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Ensemble Economique, “Crossing The Pass, By Torchlight” (Dekorder, 2011)

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Brian Pyle received a lot of attention with 2010’s Psychical (a creepy homage to schlocky slasher films), but it was much too blunt and raw for me to want to hear more than once. He got me this time though: Crossing The Pass, By Torchlight traffics in similarly eerie and disquieting ambiance (and continues to display Pyle’s love of ’80s sounds and textures), but it does so in a much deeper and more nuanced way. That may not sound like a stunning evolution, but the difference is a dramatic one. This is a great album.

The word “cinematic” is probably unavoidable in any discussion of Crossing The Pass, By Torchlight, as most of the six songs are tense and brooding in a way that screams “film soundtrack.” Unfortunately, the word “cinematic” is a somewhat negatively loaded term, as it it is often used as a charitable way to describe music that doesn’t quite stand on its own without a visual component. This album is cinematic in the best, most Angelo Badalamenti-esque sense though: it easily stands as a complete and satisfying whole. It would certainly be great to hear Pyle’s brooding and throbbing synths accompanying a film, but it would have to be a brilliantly dark and sophisticated film to do it justice.

The more fascinating aspects of Crossing The Pass are the less immediately obvious ones. The most significant is Brian’s irony-free use of dated tropes like clunky drum machine rhythms, ’80s synth textures, and movie dialogue snippets. Taken out of context, it is easy to imagine New Edition rapping over the beat in “Sparks Exploding, Splintering Blackness,” but it becomes a very haunting piece when that beat is ensconced in Pyle’s lush and buzzing layers of synthesizers. That again brings Badalamenti to mind, as he and David Lynch are the reigning masters at creating perverse dread from seemingly incongruously kitsch. Pyle hasn’t eclipsed the Twin Peaks soundtrack or anything here, but he seems to be equally unerring and pitch-perfect in that very specific department.

The second most striking aspect of this album is its deceptive simplicity: all of these songs essentially stretch one strong motif into an entire song. There aren’t distinct movements or multiple parts in any of these pieces, yet they feel like very complex, dynamic, and deliberate compositions. Pyle doesn’t need much more than a solid rhythm and a brooding chord progression to create a mesmerizing piece, as his greatest talent lies in masterfully tweaking everything in the periphery. Regardless of how a song starts, it always ultimately snowballs into something much darker and more dense as layers and layers of feedback, synthesizer, strangled guitars, and samples are added. To his credit, Brian is varied enough in his approach to avoid ever seeming formulaic or predictable—every song may start off good and end even better, but it is still compelling to hear how he ultimately gets to his final destination.

It is extremely difficult to pick a favorite or least favorite song on this album, as it is uniformly excellent from start to finish. The most immediately gratifying piece, however, is probably “To Feel The Night As It Really Is,” due to its infectious drum loop, which makes its slow-burning intensity seem a bit more vibrant than usual. If Crossing The Pass has a flaw, it’s probably that “Everything I Have, I Give To You” is too warm, non-threatening, and comparatively minimal to comfortably fit thematically with the rest of the album. It is still quite a likable piece though—it just feels more like a good bonus track than part of the formal album. That, remarkably, is the most serious misstep on a virtually flawless album. I cannot over-emphasize what a huge leap forward this record is for Ensemble Economique: this is definitely one of my favorite albums of the year and quite possibly the most pleasantly surprising one as well.

Listen here.

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Gareth Davis & Machinefabriek, “Ghost Lanes” (Dekorder, 2011)

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By my count, Rutger Zuydervelt has logged nearly 100 releases since Machinefabriek’s inception in 2004, making it extremely easy for his best work to get missed or overlooked. Fortunately, this one managed to catch my attention, as Davis’s skwonking contrabass clarinet may very well be the perfect foil for Rutger’s somber drones and crackles. The likable first half of this improvised collaboration was recorded back when the duo first met in 2009 and has already been issued once as a limited 3″ CDr, but the truly excellent second half came together more recently and makes its first appearance here.

The 23-minute “Ghost Lanes,” which consumes the entire first side of this album, is by far the more abstract of the two pieces and definitely betrays its improvised origin. Rutger plays guitar, but it is rarely recognizable as such for the first ten minutes or so. Instead, he slowly builds a sound bed from loops of sundry crackles, scrapes, and amp noises, leaving the melodic heavy lifting to Davis. Gareth makes a valiant effort, but he is basically adrift in pretty formless and uninspiring territory. 

