Speck Mountain

Speck Mountain  “Hey Moon”

from Summer Above (Burnt Brown Sounds)

 moonshadowing //Out Oct 7                                           7.0

Speck Mountain get what the early Velvet Underground and Doors got
from Phil Spector’s Wall of Sound productions:
a little off the top and bottom, with percussion and bass that shake
just enough to keep awake, and loose enough to make their rounds,
in arcs of elliptical storylines, in epic rituals made intimate, true
inland empires. Speck Mountain is lit by paradox power, hence the
extremes (really the dynamic range) in their name. A basic unit of three:
no drums, but vocalist Marie-Claire Balabanian plays bass and guitar;
so does Karl Briedrick, who also does things with tape delay;
Kate Walsh plays electric piano, organ, and sax. Jackie Ciliberti adds
more electric piano and organ to tracks 5, 6, and 7; Tim Daisy’s the
visiting percussionist. There are only 7 tracks, but it’s a tight little arc,
and ark, across a black and white seascape. As the album begins,
with “Summer Above, there’s something immediately warm and
reassuring about the big old bass (or down-tuned guitar) twangs,
big-shouldered, keeping watch, as the singer walks between them,
so confidently. She seems so hospitable, as she announces,
“I am free, when I feel no one feeling me.”
Wha’? It almost doesn’t matter, as the jolting words settle back into the
sound of her voice. “Our bodies notice.” Oh yes. But then once again,
“I am free, when I feel no one feeling me.” Then why not ice your sound,
or are you just a little tease? She sounds too Sissy Spacek, too
wholesomely weird for that: Marie-Claire, the clairvoyant next door.

And indeed, in Chapter 3, “Girl Out West,” “When I was young, my heart
did not divide, basement was my countryside. And if you asked, when I
was in my prime, car seat was my ocean ride.” But now she’s got the
“walking sleep, and I will not stop at the Pacific sea, girl out West,
I will be clean for thee.” A pilgrimage toward some aspect of herself,
perhaps; some ideal, anyway. (Not to give away the ending of the
album, but, as you might suspect, there are scenes of flying
through the w-a-a-aves, of organ and other fluid druid instruments).

Before all that happens, the song which we are allowed to play
for you today is “Hey Moon,” the second track, in which
our voyager finds herself in the void between “Summer Above” and
“Girl Out West.” Way between, in a careful circle of guitar notes,
around a soft, steady tambourine (or maybe sleigh bells: sounds
like they’re shaking off snow). “Hey moon, hey moon, where you goin’.
I hide no light, I belong with you. The sun, your friend, is now too bright.
The star, inside, is---what you know. Hey moon, hey moon, hey moon,
hey moon, hey moon, where you go. I hide (have?) no light, I belong
with you.”
She’s not done tracking the object of her scrutiny yet, and she knows
all the coordinates up there in the dark, wherever that will get her.
What’s got her now is a beguiling sound, mostly her own sound,
carrying her around and around, and it cannot be hurried, or slowed
down. (She’ll wake up in the “walking sleep” of “Girl Out West,”
all too soon.)

Deer Tick

Deer Tick “Spend the Night”

from War Elephant (Feow!)

western sizzler //Out Sept 09                                                           7.0

On his first real-label (not just for the club’s merch table) release, Deer Tick is
singer-songwriter/multi-instrumentalist John McCauley times his colleagues,
Natural Baldwin & The Bohemians, who are called on for close-mic’d upright
bass, vintage Rhodes electric piano, electric violin, and various percentages
of percussion. They stand and deliver, in  the strumming, picking, sometimes
shredding and howling, sinning and spinning dustbowl echoes of Mr. McCauley’s
hurtling heart. Although he’s based in Providence, Rhode Island (which is, after
all, the ancient home of orbiting obsessives like Six-Finger Satellite, Les Savy
Fav, and The Sheila Divine), McCauley sounds naturally hell- and heaven-bent
on a Wild West quest. At 20, he’s already far down a road that forks like lightning
scars, right through scenes, sensations, intersections of rising and falling, strung
together by determination and despair, cooked rare, as they’re pierced by his voice.

