Friday, January 21
Singer, The New Face of Smiling
More on this Release
Is this Bevan Smith, Carpark's answer to Boards of Canada, or is this Sigur Ros? When I heard the first track on Singer's The New Face of Smiling, I wasn't quite sure. Instead of the typical melancholy electronic soundscapes familiar to those who have heard Smith's work on earlier Singer albums or as Aspen (among other pseudonyms), we get guitar drones, murmuring vocals, and post-rock abstractions. I must admit that I was pleasantly surprised. I was even more surprised when I heard the next few songs, which weren't in any way Sigur Ros-like. One, "I Was Dressed as the Ant, You Dressed Up as a Beehive," is some weird hybrid of straight-ahead techno (circa 1989, perhaps) and later Talk Talk (the long, swirling, elliptical song structures), with some more modern digital breaks and clips added to link the styles together. Another, "Machines at Low Tide," is like some throwaway Neutral Milk Hotel track, only with drum and bass rhythms and a Guns & Roses guitar solo.
So eclectic. I guess that's the word here, right? Of course, eclectic doesn't always work. Throw in too many styles, too many ideas, and too many experiments, and an album will often implode in its own excesses. That's not the case with this one, however.
I think that's because, through all the experiments and stylistic mood shifts, there's a consistent musical structure that connects the tracks together. This structure, by connection, lends the individual songs a consistent tone. The album's tone reminds me of that feeling I have just before I am about to embark on a long voyage to a new and unfamiliar place. Everything seems planned out and arranged, but I know that's impossible, that there will be bumps and problems and disasters up ahead. I know this, and I accept it, even though I can't do anything about it, since those mishaps are part of the reality of taking journeys to new places. So, before I leave, I know things will go wrong, and I will be miserable at times, but I also know that there's a certain thrill waiting for me as I explore new places and meet new people, and those miseries are just part of the cost of those thrilling adventures.
As I listen to Singer's album, I grasp all of these emotions and more. The music, for all its eclecticism, is pulled together by a shared sense of tension and release. Each song is filled, at one point, with a drowning torrent of repetitive sounds created either through noise, guitar, or voice. Sometimes these repetitions are peaceful and sometimes they are harsh. Either way, the repetitive nature of these sounds stretches time to its breaking point, as if they were unwilling to let the moment go away. And, in each song, there is a release point, when these songs do break free, and out of the long drones emerge harsh, muddy beats, soft, lilting melodies, and ear splitting solos.
This is perhaps best exemplified in the album's final track, "Your Ears Across the Fences," where a very plaintive acoustic guitar melody, some snappy drums, and smattering of digital distortion, delay, and drums meld together in a variety of ways, all over the singer's repeated exclamation of "It's not there." This mixture builds and builds and builds throughout the course of the track, until finally a gigantic wail of a guitar comes howling across the musical landscape and tears the other sounds into shreds.
I've always enjoyed Smith's music, ever since his first Aspen album, but it has always seemed as though this New Zealander's work was just one step behind the current trends in electronic music. His first few albums were filled with Boards of Canada-styled melodies and abstractions, but Boards of Canada's stuff came out first. Subsequent work was interesting but, like the first, not fully original. This work is original, in that it is rock music created from the perspective of an electronic artist (it's usually the other way around). But the work's originality is really the most boring part here. More importantly, the music itself is compelling, rich, and rewarding. It rocks. It's Smith's best work, hands down.
Is this Bevan Smith, Carpark's answer to Boards of Canada, or is this Sigur Ros? When I heard the first track on Singer's The New Face of Smiling, I wasn't quite sure. Instead of the typical melancholy electronic soundscapes familiar to those who have heard Smith's work on earlier Singer albums or as Aspen (among other pseudonyms), we get guitar drones, murmuring vocals, and post-rock abstractions. I must admit that I was pleasantly surprised. I was even more surprised when I heard the next few songs, which weren't in any way Sigur Ros-like. One, "I Was Dressed as the Ant, You Dressed Up as a Beehive," is some weird hybrid of straight-ahead techno (circa 1989, perhaps) and later Talk Talk (the long, swirling, elliptical song structures), with some more modern digital breaks and clips added to link the styles together. Another, "Machines at Low Tide," is like some throwaway Neutral Milk Hotel track, only with drum and bass rhythms and a Guns & Roses guitar solo. So eclectic. I guess that's the word here, right? Of course, eclectic doesn't always work. Throw in too many styles, too many ideas, and too many experiments, and an album will often implode in its own excesses. That's not the case with this one, however.
