Music Reviews: Category Archives
“Shoegazer” Archives
Waves
by Keith Canisius
When listening to Rumskib’s self-titled debut several years back, I was struck by the duo’s exuberance, by the sense of joy that permeated their recording. The shoegazer genre has often been called “the scene that celebrates itself”, and here were a couple of shoegazers that were truly keen on celebrating.
That same feeling permeates Waves, the second solo album from Keith Canisius (one half of Rumskib). Indeed, Waves picks up right where Rumskib’s album left off: from the very get-go, Canisius dives headfirst into an ocean of shimmering, ethereal sounds, and does so with such enthusiasm that it’s hard to resist diving in right after him.
We Were Flying Kites
by Stripmall Architecture
I’ve been writing about music for more than a decade now, and I’ve seen a lot of artists come and go (honestly, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it turned out that 80% of the artists I’ve reviewed over the years are now defunct). But there are some artists who continually stick around, who might go unheard from for a year or two, but then always get back onto my radar for whatever reason.
Ryan and Rebecca Coseboom are two such artists. I became aware of the Cosebooms via their first project, Anymore, which I discovered via a sampler that was offered on an old 4AD e-mail list that I once subscribed to. Then came Halou, their more electronica-minded outfit, which survived and transcended such terms as “trip-hop” and “downtempo” thanks to impeccable programming, plenty of 4AD-esque atmospherics, and Rebecca’s lovely vocals.
But Halou came to an end in 2008 while the group was touring with Bob Mould and the Cosebooms subsequently began Stripmall Architecture. It was originally an outlet for more experimental music than might’ve been associated with the Halou moniker, with live shows incorporating everything from “typical” electronics and guitars to typewriters and toy organs. But with the release of We Were Flying Kites, the Cosebooms have returned a little closer to the fold, so to speak—in many ways, We Were Flying Kites picks up right where Halou left off.
Idylls
by Love Spirals Downwards
I’ve had this CD in my collection for well over a decade now—it represented one of my very first excursions into the “darkwave” world of the venerable Projekt label—but I’ve always held it a little at arm’s length. Though I’ve always liked the CD well enough, I’ve tended to (subconsciously) dismiss it as something of a Cocteau Twins’ rip-off, and instead, became more enamored with the band’s later, more electronica-oriented releases (Flux) and incarnations (Lovespirals).
But blame it on the recent wave of chilly, rainy weather that has swept through Lincoln: after several years, I picked Idylls—the debut CD from the now defunct Love Spirals Downwards—off the shelf and it’s been in near-constant rotation since.
Phoenix Asteroid
by Ecovillage
What’s that, you say? You’re looking for some good bliss-out music, but Jonas Munk (Manual) has become too gritty and earthy for you? Ulrich Schnauss doesn’t venture far enough into the stratosphere? M83’s atmospheres aren’t expansive and shifty-drifty enough for you to really get your bliss on? Well, in that case, may I humbly suggest Ecovillage’s Phoenix Asteroid? With this disc, Swedish duo of Emil Holmström and Peter Wikström have created what could very well be the ambient/dream-pop album of 2009. Surprisingly though, it’s deceptively more than just mere aural wallpaper.
To be sure, there’s quite a bit of song blur going on, in which the drones and drifts of one song just flow right into those of the next song. As a result, the album is little more than a Gaussian blur of shoegazer effects, synthesizer washes, and wispy vocals. Which is not necessarily a bad thing. When you’re looking for pure mood music that contains little too disrupt whatever serenity you’re seeking to attain, well, that describes a good deal of Phoenix Asteroid quite accurately—especially on tracks such as “Dawn Was Brand New”, “Invitation”, and the sixteen-minute title track.
Dark Enough For Stars
by Au Revoir Borealis
When it came out that Au Revoir Borealis was working on a new album, I immediately had thoughts that something special was brewing on the horizon. While it had been eight years since their debut, 2000’s Tienken EP, and the bandmembers had since drifted off to various side-projects (e.g., For Wishes, The Great Fiction, and Man’s Last Great Invention), those early songs still stuck with me.
The Tienken EP showed great promise, revealing a band in love with a sound close to my heart while also hinting that Au Revoir Borealis weren’t just interested in a mere genre exercise, but also brought to bear in their music an emotional and spiritual warmth that their peers can often lack.
And now that it’s here, it’s safe to say that Dark Enough For Stars doesn’t really disappoint at all. While the album contains the same love of shoegazer/dream-pop evident in the earlier material, there’s a darker sophistication at work, as one might’ve guessed from the title (itself a play on a Ralph Waldo Emerson quote); there’s a definite melancholy amidst the swirl of sounds that lends itself to a contemplation perfectly suited for this burgeoning autumnal season.
Disappear
by Ceremony
Once upon a time, there was a band called Skywave who became the terror of sound guys everywhere for deliberately doing soundchecks at one volume, and performing at a much louder one (if you’ve heard any of their releases, such as 2003’s Synthstatic, then you’d understand the sound guys’ fear).
From the ashes of that band sprung A Place To Bury Strangers, who have received all kinds of acclaim from Pitchfork, PopMatters, and Stylus, and Ceremony, who hasn’t received quite as much acclaim despite exploring much of the same sonic territory with the same amount of ferocity and volume.