As a result, “Ghost Lanes” is essentially a heavily reverbed clarinet solo subtly augmented by a low repeating swell and Zuydervelt’s textural contributions. There isn’t much of a flow to it, but Gareth’s oft-sputtering playing is still unpredictable and inventive enough to keep me interested, especially during the moments where he closely approximates an upset and disoriented elephant. While Rutger’s playing becomes a bit more prominent near the end of the piece, his single repeating notes and muted swells are ultimately too minimalistic to leave much of an impression on me.

The 16-minute “Mackerel Sky” is an entirely different story, however. Zuyderwelt’s playing remains extremely minimal in nature, but instantly creates a tense and melancholy mood with just two repeating harmonics that hypnotically shudder and oscillate. Gradually, he fills out the sound with spectral swells and a masterful array of fluttering and billowing guitar noises. Davis is more restrained this time around, which makes perfect sense, as the simmering bed of uneasy guitar shimmer could easily stand on its own. He’s not merely along for the ride though: his fluid minor key runs and intermittent strangled squawks enhance Machinefabriek’s brooding atmosphere nicely and provide the piece with much of its satisfying dynamic arc. 

The fact that it even has a dynamic arc is pretty noteworthy in itself: “Mackerel Sky” escalates and ebbs surprisingly effectively for an improvisation, despite the fact that the slow-burning build-up is more powerful than the actual crescendo. Davis and Zuydervelt intertwine and complement other remarkably intuitively for two artists that rarely play together—it’s a great piece.

That said, Ghost Lanes will probably not induce me to immediately plunge headlong into Davis and Zuyderwelt’s solo discographies, as it seems like this collaboration (the “Mackerel Sky” half, at least) is quite a bit more than the sum of its parts. Still, I could probably not ask for a more impressive introduction to Gareth’s work and I now wonder what other treasures I’ve missed in Rutger’s vast discography. This isn’t quite an unqualified success, but it definitely has some sustained flashes of greatness: I have rarely heard free-jazz and drone music intersect as seamlessly and enjoyably as they do during Ghost Lanes’ best moments.

Listen here.

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Our Love Will Destroy the World, “Blue Eyes Are My Reward” and “I Hate Even Numbers” (Krayon/Dekorder, 2010)

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Campbell Kneale has been enjoying quite an impressive creative rebirth since retiring Birchville Cat Motel and re-emerging as Our Love Will Destroy the World, but he wound up with an extremely difficult predicament on his hands in the process: 2009’s Fucking Dracula Clouds pretty much perfected the art of being as gnarled, ugly, and visceral as possible and took guitar-based noise about as far as it could logically go. Unwilling to repeat himself, these two new albums document Kneale’s struggle to emerge from that stylistic cul de sac and find innovative new ways to remain vital and nightmarish.

It took me a while to warm to Krayon’s Blue Eyes Are My Reward because it feels a bit restrained and scattered compared to past Our Love Will Destroy the World albums. In fact, the exuberantly strummed acoustic guitar in “Kisses Flaming Hell” approximates what I envision Swervedriver jamming at a beach party might sound like (which is “pretty damn annoying,” actually). However, the rest of the album is pretty unwaveringly excellent despite Kneale’s many bold departures from his comfort zone. 

That said, he does include one characteristically snarling hellscape in the roaring “Triple Encryption Dynasty” that should please anyone hoping for more typical OLWDTW fare, yet the remainder of the record is packed full of unexpected surprises ranging from psych-damaged bagpipe drones to tabla-driven ethno-ambiance. There are also several songs that call to mind a more muscular version of mid-period Zoviet France, melding insistently looping pile-ups of odd percussion, field recordings, and voices with strangled and warped guitars. The fact that very few of these pieces are immediately recognizable as Our Love Will Destroy The World could arguably be considered a flaw, but that is an inherent and unavoidable peril with evolution in general. This is a very impressive and unexpected effort.

Listen to Blue Eyes Are My Reward here.

Dekorder’s I Hate Even Numbers, on the other hand, is significantly more immediate, distinct, abrasive, and consistent, yet falls quite flat progression-wise. Thematically, Kneale stays pretty focused on further exploring the possibilities of incorporating thumping beats and deep bass lines to his usual ear-searing, cacophonous onslaught. The dance music elements are generally kept pretty straightforward, like the four-on-the-floor house beat of the title cut, but that seems to be the point: rendering danceable grooves undanceable with shrill feedback, metallic whines, and a litany of non-musical sounds. 