 Ah, that voice. The press sheet for War Elephant invokes McCauley’s studies
of Neil Young, Townes Van Zandt, and Richie Valens, but he’s also, in effect,
the improbable sonic heir of Roky Erickson. McCauley’s never far from the
way Erickson usually sings “Cold Night For Alligators,” in which one of R.E.’s
folkier-rolling tunes meets his acid-punk-metal vocal mode (rather than the
mellower tones he more often employs for such ballads). McCauley’s atomic
tonsils can also evoke Erickson’s fellow mid-60s upstarts, like Mouse of Mouse
And
The Traps, ? of ? And The Mysterians, and Eddie Hinton: McCauley’s got
their kind of buzzing yowl, but above all, he matches it the way Erickson
(at best) does, to clarity of diction, pitch, and eye-rolling soul. Soul that finds its
own way through whatever contortions may happen in the middle of Erickson’s
and McCauley’s verses. Not that this crispy Deer Tick critter seems singed by
any drugs stronger than youth, women, religion, tedium, or music.

The press sheet also reports that McCauleyforthrightly digs Sammy Davis Jr.,
Tony Bennett,and the sometimes-hideous-early-Bowie-“inspiration" Anthony
Newley, and dang if young McC. doesn’t actually redeem Newley’s
“What Kind Of Fool Am I,” as the blasted sand settles into afterglow of
well-earned modesty, after 13 rigorously self-scribed epic epitaphs on
healthy teeth.

Robert Wyatt/Ultra Living/Zigmat (re: mixtape possibilities)

re: mixtape possibilities for year-end special issue coverage

Wed, 31 Oct 2007

Ends up being surprisingly hard to pick the order of preference. But

in terms of the vibe, the degree to which I think I know how to

describe it adequately(at least as I begin writing this), the musical

excellence on first listen (the chances of it grabbing the jaded

webears right off, or at least during first listen, cos I doubt most

things get more than one chance at most, in terms of attention to the

whole playing time), I guess first choice is Robert Wyatt's "Cancion

de Julieta." It's built on, travels on an upright bass riff, which

carefully adjusts itself, then tilts forward, like a rocking horse

that almost gets stuck on a surreal extention of a bent (fifth?) some

blues note or I should say blooooues note, groaning a little,

deliberately distended, before the last note, before the rocking horse

pilgrim tilts back into place. And Wyatt sings the same note, same

phrase, much higher like a little old man with a hole in his head and

the air pushing out and in, which is true of course, like a little old

man in a poem or a play, under the radar o trying to be that way, in

his mask (from Comicopera, and Wyatt explains he means it in the very

old school sense, the other side of tragedy, but useful, a working

piece of uniform), his parody, with the well-timed well-pulled tear in

his blues, giving just enough pause to the listener (and even a

sympathetic listener can stop listening if the music seems too

familiar, like this track never does; I keep listening to hear what

happens next, even though I "basically" or schematically know, but

it's the feeling of the listening experience that matters here, like

it always should). Also, it's not just a mask etc in the defensive

sense, or defensive in the wait for 'em to come at you sense; the

little old rocking horse rider isn't just finding away to keep his

place, he's somehow pushing forward, each repetition of the basic riff

brings some other sounds too, which suggest he's breaking into

something, pushing forward, into wreckage, the hull of a galleon maybe

(kind of an underwater moonlit quality). The bass player is also using

his bow, and overdubbing violins, scrabbling at the push, in the

push.(Wyatt also plays some kind of keyboard, percussion, pocket

trumpet, all in the arc and pull and push of the sway of the note).

"Un mar de sue-eh-eh, no. Un mar de tierra blanca," so not just

aquatic and doesn't just sound aquatic, but like he's entering the

water, rocking back and forth and forward. Sleepwalker? They can do a

lot. Not exactly sure all I'd say about this, but something where

listeners might be led toward making their own connections, if they

want, to any possible deeper waters. It's just the damndest track, is

all, first listen every listen. When you ask for these, you'll mention

the need for the artist to answer a few questions, right? I'm little

insecure about Wyatt doing this, but judging by the amount and variety

and quality of interviews, documentary material etc online, he's

fairly into doing media, or anyway he does it.

