#brandon lopez

As a bassist, Lopez defies the sacred conventions of his instrument, inventing his own language with it. He plays every inch of the bass, slapping, scraping, hitting and wiping it as if it’s a large drum. He plucks, strums, bows and attacks the massive instrument with flurries of gesticulation. When choosing sparring partners, he looks for likeminded innovators, those who march through unique sonic territory without regard to what’s considered conventional. His septet combines many of these sound warriors into a single molten mind, the epitome of sonic groupthink.

Nada Sagrada began as “the gospel of sans,” a multimedia commission he performed with his septet at the 2023 Vision Festival, accompanied by Gill Arno’s live visual manipulations. Mixed down for pressing onto CD, the 40-minute-long composition takes up space without inducing claustrophobia. There are moments of dense thorniness where the full ensemble unleashes fiery energy, but these are balanced by quieter periods marked by a subset of the players probing each other with a refreshing subtlety.

This is a unique marriage of strings (Lopez’s bass, Mat Maneri’s viola and DoYeon Kim’s gayageum), electronics (Cecilia Lopez providing synthesis and Zeena Parkins playing electric harp), and drums (courtesy of Gerald Cleaver and Tom Rainey). Parkins and Cecilia Lopez conjure otherworldly textures that dance around and weave through deep arco drones and the sprightly plucks of the gayageum. Cleaver and Rainey lock onto each other, bringing about periods of intense polyrhythmic clatter. When the tide turns toward the introspective, the drummers fall back to a low energy orbit, adding spare frictional interjections and supportive patter when appropriate. Collectively, the players invoke their subconscious sensory network to realize this passionate and thought-provoking piece. It’s a call to arms, harkening back to the radical roots of fire music itself.

Carlo Ditta — Pass the Hatchet b/w Life in Heaven (Orleans)

After a lifetime of making other people sound good — as the songwriter for the Mighty Sam McClain, Willie Deville and others and as the long-time proprietor of Orleans records — Carlo Ditta carves out a space in the front for himself in this smoldering R&B single. “Pass the Hatchet” on side A revives a slithery 1966 classic by New Orleans songwriter Earl “Stereo” Stanley Oropeza, with Oropeza himself in tow. The song is a marvel of shimmery swamp guitars, squalling sax and back-slanting swagger, like Andre Williams in a deep ruminative groove. “Life in Heaven” is slower, blearier and more rickety, like a Tom Waits cut lost in the rain. There’s no hurry anywhere in these two sides, no particular urgency in catching your ear, but give it time and a moody magic will take hold, hot, humid and indolent.

Jennifer Kelly

 EMA — Outtakes from Exile EP (City Slang)

As you might expect from an EP of offcuts from a very strong album, only a few of the five tracks on the newest release from Erika M. Anderson are truly essential, but nothing here is really lacking either. And those two tracks are at near opposite ends of the spectrum of EMA’s work; the 20-minute “Breathalyzer Instrumental (EMA Long Cut)” is pretty much what it says on the tin, one-third of an hour worth of the sinister, fuzzed out, gradually shifting drone and clang that underscored one of the highlights of Exile in the Outer Ring. To listeners not into this kind of thing it probably feels indulgent; for the converted, it could easily be doubled or tripled (or just, you know, looped). Whereas “From the Love That We Made,” which Anderson feels strongly enough about to play at recent shows is more distinctly song-like and intensely emotional in a way that links it to everything from Exile opening track “Seven Years” all the way back to Anderson’s “Cherylee” from her years in Gowns. The other three songs here are worthy of being collected (two being fun, darkly electronic tunes and “Anything Good” feeling like a dry run for “Down and Out” from the album with different subject matter) but it’s in those two tracks, one of which it feels like a shame there wasn’t room for on Exile and one which absolutely would not have fit in, that are the best reminders of EMA’s talents.  

Ian Mathers

  Billy Gomberg — Beginners (Dinzu Artifacts)

Beginners by Billy Gomberg

Billy Gomberg is no beginner. He’s been releasing music of his own and with Fraufraulein, a duo with Anne Guthrie, for nearly a decade. And the sound sources he uses on this tape are familiar ones — electric bass, urban field recordings, synthesizer and hand-manipulated objects. Even so, it feels like something new is happening here. Gomberg’s music has often seemed to stretch away from the listener, luring you to follow it through virtual expanses of space and time. Now it seems closer at hand, the sounds like sunning fish just under a pond’s surface. They’re simultaneously more recognizable and more processed that what he’s played in the past, creating a discreet reality that never quite loses its mystery no matter how often you play it.

Bill Meyer

 Brandon Lopez — Quoniam Facta Sum Vilis (Astral Spirits)

quoniam facta sum vilis by Brandon Lopez

One door closes, others open. Barre Phillips, the grand-père of solitary improvised double bass performance, has just closed out a half century of exploration with a final solo CD. In the same year, two musicians young enough to be his grandkids have taken up the gauntlet by releasing albums on Astral Spirits. Luke Stewart’s wasn’t quite solo; he gave his amplifier a co-starring role. But Brandon Lopez’s Quoniam Facta Sum Vilis is full-on mano a contrabass. Each of its eight tracks zeros in on a particular way to attack the instrument. Fittingly, “Vanitas” sounds like it arises from some great sonic depth to ascend to a writing platform. On “Lay,” stark figures blossom and twist like bursts of turbulent cloud erupting from a soon-to-blow volcano. The energy that Lopez expends on each track might give the listener pause. Will he stay in his corner? Will he throw the fight? No, he comes back for another round, and the listener’s the winner.