Unfortunately, Kneale doesn’t quite go anywhere particularly worthwhile with it on the first half of the album, opting to idly ravage unchanging beats without much in the way of pay-off. The second side of the album is a bit more inventive, as both “Snipers on Skis” and “Twins Like Swans” are built upon unusual mutant-Indian beats, but it still can’t escape feeling like a series of underdeveloped song skeletons. The album’s brightest spot is “Tokyo Modern Magic” which marries a somewhat anthemic synth motif to grinding guitar noise and bubbling electronics with some success. It still fails to evolve much, but it achieves a kind of immersive power simply through sheer density and activity. I Hate Even Numbers is definitely heavy and attention-grabbing, but its appeal dies rapidly with repeat listens.

Of the two albums, Blue Eyes Are My Reward is the vastly superior one, proving that Campbell is still as daring, restless, and inspired as ever. In fact, Kneale himself has described it as the best thing he’s ever done and I come pretty close to agreeing, but Fucking Dracula Clouds was an absolute monolith of brutality. I Hate Even Numbers should have been yet another such triumph, but Campbell appears to have lost his talent for dynamics somewhere during the recording process: he seems a bit de-fanged, content to merely augment his songs with harshness rather than aggressively tearing them to shreds or burying them in avalanches of entropy. The difference between “unpleasantly discordant” and “viciously ugly” is a hugely important one, I’m afraid. These two records definitely leave me pleasantly puzzled, hinting that Campbell’s days as a guitar abuse visionary may be winding to a close, but that yet another artistic breakthrough may be imminent.
 
Listen to I Hate Even Numbers here.
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Our Love Will Destroy The World, “Stillborn Plague Angels” (Dekorder, 2009)

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Campbell Kneale may longer be known as Birchville Cat Motel, but he certainly has not stopped making abrasive, nightmarish music. Surprisingly, curating a Prince tribute album (Shutupalreadydamn!) has failed to translate into a funkier, sexier Neale. Stillborn Plague Angels is exactly the sort of album that Satan would make if he had the time and inclination to start a noise band.

Campbell Kneale has made many unusual changes in his artistic life over the last few years.  Most notably, he ended both the influential and beloved (in certain circles) Birchville Cat Motel (largely due to frustration with fan expectations), and his record label, Celebrate Psi Phenomenon (allegedly torching all unsold stock in a bonfire). Additionally, he formed a doom metal band called Black Boned Angel, started the Our Love Will Destroy The World project, and developed some serious animosity towards digital media (“Nobody’s going to love a puny uploaded file…they might like it, or maybe find it interesting, or be able to list it on their ‘what I’m listening to now’ blog. But they wont be able to LOVE it. These people are cursed.”). In keeping with this newfound media idealism, Stillborn Plague Angels is only available on vinyl.

The title track kicks the album off on an appropriately ugly and unsettling note, as a distorted throb lays the foundation for a menacing, metallic shimmer. Gradually, layers and layers of dissonant and unsettling synths and guitar noises are built up until the song culminates in a bizarrely effective atonal lead guitar part that would make Jandek smile. Amusingly, this teeth-rattling discordance is among the more melodic and conventionally musical moments on the album, as there are at least actual, clearly defined, notes being played.

The following two tracks can best be described as grotesque and corrupt hellscapes. They are both painful, uncompromising, and very difficult to listen to. I find that “Pink Hollow Paradise” is more of squirming, chattering, strangled miasma of shrill queasiness while “Chinese Emperors” leans more towards being a wavering, slow motion, anguished howl. I don’t know if I will ever listen to these tracks again, but they are both resoundingly successful in creating a palpable sense of abject horror. 

After some disquieting shimmering drone, “Chinese Emperors” erupts into the mournful guitar squall of “Over Prehistoric Texas” (although it might just be one long track entitled “Chinese Emperors and The Army of Eternity Over Prehistoric Texas”—the Dekorder website seems to think they are separate and I feel ill-equipped to win an argument with them over it, so i will assume that two separate tracks segue).  While “Texas” is undeniably more melodic than the previous three tracks, it seems a bit anticlimactic and uninspired after the previous visceral abominations.

Naturally, music this unrepentantly harsh will appeal to very few people, but Stillborn Plague Angels is a complete success artistically. Terms like “good,” “bad,” and “listenable” seem irrelevant in the face of such elephantine and single-minded ugliness. Dekorder quite aptly describes this album as “endless roaring catastrophe” and I have absolutely no qualifications to add to that. If such a thing sounds at all appealing, Campbell Kneale is someone to watch closely (albeit definitely without hassling him about your fucking unmet expectations).

Listen here.