Sort of with the same effect is Ultra Living's version of Ornette

Coleman's "Skies of America." Composed for symphony orchestra, here

it's transcribed in 6/8 for three-part harmonies of guitars, then

saxes; bass and drums come to lead the way, eventually, maybe always.

Nothing like any Prime Time track I've heard, although to play

Ornette's themes you have to use his pitches, so to that extent sounds

like him, but the guitars are fuller, more detailed in texture than

Prime Time, and more single-minded than Blood Ulmer's playing with

Ornette, but they do have some of Blood's rattling, once they stick

it in. The saxes have a hard-won fatalism that gets dirgey at one

point, but keeps building poise without letting go of any blues, or

going bravura on us (well not too much). Not just about paying those

dues and maintaining your gnarly cool though, because the bass and

drums, like the opening guitars,  are gouging steps in the side of

something, a ravine, judging by the size and shape of echo.

Engagement, and roughness and enlightenment and skills chopping

roughness, finding its own way forward, like Wyatt. (This is an

Anthology Recordings reissue.)(Not one of their ancient reissues;

it's from 2000, and Ultra Living are still alive and making albums, so

I guess they might be interview-friendly.)

Also,  my third choice, Zigmat's "Turn Out," finds its own way

forward, maybe toward the edge of another ravine. Female vocalist and

new wave combo, but they seem to have learned what Blondie once knew

from 70s crossroad of arena (call it metal emphasis, more than

rhetoric) punk, disco and pre-disco girl drama—not "diva," she sounds

plainer than that, not "girl group," not much overdubbed harmonies,

she's alone. She's blurting out her story, and I find it hard to keep

up, but got some sense of it the first time that keeps me going with

her, trying to put together something that's way too clear to her:

starts out muttering about "couture," a chance to work, "a glimpse, a

spark," she sounds avaricious for, "Another chance to start, another

mistake," but at least another, not just one more of the same. But the

work she's got "cut cut cut cut turn it out, you know I wish I was

cured, I wish I was cured!(Turn on turn on turn out) You make me feel

assured. (Turn on turn on turn out.)" Sounds like she's reading

directions aloud on the paren parts, in contrast to louder, earnest,

desperate phrases.implied play on "asheared," as in "cut,"

asssheared," she's a sheep for a pimp who's assuring her and turning

her out like she turns out the couture? Is she whoring for the

clothes? But she also is distressed that his parents and sibs are

alarmed by her, and she speaks at times like he's her meat, or her

salvation, or both, another drug.The accent figures in too (class, and

musical associations, with Miami Freestyle as well as the above, so

enough diva for that, skills-wise) Sort of A Place In The Sun, and

she's Latina Montgomery Clift? (To some preppy pimp who's also running

the family garment business? ) She seems way more trouble than that,

because maybe dangerous only to herself, or maybe not. That kind of

urgency (and artfulness, like the way the calmest part shifts into the

frantic part, and it's the same words, same musical phrases, but

she's suddenly further into the feeling of the knowledge or what she

thinks) is more the point than any "mystery" I may be needlessy

uilding up, except like I said, she's hard to keep up with when you're

in the same room, same headphones.

I guess if you picked Zigmat(or Ultra Living) over Wyatt, that'd be okay,
though he's seems like the mostmusically compelling right off, as I said,
but it's fairly close, and

what ever seems to you like what might turn out the best writing-wise,

or a balance of that and the music; Zigmat is  clunky compared to the

other two, but seems like more than just going through the

behind-the-trend motions, though if wanna say it's high-subgeneric,

yeah (but I never  cared this much about the recent new wave revival;

it didn't make me care).