Bill Meyer

 Stefan Neville / Greg Malcolm — A Nuance (Feeding Tube)

A Nuance (2017) by Greg Malcolm + Stefan Neville

Sometimes you can listen to a record and know who engineered or produced it. Steve Albini, Steve Lillywhite, Roy Thomas Baker — these guys have a signature sound or respect for certain kinds of sound that stands out no matter who they’re recording. To that number, add New Zealander Stefan Neville. He’s mostly recorded himself, performing under the name Pumice, and anytime he gets his hands on the two-track he favors a blown-speaker distorted quality that’s unmistakably his own. That sound meets a song selection process that could best be described as “let’s call our favorite tunes and whack ‘em down” on this record, which was mostly recorded live one night in 2015 in Ohope, a surfer’s haven situated on the Bay of Plenty. Research turned up no evidence that Neville, who plays drums, keyboards, and tapes, and Malcolm, a marvelously idiosyncratic guitarist whose aesthetic cherry-picks the best of rock, jazz and the folk musics of the world, caught any waves while making this record. But their treatment of the Klezmer tune “Sirba” evokes mental images of dudes with sidecurls riding their boards right through that hole in your woofer. They aren’t confined to one mode of transportation, though; in their hands “Telstar” becomes an ode to a rocket ship held together by duct tape and the Scottish hornpipe “Banish Misfortune” soundtracks a dogged march through ruins.

Bill Meyer

 The Papercuts—Parallel Universe Blues (Slumberland)

Parallel Universe Blues by Papercuts

Jason Quever’s sixth album as Papercuts gets the balance between daydream and muscle right, shoring up his delicate melodies and shimmery guitar textures with drums in a way that much of his work between the stellar Can’t Go Back and now have not. Thus while tremulous organs and feathery fretwork strew glitter dust on tracks like “Mattress on the Floor,” while lush, choral harmonies buttress its wistful wondering, you don’t get lost in the clouds. A swaggering Spector beat punctuates airy “Laughing Man,” underlining the keen ache of its melody and resolutely preventing the cut from evaporating into mist. “Clean Living,” with its strident bowed cello and pounding toms, is even more emphatic, a drifty melancholia anchored to the here and now, and “Walk Backwards” slips a drum-pumping adrenaline into its narcotic haze. Quever’s world maintains its soft, evocative edges—there’s plenty of space for moody contemplation—but runs a through line of rhythmic motion from one end to another of his songs. Always lovely, his songs here are unusually purposeful and gripping.  

Jennifer Kelly

  Pig Destroyer — Head Cage (Relapse)

Pig Destroyer’s new LP opens with 20 seconds’ worth of Ray Noble and His Orchestra’s “Midnight, Stars and You” (which some listeners will recognize from a certain scene in Kubrick’s The Shining); over the strings, a cultivated English voice, sounding much like Margaret Thatcher, intones, “We will not be held responsible for any hearing impairments or damage caused to you from excessive exposure to this sound.” Then the record proper starts. It’s not a particularly new device, but it’s sort of funny, and it signals something about this record: Pig Destroyer are making music you can enjoy. That’s a big shift. On 2012’s terrific Book Burner, the band distanced themselves from the gratuitous gross-out splatter (and the even grosser misogyny) of earlier records like Terrifyer and Prowler in the Yard. But like that early music, Book Burner was a grindcore record: uncompromising, unrelenting, deeply pissed off. Head Cage varies the sonic palate. There’s still a heavy dose of grind, but there are also hearty portions of death metal, hardcore and even suggestions of slam. That’s not to suggest that the record is incoherent or opportunistic. Pig Destroyer have been at their craft for the better part of two decades, and all that experience shows. Songs this precise and athletic are hard to perform, and harder to compose. In addition to all the pace and volume, Pig Destroyer have discovered a groove: check out the supple bottom end and nigh-danceable riffing of “Army of Cops” and the first minute of “The Adventures of Jason and JR.” There’s even a sort-of love song. Fun may not have been on the agenda when Pig Destroyer were creating these songs, but it’s hard not to have some fun listening to this madly pinballing, energetic album. 

Jonathan Shaw  

 Quietus—Volume Four (Ever/Never)

Volume Four by Quietus

Geoffrey Bankowski makes slow, somnolent, surreal music, employing the usual tools of bedroom recording—hushed voice, lingering tones of guitar and piano, tape hiss—in hypnotic, idiosyncratic patterns. Here, simple melodies course through complex architectures of noise and music. A clarinet soars over clatter and dissonance. Odd, evocative fragments of lyrics drift in and out of focus. It’s a gentle ride, but surreptitiously wild, lulling you into calm, even as it takes you to some very odd places. “Airfield” for instance has a sleepy indie rock surface, all strummy guitar backdrop and whispered fantasies. Still anarchy lurks in the sounds between phrases, muted clashes and hums and booms suggesting a fight in the room down the hall. Likewise “Whisper into Muddy Cloth” slouches into being, a dirty rain of guitar chords pelting slack murmured phrases; it could be home-taped Pavement or nascent Silver Jews. And yet, a scrim of noise obscures whatever’s pop at the core of these songs, grounds them in a lo-fi bank of decomposing organic matter and makes them both realer and harder to grasp than you’d expect.