I think that's because, through all the experiments and stylistic mood shifts, there's a consistent musical structure that connects the tracks together. This structure, by connection, lends the individual songs a consistent tone. The album's tone reminds me of that feeling I have just before I am about to embark on a long voyage to a new and unfamiliar place. Everything seems planned out and arranged, but I know that's impossible, that there will be bumps and problems and disasters up ahead. I know this, and I accept it, even though I can't do anything about it, since those mishaps are part of the reality of taking journeys to new places. So, before I leave, I know things will go wrong, and I will be miserable at times, but I also know that there's a certain thrill waiting for me as I explore new places and meet new people, and those miseries are just part of the cost of those thrilling adventures.
As I listen to Singer's album, I grasp all of these emotions and more. The music, for all its eclecticism, is pulled together by a shared sense of tension and release. Each song is filled, at one point, with a drowning torrent of repetitive sounds created either through noise, guitar, or voice. Sometimes these repetitions are peaceful and sometimes they are harsh. Either way, the repetitive nature of these sounds stretches time to its breaking point, as if they were unwilling to let the moment go away. And, in each song, there is a release point, when these songs do break free, and out of the long drones emerge harsh, muddy beats, soft, lilting melodies, and ear splitting solos.
This is perhaps best exemplified in the album's final track, "Your Ears Across the Fences," where a very plaintive acoustic guitar melody, some snappy drums, and smattering of digital distortion, delay, and drums meld together in a variety of ways, all over the singer's repeated exclamation of "It's not there." This mixture builds and builds and builds throughout the course of the track, until finally a gigantic wail of a guitar comes howling across the musical landscape and tears the other sounds into shreds.
I've always enjoyed Smith's music, ever since his first Aspen album, but it has always seemed as though this New Zealander's work was just one step behind the current trends in electronic music. His first few albums were filled with Boards of Canada-styled melodies and abstractions, but Boards of Canada's stuff came out first. Subsequent work was interesting but, like the first, not fully original. This work is original, in that it is rock music created from the perspective of an electronic artist (it's usually the other way around). But the work's originality is really the most boring part here. More importantly, the music itself is compelling, rich, and rewarding. It rocks. It's Smith's best work, hands down.
Sunday, January 16
Comments, Etc.
I've started my new job in Imperial, California, which means I've also moved down to a new area (well, partially--I'm commuting back up to my home in Redlands on weekends). As a result of the move, the fact that I'm really busy, and the fact that I don't yet have internet access at my weekday home (my brother's place), I've been unable to post anything new. This will change, however. I hope to review a few new albums (including a new Avanto compilation and a new Line release) in the very near future. So stay tuned, all!
On another matter, I've added a "comments" link to the posts, so use it if you find that any of my posts or reviews are utter crap (or utterly brilliant).
On another matter, I've added a "comments" link to the posts, so use it if you find that any of my posts or reviews are utter crap (or utterly brilliant).
Friday, January 7
DoF, Mine is May
More on this Release
In reviewing DoF's previous effort, If More than Twenty People Laugh, It Wasn't Funny, I criticized artist Brian Hulick's fusion of stale, Autechre-lite beats with his wonderful guitar melodies. I note, "I've heard a thousand songs employing these beats in the past decade, and I'm getting tired of them. However, I haven't heard many electronic albums that so unabashedly celebrate the beautiful sound of an acoustic guitar. Why not create an electronic album that takes as its starting point these guitar melodies and then builds around them, adding synth sounds and minimal electronic beats." Apparently, Hulick was listening. While DoF's latest, Mine is May, does contain its share of beat-driven songs, the beats here are less glaring and better integrated with the guitar and other musical sounds. The result is a strong and more interesting album.