Renminbi pitch

Aug. 10 2008

Also, re-sending this pitch, which might be more timely while all TV

eyes are on China:

I've impressed by the following album; not sure which song I'd

pick, but here's what I got so far:

Renminbi is led by guitarist-vocalist Lisa Liu, and her group is named

for Chinese currency, which makes our maxxed-out world go 'round (or I

might say: "keeps our deficit and out prosperity afloat," thinking of

Wal-mat sweatshops etc). Appropriately, on Renminbi's first full-length

album,The Phoenix, voices and lyrics are distant distress signals,

carried along by the melodic sweep, swoop, and crash of guitar, drums,

and synthesizer (no bass guitar needed, not with the incisive shadings

of SMV's keyboards). About half the tracks are instrumentals, but they

all bring the sound of your strongest doubts, faintest beliefs, all sides
of the coin, into a butt-thumping, obsessively well-timed post-punk workout.

Lizzy Mercier Descloux demo-pitch

(proposed for the launch of PTW in late ‘06 or early '07, with comp chosen over reissued, expanded originals---most of which were better---because of its relatively late '06 release date, I think, but still deemed too old)

Lizzy Mercier Descloux: Best OFF (ZE)

In 1979, NYC's ultrahip ZE Records issued Press Color, the debut album of Parisienne expat painter et post-punkette Lizzy Mercier Descloux. It was pretty good punky funky no (-ish) wave. But the most striking thing about the early songs invited to ZE's new Lizzy fair, Best OFF, is the way their parsing paisley parsley and bodyhair telegraphy grow through the French, South American, Caribbean and African elements of LDM's Eiffel of a peak. For instance, Best OFF offers a juicy slice of 1984's Soweto-collaborative, bollocks-to-apartheid Zulu Rock, which ZE has also reissued, with several bonus tracks. Wherever she goes, Descloux sounds far too at home to be satisfied, but there's a nervous delight in her flight, though it's never unsteady. She often suggests the artist as discreetly caffeinated spectator, responding to the multiplying dimensions in her pulsating frames. Descloux (who moved to the West Indies in the 90s, and kept painting, right up until her 2004 death from cancer) even molds bullets from samples of jazz trumpeter Chet Baker's narcotic blue satori, which remains undisturbed, of course. Opposites attract, eternally.

(ZE site still "under construction" last time I checked, so for instance see

http://www.forcedexposure.com)

(update: in 2016, Pitchfork published Laura Snapes' informative, insightful, incisive profile of LMD: http://pitchfork.com/features/from-the-pitchfork-review/9828-lizzy-mercier-descloux-behind-the-muse/)

Sebadoh demo-pitch

Sebadoh The Freed Man (Domino)

Notebook shreds in shed//Out July 24

(unpub. pitch 2007)

Hi. Have you heard Domino's Deluxe Edition of Sebadoh's The Freed Man?

Gaffney's reworked it again, with tracks prev not on vinyl or CD, and

some later, better versions, and the best sound yet, which really

brings out all the deft little touches, courtesy a couple of

frustrated/contrarian journeymen/pros, reverting to high-school-stoner

low-fi, but with surly skills now. Yeah, "I'm so sensitive I'm gonna

let it show for second then I'm gonna shove you outta this rubble and

start over," but they represent this familiar tood well enough, with

short tracks--too short sometimes, but even those tend to be bolstered

by for inst folded-in little TV cartoon clashes  and wizardly

come-ons, and and pissed off senile-sounding elderly female, and

little brother wants to start a garage woodstock---if it's escape from

the battles with Mascis, it's some splintery shower curtains Barlow

Jr.'s wrapping himself in, old domestic battles and

firecracker-gunpowdery whiffs around the dirtweed and b.o. and peanut

butter jelly. (Yeah, it's really Gaffney doing a lot of the Radio

Shack tailgatoring, but a lot of continuity, momentum, despite

severaltracks I could live without). Back to the tiny touches revealed

by best sound yet: I especially like the almost subliminal folkie bite

rolling and tumbling in the hampster wheel of "Fire Of July": what

could be banal if allowed conventional length is damn lyrical

here,(wooden music for summer fire loitering in the park) and

"Resistence To Flo" gets a swift floordrop to micro-dubspace depth,

just long enough to demonstrate what such resistenance might entail.

Lots of possibilties in this set, and ones that got me the first time

I listened, which is a basic requirement for PTWorthniess, in my book

(since I figure most listeners are as jaded as I am, and unlikely to

get a track a second chance). A ForceField item, and Daniel G. says we

can use anything on here.