#michael feuerstack

Aarktica and Black Tape for a Blue Girl — Eating Rose Petals (Projekt: Archive)

Eating Rose Petals by Aarktica and Black Tape for a Blue Girl

Aarktica’s Jon DeRosa and Black Tape for a Blue Girl’s Sam Rosenthal have known each other for a long time, but this release is the first time they’ve actually worked together. Rosenthal was so struck by the title song, one of the few from Aarktica’s 2019 release Mareación to feature DeRosa’s vocals, that with the latter’s permission and participation he created the almost 19-minute “Fleeting Rose Petals”, which features the original track backwards with wordless additional vocals from DeRosa, plus additional material by Rosenthal before and after it. The original (also included here, along with the closing “Valley of the Roses” which features Rosenthal further reworking the additional material from “Fleeting Rose Petals”) already felt like a single lambent moment in time suspended and held, and by reworking and reconfiguring that material over a full 37-minute span that effect is only intensified. 

Ian Mathers

 Altaat & Euter — Split (Ikuisuus)

split by Altaat / Euter

Two experimental drone outfits from Finland play extended abstract compositions on this split LP. Altaat’s sidelong “Palava Palaava” sounds like an orchestra tuning up in a wind tunnel as it splices long bowed tones with the rush and whir of large machinery. But however, chaotic that may sound, the actual effect is quite serene, the om of dissonant overtones melting into a white noise background of rattling, humming, whooshing mechanical sounds. Altaat’s Niko Karlsson and Miki Brunou, along with Jari Koho, subsume the noisy clatter of the post-industrial era into a dream-like, beckoning hiss. Euter, also a duo but not willing to give up personal names, works a less organically grounded sound, filling an expansive, echoey space with chortling, wobbling synth cadences, metallic clangs and staticky, between-stations blare. The long “Slowly Underwater,” unfolds in chilly surreality. You get the sense of vast metal furnaces blowing out corrosive chemical clouds, of mechanical sensors picking up and sending signals and of chittering, hurrying life amid ruins. (No, I’m not hearing anything especially watery.) “Magnetic Mammals,” which follows, is similarly machine-like and ominous, picking up vast, sirening sounds as if from a distance with bubbling bursts of radio interference in the foreground. Altaat’s side is certainly closer to conventional Western classical music, but Euter finds some intriguing, disquieting spaces. Makes you wonder what they’re putting in the water up there in reindeer land.

Jennifer Kelly

 Rrill Bell — Ballad of the External Life (Elevator Bath)

ballad of the external life by Rrill Bell ////// aka The Preterite

One of the challenges of early electronic music was its labor intensity; it could take months of recording, processing, card-punching and pondering to come up with a few minutes of music. But tools change, and with them, opportunities for access open up. The music of Rrill Bell, a German-based American musician, makes that lengthy process shake hands with instant performance. Originally trained as a percussionist, he works mainly with tapes, which he records, uses in performance, and in the course of performance, records over and re-uses again. But in concert, he tends to improvise with these materials, making split-second decisions that occasionally get preserved for potential re-visiting.  

If that sounds like a recipe for frenetic sonic action, it’s not. Mr. Bell’s tastes in original sounds tend towards bells and environmental captures, and he rarely crowds the mix. Tones squiggle and unspool, unidentifiable bumps appear and disappear, and birds chirp at the periphery. It’s easy to characterize this as ambient music, since a low-volume listen is pleasant but undemanding. But keep in mind that successful ambient music must be interesting as well as ignorable, and the dream-like sound walk of Ballad of the External Life still delivers.  

Bill Meyer

Black Country, New Road — For the First Time (Ninja Tune)

For the first time by Black Country, New Road

“Sunglasses” erupts out of a blare of feedback, a roar of guitar noise that splinters and disintegrates as you trace its melody. Synths sound like police sirens. It’s all very slow and ominous, and for a minute, all those Slint comparisons make sense. And then it resolves into something like an indie rock song, spoke-sung over thunderous drums by one Isaac Wood, he of the tremulous voice and the unreliable narrative, whose art song proclivities may bring bands like Wild Beasts to mind, though without the fey falsetto. The song is a marvel of bravado and doubt, working the soft seam between ordinary male adolescence and mental illness, and the sunglasses play a key part. Says Wood, “I am looking at you with my best eyes and I wish you could tell/I wish all my kids would stop dressing up like Richard Hell/I am locked away in a high-tech/Wraparound, translucent, blue-tinted fortress/And you cannot touch me.” (Also, later, “I am more than adequate/Leave Kanye out of it,” which strikes me as brilliant for reasons I can’t fathom.) The point is that there are startling, riveting lyrics here, of the sort that you could make a case for leaving it unadorned, but Black Country, New Road is not interested in simplicity. The rather large ensemble includes not just the regular rock instruments but saxophone, violin and synths, all knotted up in proggy complexities and paced by a drummer (Charlie Wayne) good enough to give Black Midi’s Morgan Simpson a run for his money (the two bands are aligned and friends and Black Midi gets a name check in one of the songs). Indeed, the opening track of this six-cut collection is aptly titled “Instrumental,” a whirling gypsy klezmer cubist fantasy that is, if anything, nervier and more complicated than the vocal tracks. This is exciting, volatile stuff that could go anywhere from here.