Jennifer Kelly

 Underworld/Iggy Pop — Teatime Dub Encounters EP (Caroline International)

Other than, er, both appearing on the soundtrack of Trainspotting (the sequel to which was the catalyst to this EP, where soundtrack supervisor Rick Smith met with Iggy Pop and to the latter’s surprise were ready with a portable studio if he was willing to seize the moment…) it’s unclear how much overlap the fan bases of these two titans in their fields actually have, but the unexpectedly winning Teatime Dub Encounters ought to have something for both. “Bells and Circles” immediately establishes the mood, with a clearly whimsical Pop talking about having wings and smoking on airplanes and trying to pick up stewardess while Karl Hyde and opera singer/Smith’s daughter Esme Bronwen-Smith (both in fine voice) coax him into a refrain of “sunlight on my wings” that’s as beatific as anything on Barbara, Barbara We Face a Shining Future. While much of the EP’s material works in that register, with beautifully sculpted productions from Smith given an appealingly ramshackle feel by Pop’s vamping about losing his shirt and being trapped in the suburbs, there’s also the slightly melancholy, surprisingly moving “I’ll See Big,” where Pop reminisces about the nature of friendship and the way life changes relationships. As one element of a more joyous overall work it’s strongly effective, but much of Teatime Dub Encounters suggests neither Underworld nor Iggy Pop need are in any hurry to stop creating.  

Ian Mathers

 Various Artists — Seed Blunt / AC DC (Gilded Records)

Seed Blunt / AC DC by Vibrating Skull Trio // Packard/Hoogland

When two ensembles share a recording, one hopes to find some shared resonance. You could listen for a while and keep puzzling, but you don’t have to look too far to find the common vibe on this tape. Both sessions were improvised in Chicago, mostly by Chicagoans. Vibrating Skull Trio, which includes drummer Phil Sudderberg, prepared guitar player Eli Namay and clarinetist John McCowen, obtain an electronic-sounding foundation from the latter’s contrabass clarinet. Further pursuing paradox, their music feels patient even when it arises from the collision of agitated actions. Flip the tape and you’ll find a more fractious encounter between Dutch keyboardist Oscar Jan Hoogland and Chicago-based drummer Ryan Packard. Both men bring plenty of electronics into the fray, so that it often sounds like a sound clash between a drum machine and an old radio tuned to somewhere east of Istanbul. Electric sputter gives way to reluctant exchanges of feedback squiggles punctuated by cheap electric key plunks. The two sides of this tape don’t sound like each other, but they jointly make a strong case for not sounding like those who have come before you.

Bill Meyer

  Matt Weston—This Is Your Rosemont Horizon (7272 Music)

This Is Your Rosemont Horizon by Matt Weston

Chicagoans of a certain age will get the reference. But for the benefit of everyone else, the Rosemont Horizon was once the name of an arena situated just northeast of O’Hare Airport. Depending on your age and tastes, you might have had your life changed there by Madonna, Andrea Bocelli, Taylor Swift or Queen; this writer cherishes memories of a pretty rocking night involving Sonic Youth, Neil Young & Crazy Horse and thousands of pissed-off Neil Young fans. Matt Weston might have been there that night, but this record doesn’t sound like anything you’ve ever heard coming from any stadium PA. People move on, and Weston’s moved into an idiosyncratic extension of INA-GRM electro-acoustic composition filtered through some more contemporary rock and glitch moves. Keyboards dance, needles scratch and bump and monolithic sound walls grow out of the splatter and evaporate in the echoing space of some airport terminal. It’s just the thing for when you don’t want any questions answered.

Bill Meyer

 Xylouris White — Mother (Bella Union)

George Xylouris and Jim White have, for three albums now, shown that their collaboration is among the best places to catch these two supremely talented musicians. Even existing fans of the Xylouris musical dynasty in Greece (George specializing in the lute-like laouto) and White’s drumming with the Dirty Three and Nick Cave’s band might have been surprised at just how much the two have shone together. With Mother, for the first time one of their albums begins with the big bang rather than moving towards it, with the one-two punch of the forbidding “In Media Res” and the incredibly fun “Only Love” beginning things strongly and the album gradually exploring less urgent rhythms until it winds up with a beautiful closing “Lullabye.” About the faintest praise you can damn Mother with is that it’s another excellent, compulsively listenable album from the duo, but whereas 2016’s Black Peak marked a leap forward from their debut, here there’s less of a significant progression than a refinement. And that’s not really a criticism; when you’re as adroit and compelling in conversation as Xylouris White is, it’s hard to hope for much more than many future albums like this.