I went ga-ga over Ceremony’s self-titled CD-R debut. Perhaps I’m something of a masochist, but I instantly fell in love with its ear-piercing levels of noise, distortion-shrouded pop hooks, and icily detached vocals. Disappear (Safranin Sound, 2007) doesn’t deviate too far from that. The guitars are still ramped up to eleven on the Distort-O-Meter, the effects pedals and feedback turn every note into a blinding nova of sound, and the vocals are as detached—and ultra cool—as ever.
A Wingless King
by Writ On Water
It’s been 8 years since Writ On Water has released anything new, their last release being 2000’s Pelléas EP. But even back then, their music was stuck even further in the past, specifically in the halcyon days of 4AD Records, and artists such as Cocteau Twins and This Mortal Coil. Therefore, it should come as no shock that A Wingless King, the group’s newest full-length, sounds somewhat like a musical artifact unstuck in time.
A gloomily atmospheric post-punk/4AD tone permeates the entire disc, even on the more “relaxed” numbers such as album opener “Angie Swirls In Pastel Summer” and “Wondertime”. And on songs like “Dead Give Away” and the dreamy closing track “Things Only Heaven Knows”, it coalesces into something quite spell-binding. All of which was something I was more or less prepared for.
However, what I wasn’t necessarily prepared for was how experimental and left-of-center A Wingless King would be. Their previous releases, specifically 1992’s Sylph, revealed that the group wasn’t content with simply being clones, but rather, would venture out into left field from time to time. But that’s even truer on A Wingless King.
Imagining October EP
by Daniel Land & The Modern Painters
There are some folks who just can’t quite put the past behind them, who seem almost unhealthily fascinated and attracted to the trends, ideas, and styles of yesteryear. And while that can often increase one’s chances of embarrassment and foolishness, if nothing else, it can make for some pretty good music.
Such is the case with Daniel Land & The Modern Painters. The Manchester-based six-piece have a decided fixation on the sounds associated with the glory days of 4AD Records. Which means that, while listening to the five songs of the Imagining October EP, you’ll hear plenty of woozy, shimmery guitars that bring to mind the likes of Robin Guthrie (The Cocteau Twins) and Miki Berenyi (Lush).
The Weather Clock
by July Skies
The Weather Clock has been in development for years, originally slated for release on Make Mine Music at least as far back as the fall of 2006, only to get pushed back time and again. But now it’s finally here, and it’s really more of the same from Harding and his collaborators (which includes members of Epic45). At its best, I find it to be just as affecting as when I heard Dreaming Of Spires so long ago.
If you’ve heard any of Harding’s previous output, then there’s nothing on The Weather Clock that is truly groundbreaking or revelatory. If you haven’t, then prepare yourself for some of the most wistful, nostalgia-prone, navel-gazer pop one can imagine.
Musically, the influencies are pretty obvious: Slowdive, Flying Saucer Attack, The Durutti Column, Robin Guthrie, and so on. Harding wears those influences on his sleeve with nary an ounce of shame, and they dovetail quite nicely with all of the emotional and memorial influences. Which, as his MySpace page puts it, includes such things as “lost youth”, “endless childhood summers”, “dreams of 50’s suburbia”, “time spent amongst long summer grasses”, and “overgrown ancient ruins that still stand”.
It’s certainly not for the weak of heart: if there’s even one cynical or snarky bone in your body, you’ll be tempted to chuck the disc into the bin within the first few minutes. And yet, as repetitive and familiar as it might be, The Weather Clock still inevitably pulls me in, being the nostalgia-prone sucker that I am.
Begin Civil Twilight
by Auburn Lull
“Civil twilight” refers to the time of day just before sunrise and just after sunset, when the light is sufficient to leave objects here on earth visible while also allowing brighter celestial objects to reveal themselves. It’s a magical and surreal time, when the surrounding world somehow seems less tangible, when the term “otherworldly” actually means something when you describe what you’re seeing.
As such, it’s a perfect term for the title of an album that is so thoroughly obsessed with being otherworldly, with creating soundscapes as amorphous and spectral as possible. That is most certainly the case with Auburn Lull’s Begin Civil Twilight, which, if the title is any indication, is intended to be nothing less than an invocation of the “blue hour”.
But Begin Civil Twilight is so ethereal that at times, it’s rather unengaging. Now if one wanted to be particularly snarky, they might translate that to mean that the album is boring and dull, but I wouldn’t necessarily go that far. Sure, Begin Civil Twilight isn’t the album to put on when you want music that’ll grab you by the throat, shake you around, and not let go.
However, while there’s much to laud about the group’s skill at creating soundscapes—indeed, there’s no better word here, as every element blurs together to create a uniformly otherwordly expanse (even Jason Wiesinger’s drums and Ulrich Schnauss’s programming do little to provide any structure to the twelve tracks)—I find it very hard to be impacted on any sort of emotional level by these songs.
Begin Civil Twilight always remains detached and aloof, perfectly content to shimmer and float high overhead like some celestial body just barely coming into view. It’s pretty enough, and at times, even breathtaking (as is the case with “Light Through The Canopy” or “November’s Long Shadows”). But by its very nature, it always remains beyond reach—difficult to be affected by or interacted with, only observed and appreciated from a distance.