The best song on the album is probably the most traditional; that's the first track, "Asleep at Light," which consists largely of a beautiful acoustic melody that would not be out of place on one of Joni Mitchell's early 70s albums. It's a great way to begin this album, not only because the guitar playing is so good but also because the synth melodies that enter halfway through the piece seem perfectly in tune with the guitar. The piece as a whole actually reminds me of Bola's Soup album, which is largely an exercise in mood; I think that's what "Asleep at Light" is going for, as well.
Having set this plaintive mood, the album then moves into more mid-tempo territory. "Ten Cities" and "Blue Glimpse" both put the guitar in the background and let the synth melodies and digital beats take over. I criticized this artist for the beats on his earlier album, and while these beats are very similar to those other beats, they are, in fact, less glaringly fractured (less like Autechre). They're not perfect—I think more traditional rhythm sounds might have worked better—but they do work with the bouncy keyboard melody and other digital effects to create a frantic, bubbly mood.
The rest of the work's eight tracks vacillate between the ambient acoustic melodies of the first track and the bouncing, beat-driven moods on "Ten Cities." Some tracks, like "Eyes Hiding," seem to float a bit too far down the annoying beat highway. However, other tracks are more interesting. Take "Rain Not Stars." It takes a very simple acoustic melody and intersperses into it the occasional digital burp and sputter, making the otherwise straightforward tune a bit off-kilter. I like that—it's a subtle way of twisting the music away from Enya territory (which, let's be honest, is always a potential problem with acoustic and ambient mood music).
So I think this album is much better than Hulick's earlier work. Hulick, the artist, is obviously honing his craft, developing a sense of who he is and what works for him. There is a pleasantness to his music that is rare in the electronic universe, and I think his ability to harness acoustic melodies within an electronic landscape is interesting, since most electronic music that employs guitar usually focuses on the electric guitar. Mine is May, in short, is a worthy purchase. It is not perfect, but it is pleasant, and pleasant is an unusually rare emotion in electronic music.
In reviewing DoF's previous effort, If More than Twenty People Laugh, It Wasn't Funny, I criticized artist Brian Hulick's fusion of stale, Autechre-lite beats with his wonderful guitar melodies. I note, "I've heard a thousand songs employing these beats in the past decade, and I'm getting tired of them. However, I haven't heard many electronic albums that so unabashedly celebrate the beautiful sound of an acoustic guitar. Why not create an electronic album that takes as its starting point these guitar melodies and then builds around them, adding synth sounds and minimal electronic beats." Apparently, Hulick was listening. While DoF's latest, Mine is May, does contain its share of beat-driven songs, the beats here are less glaring and better integrated with the guitar and other musical sounds. The result is a strong and more interesting album.The best song on the album is probably the most traditional; that's the first track, "Asleep at Light," which consists largely of a beautiful acoustic melody that would not be out of place on one of Joni Mitchell's early 70s albums. It's a great way to begin this album, not only because the guitar playing is so good but also because the synth melodies that enter halfway through the piece seem perfectly in tune with the guitar. The piece as a whole actually reminds me of Bola's Soup album, which is largely an exercise in mood; I think that's what "Asleep at Light" is going for, as well.
Having set this plaintive mood, the album then moves into more mid-tempo territory. "Ten Cities" and "Blue Glimpse" both put the guitar in the background and let the synth melodies and digital beats take over. I criticized this artist for the beats on his earlier album, and while these beats are very similar to those other beats, they are, in fact, less glaringly fractured (less like Autechre). They're not perfect—I think more traditional rhythm sounds might have worked better—but they do work with the bouncy keyboard melody and other digital effects to create a frantic, bubbly mood.
