With their rebrand into PVT (formally Pivot), they seem to have traded their last guitar for yet another arpeggi-synth. PVT always did the better math as Battles, now, with their all the more Berlin-David Bowie dark experimental pop, they’re heading to become the even better INXS.
Apparently Omega Massif’s repress of their debut ‘Geisterstadt’ conceptually describes a gallery in an inoperative mine leading to a gold digger ghost town. For me it rather sounds like Isis doing a soundtrack for Dig Dug. They’ll be releasing new stuff later this year.
Everyone loves ponies, so it makes perfect sense to me that Kitsuné team up with yet another animal horde to release some Jerry Bouthier mixed bonanza in-between joli Paris chic grosse tête, UK hip ethnic enclave of London edge and some other cities with catwalks.
‘Bittersweet’ is drony and distant and ‘Bittersweet’ is gazy and dreamy, but in the end it all again drowns in endless reverberations. I like swimming, but not drowning. Still I got the urge to cry out loud, play my guitar as loud as possible, get my head down and gaze at my shoes… gosh, how I love my ‘89 NIKE Air Pegasus.
Actually I don’t care if Trent Reznor’s doing a ‘meh’ post-industrial experimental electronica dark ambient thing with his wife Mariqueen Maandig or or just teabagging her. But hey, it’s for free, it’s good quality, and probably another nail in the coffin of cultural greed. Here’s your hammer.
Rumors have it that the National Sea Life Centre of Birmingham used songs of Barry White to incite sharks to get jiggy with it. I don’t know if the german four-piece had similar thoughts in mind while recording their third effort in a retreat cottage and eventually naming it after ‘The Walrus Of Love’.
Mor†e(s) Née(s) is like exac†ly †he kind of music you can’† explain †o your girlfriend. No† a chance. †his is jus† a borderline experience. Fas†, aberran†, dissonan†, dense, crushing, deep drilling, draining, suffoca†ing and queasy – above †heir previous a††emp†s. And ye† †herefore †heir bes† work so far.
Peter Jackson, Wellington as the most southern capital city and inbred ratite kiwis. Kerretta will probably not replace the kiwis in my New Zealand top three as this mute three-piece spreads the drive of a paraplegic. It sounds too russian and too circular to be any fresh. So 2006.
A clairvoyance in the vein of the norwegian new jazz will-o’-the-wisps with a warm blow-by-blow sound which is both Montreux and pure digital data, early Warp and Rephlex, exceedingly concrète, but always soulful and humble in its intricate compositions. Best headphone album of twentyten so far.
Caribou is a gay marriage of Four Tet and Hot Chip. Music for gay people. Oh, wait, Hot Chip already is for gay people. What’s the superlative of gay anyways? What can you expect from a mathematician finding absolution in the psychedelia sounds of the seventies and calling the record ‘Swim’ and designing such a gay cover for it.
Once one comes to acknowledge that there will never ever be another white pony, one should make do with their subsequent charlie horses. And by looking into their diamond eyes, one stares at a more or less gracefully aged band – reminiscing the glance of yesteryears and having the luck not to end as roadkill.
Jesus Christ, this is incredible. By reducing the instruments to a bare elementary, namely a drum kit and two pianos, Mouse on the Keys create a cosm illustrating the urgency and vibrance of the metropolis of Tokyo by bridging the gap between posthardcore roots and the fine arts of nu-japanese contemporary jazz.
A very popular throat singing technique in grindcore, brutal death metal or more recently deathcore is the so called pig squealing. It should sound brutal, and basically like pigs going to slaughter. In the case of Black-out Beauty however, the pigs are rather teased and tickled than jack bauered or tortured.
Probably the most organic and intimate bits & bytes sound of this year. A soundtrack to caress circuit boards. Surprisingly mellow and non-algebraic, the otekrian trademark rocket science beat foldings give way to a somewhat defragmentated approach where minimal melodies reign Oversteps. Subliminal, clear, stunning.
Sailing under the flag of Yves Rocher’s Petit Bateau, the record provides tricolore caleçons and maillot soundtracks for art school, swimming pool, sunday tea afternoon and lots of hair occasions. Don’t stand the in the way of the trend. It’s always been that way. With a skin soft as cotton, let’s cuddle and snuggle faggots.
Bersarin Quartett is one of those releases which are way to predestined for a proper déchire. This is why I sometimes outsource spin control to let’s say non-popculturally inclined people who generally don’t have a clue on what’s good or bad. A friend told me that the CD was actually good. Whatever…
I can’t help it, but you can smell this rather uninspired trademark german doom sound a mile off. Black Shape of Nexus stew in their own grease whereas Kodiak A perform in stripping it all down to a more gloomy and sparse level which by the skin of their teeth manages to not fall apart in its own porosity.
This flashy Klaus Bürglesque retrofuturism, the collective optimism, the economical miracle and the fascination of the upcoming space travel that ushered in a spirit of untarnished technological progress and certainty of the future, still radiates a fascinating atmosphere.
As I’m more enslaved by pop culture than being a grad of decent music socialization, listening to Alicate’s (supposedly uplifting) epic power metal makes me rather think of laser-eyed panthers than Valhalla or Dungeons & Dragons.
Damage Threshold is raw, crude and somewhat loutish and barely listenable. But they have something worth noticing and making you donate their record to the local hardcore/punk distro with good conscience: integrity. This is just pure violent fun, pure hardcore.
It’s a bit too early for a full album release. Nonetheless it should be fine at the point of alcohol consumption where you are no longer responsible for your own gestures or movements, and your body rides the waves of the deep drunk ocean of party people around you.
On their Denovali-released split LP, (doom) sludge Kodiak and rather (ambient) drone Nadja feature two songs on a runway playtime of forty minutes. Needless to say that both bands like to take their time to develop their soundscapes and put the tourniquet.
I guess it’s the winter editions of the series that only have a lower half life than the constantly brilliant summer Kitsuné maisons. Nonetheless you can quote My Tiger, My Timing at this point: I’m not trying to chat you up, it’s just we’re going in the same direction and I’m going home.
The major issue however is: how much can a band “copy/tribute” Circa Survive? It’s somewhat frightening how similar these bands sound. Jordan Spiers sounds almost identical to Circa Survive, The Sound of Animals Fighting and former Saosin vocalist Anthony Green.