmm hmm, I feel like I should be spiraling off into some alternate dimension of description, but I’ll leave it short and tight, just like the album.

-Thistle

Green Gerry - Odd Tymes

Green Gerry
Odd Tymes
(2010, Self Released)
RIYL = Julian Lynch, Grouper, Ducktails

Have you ever, in the midst of a fishing trip upon that open lake – the lake lined with sentinel trees, each slung to the next with hammocks and lit up alright with lanterns – fallen into the water-ether and was surprised, while floating amongst the underwater greenery, that the cricket-silence present at the surface, on the rowboat, was juxtaposed so gorgeously with the ear disorienting vibrations swinging below, and there, submerged and sinking, decided that drowning was the best option, because you wanted to eek out a couple more minutes of the blessedly soggy tunes you’d newly discovered and never wanted to let go of? I imagine it is a common experience among us, though, if you’re reading this it is likely that, though you slipped into the sleepy depths unconscious, a boat mate or shore observer (or school of fish) managed to float you ashore an revive your breathing, thinking and (most importantly) hearing capacities. Thus, here you are, remembering that lost experience like it was just a figment of your imagination. Wondering, with your dissolving memory, what exactly those tones were that you’d experienced, that voice. Fortunately for us all, Green Gerry (the pseudonym of one Gerry Green) has produced (with only Garage Band and the internal mic on his computer) that most glorious, layered, submerged paradise and set it to tape so that it might kiss our ears freely while our lungs expand and retract. I promise you, by the axe of Thor, that Odd Tymes, this most honestly gorgeous, intensely atmospheric, odd and timely out-folk album, is indeed that sooty savior you’ve been seeking. And, of course, just like the cost to sink low in that open lake – the lake lined with sentinel trees, each slung to the next with hammocks and lit up alright with lanterns – was yours, Green Gerry in his most generous, throaty way and understanding, humbly of course, of the sheer essentiality of Odd Tymes, something created very much with forces beyond his own, has it propped up on his Bandcamp page using the pay-what-you-want model. It’s worth much more than $0, of that I assure you. So bloody, drowningly good.

-Thistle

Green Gerry on Bandcamp

RxRy - VAEIOUWLS

RxRy
VAEIOUWLS
(2010. Self Released)
RIYL = Pantha du Prince, Burial, Eluvium

It’s only July and already RxRy is breathing down our necks with another full length slab of super-beautiful, minimalist electronica. If you read my review of his self titled debut LP earlier this year, you’ll know that I’m super psyched on this kid. Mixing a knack for shimmering, emotive drones with an expertise at slow building beat-centric perfection, RxRy has matched his debut with an equally elated, equally life affirming, perhaps better album of pure headphone bliss. VAEIOUWLS ebbs and flows spiritually through its ten tracks and, though it is separated into separate suites, there is no reason during the course of the album that you will ever want to stray. It’s a complete structure from beginning to end and, even in its inherent simplicity, quite an achievement of mood construction. Remember those electronic chill compilations? The ones that mixed some of your favourite downbeat electronic artists with a mix of mediocre ones? The ones with the bikini’d babes slapped on the cover? If you remove the marketing aspect of those albums and access the desire for a perfect mix of moody electronic transportation, what’s being sought there is presented here in VAEIOUWLS at is most primal and evocative. Man, I feel bad for even bringing up those old comps. They do not belong in comparison with this record. Even still, that perfectly isolating, interior assemblage of digital mind destruction, it’s here. And, since the record labels RxRy’s pursuing haven’t seemed to catch on to the sheer genius of this stuff, it is available for free. Plan on seeing RxRy twice on my year end list.

-Thistle

Download VAEIOUWLS
and, if track 7 doesn't work for you, click here.


UUAII - RxRy - VAEIOUWLS LP (2010) from Rx Ry on Vimeo.



EUUIO - RxRy - VAEIOUWLS LP (2010) from Rx Ry on Vimeo.



AAIEI - RxRy - VAEIOUWLS LP (2010) from Rx Ry on Vimeo.