The rest of the work's eight tracks vacillate between the ambient acoustic melodies of the first track and the bouncing, beat-driven moods on "Ten Cities." Some tracks, like "Eyes Hiding," seem to float a bit too far down the annoying beat highway. However, other tracks are more interesting. Take "Rain Not Stars." It takes a very simple acoustic melody and intersperses into it the occasional digital burp and sputter, making the otherwise straightforward tune a bit off-kilter. I like that—it's a subtle way of twisting the music away from Enya territory (which, let's be honest, is always a potential problem with acoustic and ambient mood music).
So I think this album is much better than Hulick's earlier work. Hulick, the artist, is obviously honing his craft, developing a sense of who he is and what works for him. There is a pleasantness to his music that is rare in the electronic universe, and I think his ability to harness acoustic melodies within an electronic landscape is interesting, since most electronic music that employs guitar usually focuses on the electric guitar. Mine is May, in short, is a worthy purchase. It is not perfect, but it is pleasant, and pleasant is an unusually rare emotion in electronic music.
Sealab 2021: "Marco Aguas"
Sealab 2021 is one of my favorite shows, and if you have been watching Adult Swim on the Cartoon Network latey, you'll see the commercial for the show featuring a duet between Marco and Debbie. The song is called "Aguas de Marco" by the Brazilian duo Antonio Carlos Jobim and Elis Regina. It's a great cheesy bossa nova tune from the 70s, and it's placement in this twisted and freaky show is just wonderful (since the show recycles images and characters from a very cheesy 70s cartoon). If you want to see what I'm talking about, it's available online at Milk and Cookies. Enjoy!
Wednesday, January 5
The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim
All right, all right, I'm an Angels fan; I have been for decades. I went to my first game back in 1974, and I go to games every year. I went to a playoff game this year (against Boston, and, yes, they lost). I have a plaque above my computer commemorating the greatest moment in my life, when the team won the 2002 World Series.
Heck, look at this picture of myself and my wife hugging Arte Moreno on the day that he became owner of the team:
So what does a life-long Angels fan think of owner Arte Moreno's decision to change the team name from the Anaheim Angels to the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim? Well, the actual name is pretty silly, and it'll make for some heckles from opposing fans. That will be annoying--for about a month until everyone gets tired of it and starts calling the team the Angels again. Locally, I guess everyone who actually lives in Anaheim or in Orange County will probably hate it because it minimizes the importance of their city and county. Since I currently live in Redlands, California (which is in San Bernardino county), and I'll soon be moving to Imperial county (east of San Diego, right by the Mexican border), I really don't care what Orange County thinks (of anything--those Bush loving bastards). And even better than all that, the LA Angels name pisses off Dodger fans!
But Moreno had plenty of good reasons to change the team name from Anaheim to LA. He wants people in other parts of the country and (especially) in other parts of the world to see the Angels and think of Los Angeles, for he knows that Los Angeles is a world-famous city, a city that hosted the Olympics twice, a city that people in the most remote parts of the world have heard of, a city that is as culturally and economically important as any city in the world. Anaheim? It's where Disneyland is. Calling the team the LA Angels is smart from a business sense, and I respect Moreno too much as a businessman to question his decision.
Besides, there's history here. When the team started in the early 1960s, they were called the Los Angeles Angels. They played their first few seasons in LA before moving to a new stadium in Anaheim. At the time, it was thought a bit silly to call a team Los Angeles when they play in a totally different city. So they took the logical route: call the team the California Angels because both Los Angeles and Anaheim are in California. That was the name I grew up cheering for, and that's what they remained until Disney bought the team and changed the name to Anaheim as part of a "branding" effort on Disney's (and Anaheim's) part. So, historically, to call the team the LA Angels is no worse than calling the team the Anaheim Angels. The only problem with all this is that, the Anaheim Angels years happen to include the greatest year in team history, 2002, when the team won a World Series. Hence, when we fans look back on the greatest moments of the team's history, the greatest will always be associated with Anaheim, not California or Los Angeles. But that's a pretty minor problem, especially since most people think of the Angels winning the World Series and not the Anaheim Angels winning the World Series.
So I respect Moreno's decision to link the team with LA. I appreciate that the name is connected to the team's own history. And I enjoy the fact that the name change really pisses off a lot of people in Orange County and LA. But the "of Anaheim" part? Well, that's just stupid, and it makes the whole name change thing a big joke.
Heck, look at this picture of myself and my wife hugging Arte Moreno on the day that he became owner of the team:
So what does a life-long Angels fan think of owner Arte Moreno's decision to change the team name from the Anaheim Angels to the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim? Well, the actual name is pretty silly, and it'll make for some heckles from opposing fans. That will be annoying--for about a month until everyone gets tired of it and starts calling the team the Angels again. Locally, I guess everyone who actually lives in Anaheim or in Orange County will probably hate it because it minimizes the importance of their city and county. Since I currently live in Redlands, California (which is in San Bernardino county), and I'll soon be moving to Imperial county (east of San Diego, right by the Mexican border), I really don't care what Orange County thinks (of anything--those Bush loving bastards). And even better than all that, the LA Angels name pisses off Dodger fans!
But Moreno had plenty of good reasons to change the team name from Anaheim to LA. He wants people in other parts of the country and (especially) in other parts of the world to see the Angels and think of Los Angeles, for he knows that Los Angeles is a world-famous city, a city that hosted the Olympics twice, a city that people in the most remote parts of the world have heard of, a city that is as culturally and economically important as any city in the world. Anaheim? It's where Disneyland is. Calling the team the LA Angels is smart from a business sense, and I respect Moreno too much as a businessman to question his decision.
Besides, there's history here. When the team started in the early 1960s, they were called the Los Angeles Angels. They played their first few seasons in LA before moving to a new stadium in Anaheim. At the time, it was thought a bit silly to call a team Los Angeles when they play in a totally different city. So they took the logical route: call the team the California Angels because both Los Angeles and Anaheim are in California. That was the name I grew up cheering for, and that's what they remained until Disney bought the team and changed the name to Anaheim as part of a "branding" effort on Disney's (and Anaheim's) part. So, historically, to call the team the LA Angels is no worse than calling the team the Anaheim Angels. The only problem with all this is that, the Anaheim Angels years happen to include the greatest year in team history, 2002, when the team won a World Series. Hence, when we fans look back on the greatest moments of the team's history, the greatest will always be associated with Anaheim, not California or Los Angeles. But that's a pretty minor problem, especially since most people think of the Angels winning the World Series and not the Anaheim Angels winning the World Series.
So I respect Moreno's decision to link the team with LA. I appreciate that the name is connected to the team's own history. And I enjoy the fact that the name change really pisses off a lot of people in Orange County and LA. But the "of Anaheim" part? Well, that's just stupid, and it makes the whole name change thing a big joke.
Donate--but to where?
I wanted to donate money to the relief effort in South Asia, but I wasn't certain where I wanted my money to be spent. My first instinct was to donate to the wonderful organization Médecins Sans Frontières (aka Doctors without Borders). However, their web site mentioned that they have, in fact, received more than enough money for their South Asian relief effort, and while the group could always use money (heck, what non profit group can't), I felt that, in this case, I'd donate to an organization that desperately needed the funds right now.
So I went in search of another organization. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of groups that need help right now. However, I remember reading a recent interview Roger Ebert did with Sri Lankan resident Arthur C. Clarke, who did, indeed, survive the tsunami and is now trying to help all he can (despite his approaching age). What was Sir Arthur's suggestion for donations? A small, Sri Lankan-based organization called Sarvodaya. He says Sarvodaya is "the largest development charity in Sri Lanka, which has a 45-year track record in helping the poorest of the poor," and has mounted a "well-organized, countryside relief effort, well above ethnic and other divisions." I checked out the web site and found more information about the group, its history, and its mission:
For these reasons and more, I decided to put my donation money behind Sarvodaya. I would encourage anyone else out there to do the same.
So I went in search of another organization. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of groups that need help right now. However, I remember reading a recent interview Roger Ebert did with Sri Lankan resident Arthur C. Clarke, who did, indeed, survive the tsunami and is now trying to help all he can (despite his approaching age). What was Sir Arthur's suggestion for donations? A small, Sri Lankan-based organization called Sarvodaya. He says Sarvodaya is "the largest development charity in Sri Lanka, which has a 45-year track record in helping the poorest of the poor," and has mounted a "well-organized, countryside relief effort, well above ethnic and other divisions." I checked out the web site and found more information about the group, its history, and its mission:
The Sarvodaya Shramadana Movement started 47 years ago. Sarvodaya is Sanskrit for "Awakening of All", and Shramadana means to donate effort. Beginning in just one village and extending the movement to a total of more than 15,000 has been a fascinating adventure. Initially it involved an education program aimed at enabling students and teachers to live and work with the most remote village communities in Sri Lanka to assist with their self help initiatives. Within nine years, however, the “service learning program” had expanded into a full-fledged development movement in hundreds of villages, with the goal of a comprehensive and nonviolent social transformation. During its first 15 years, Sarvodaya grew with hardly any foreign aid or state support.
By the late 1970s, the Sarvodaya Movement, with support from partner organizations in more prosperous countries, became capable of reaching nearly every part of Sri Lanka. The program of self-reliance, community participation, and a holistic approach to community “awakening” appealed not only to the people in poor communities, but also to donors. Thousands of young women and men learned how to motivate and organize people in their own villages to meet the ten basic human needs, ranging from a clean and adequate drinking-water supply to simple housing and sanitation, communications facilities, an energy supply, education, and ways of satisfying spiritual and cultural needs.
For these reasons and more, I decided to put my donation money behind Sarvodaya. I would encourage anyone else out there to do the same.
Monday, January 3
Michael Heumann's Song of the Month: Jan 2005
This month's free song is called "Lighthouse Road." It's brand new, and it's pretty long--over 17 minutes. It's from my new album, Everything Lasts Forever--so named because all the songs seem to last forever. I hope you enjoy it. It'll be available until February 1, 2005.
Download and listen to this song
Download and listen to this song
Sunday, January 2
Art Bears Box
I purchased the Art Bears Box a few days ago. I knew little to nothing about the group until I read a review on the BBC's experimental music page. The set contains every single thing the band recorded--three full studio albums, some live work, some singles, and some remixes by members of the group and fellow travelers. I've been listening to this stuff carefully for the past few days. It was jarring at first--dissonant and confusing. It's basically art music broken down and structured into pop songs--strange, twisted pop songs. At first, I wasn't sure whether I liked it or not. However, then I started paying closer attention to the lyrics, and then I studied how the lyrics fit into the very abstract song structures, and then I again listened to the works as a whole--and I was floored. The lyrics are really amazing, especially on the group's second album, Winter Songs. On that work, the lyrics are all poetic descriptions of these medieval carvings--each song represents one particular carving. Hence, there's a simplicity to the songs that is simply not evident on most works. Here's an example from a song called "Three Figures":
I shall lead, says the boy
And indeed he points the way
His feet precede him for he
Has not turned his head
I will come, only wait
Says the man--
Something calls
I shall stay, says the king
I remain
Unimpressed with the world
--let the world come to me
But he watches the boy
His heart heavy with
Fear
Not bad, huh? To accompany these words (or the voice singing these words), there is a militaristic drum beat rattling behind three distinct, elliptical guitar melodies, each one representing (I'm guessing) a different figure. What's really interesting is the fact that the medieval carving is pictured in the liner notes next to the lyrics--and when you study it, you realize that the lyrics really are simply describing the carving; the only addition is some narrative subtext to put the images into a context. This is challenging, fascinating music. It's not for everyone--the singing is about as un-rock or pop as you're likely to get, never trying to create grooves or harmonies or even coherence from one line to the next. But for those who are tired of the cliches that abound in popular music, give the Art Bears a listen.