Jennifer Kelly

 Deniz Cuylan — No Such Thing As Free Will (Hush Hush)

No Such Thing As Free Will by Deniz Cuylan

Everything about Deniz Cuylan’s solo debut is understated. Six instrumental tracks running to just 27 minutes, released on the fittingly named Hush Hush Records, No Such Thing As Free Will seeks to evoke something subtle and universal out of minimal ingredients. There’s a robust architecture to this music, generating a sober, contemplative mood. Arpeggios on nylon-string classical guitar cycle around in precise arcs, gently bolstered by piano, clarinet and cello. The space in opener “Clearing” shyly invites the listener in; the record reaches a modest peak in the bright harmonics of “She Was Always Here” and the almost joyful elegance of “Flaneurs in Hakone”; then the music recedes into a melancholic fog on the closing title track. It’s telling, therefore, that Cuylan has worked as a soundtrack composer — his music feels complementary, receding modestly into life’s scenery rather than commanding the spotlight. 

Tim Clarke

 Arnold de Boer — Minimal Guitar (Makkum) 

MINIMAL GUITAR by arnolddeboer

Somedays you just don’t do what you’re supposed to do. At the end of the last summer, Arnold de Boer decided to extend his holiday by a day and take a walk around town. When he got back home, he sat down, picked up an instrument and listened to the music that came out of his fingers. The music was no more expected than the activity that preceded it. Instead of the rough, voltage-enhanced intricacy of the music he plays with The Ex or his one-man band, Zea, de Boer played a set of acoustic guitar solos. Neither ostentatious nor self-consciously rustic, de Boer’s playing tends to zero in on an idea and see where it wants to go. Each rhythmic pattern, decaying harmonic, or rap on the body proposes an idea, which de Boer either explores or restates with minimal variation. Ah, there’s that word. This isn’t a study in minimalism, but an appreciation of how little you need to do if the original idea is sound. 

Bill Meyer

Dusk + Blackdown — Rinse FM Mix January 28, 2021 (Rinse FM)

Rinse FM · Keysound (100% Keysound Production Mix) - 28 January 2021

I’m not sure there’s a place left on the internet better suited to explaining the rise of grime, dubstep and its attendant mutations than Martin Clark’s aging Blogspot under his Blackdown alias. From ground zero in London, Clark has been documenter, eyewitness and participant alike, a true lifer fully evidenced by his longtime partnership with Dan Frampton, aka Dusk, showcasing new music on their monthly Rinse radio show and Keysound Recordings record label. They’re an essential part of the culture, so it’s especially pleasant when they serve up some of their own riches. After the traditional December year-end roundup show, Dusk and Blackdown came roaring out of the gates in January with an all-Keysound broadcast in the middle of the night that features gobs of unreleased rollage over its two hours. It’s a nice reminder that though time may pass, URLs may cut out and memories may dim, some are still putting in the work one release, one radio show, one listen at a time. The sound is the key is right.

Patrick Masterson   

 EKG — 200 Years Of Electricals (Bandcamp) 

200 Years of Electricals by EKG (Ernst Karel & Kyle Bruckmann)

Most things don’t hold their value. Why should time be any different? So, if Gabriel Garcia Marquez wrote 100 Years of Solitude in the 1960s, EKG might as well proclaim 200 Years Of Electricals in 2021. EKG is Kyle Bruckmann (double reeds, analog electronics, organ) and Ernst Karel (analog electronics, microphones). The duo first convened in the mid-1990s, when both men lived in Chicago, and Karel was mainly known as a trumpeter. They’ve carried on in sporadic fashion ever since, playing increasingly rare concerts as each man moved away from his original home base. They’ve turned snippets from these shows into subdued musical constructions, which they’ve issued on a number of compact discs over the years. For their first release in over a decade, the duo, who currently both live in the Bay area, have ditched the trumpet and the physical album format, and incorporated some of the field recordings that have become Karel’s main sound material in his solo work. But in other respects, this effort is every bit as concerned with iteration and inevitability as Marquez’ book. When you flip a switch, something hums. When you layer quiet sounds, they don’t necessarily get louder, but they do exert a stronger magnetism upon your ear. And you when spread your quietness over a vast stretch of silence, efforts to follow the sound inevitably do strange things to your sense of time. Wait, how many years have we been listening to that crackle? Why stop now?

Bill Meyer  

 Michael Feuerstack — Harmonize the Moon (Forward Music Group)

Harmonize the Moon by Michael Feuerstack

Montreal-based singer-songwriter Michael Feuerstack sweeps aside all extraneous fluff on his new album, Harmonize the Moon, zeroing in on precise finger-picked guitar parts, vivid lyrical imagery and a stark, affecting tone. He has a knack for smuggling blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments of understated wonder into traditional-sounding folk songs you’ll imagine you’ve heard somewhere before. Indeed, he wryly admits to recycling the past in the opening song: “I used to be a singer, bumping around in the astral plane / Picking up astral trash, to polish it up again.” Though the foundation of guitar and vocals carries most of the weight, there’s tasteful reinforcement from vocal harmonies, electric guitar, lap steel, bass and drums. Amid these clean, spare arrangements, some of the lines stop you in your tracks, like the following from “Too Kind”: “The world is broken mirrors, traps and triggers / And cold blood pools in the kindest eyes.” With 10 finely honed songs running to just over half an hour, everything is measured and rather lovely. (Beautiful cover art, too.) 

Tim Clarke

Michael and Peter Formanek — Dyads (Out Of Your Head Records) 

Dyads by Michael and Peter Formanek

Virtuoso bassist, stalwart sideman, solid bandleader, fearless improviser, intriguing composer — Michael Formanek is all of those things, but he’s also a cool dad. At least that’s what it looks like from the outside. Not only did he include his son, Peter, in his musical activities from an early age, giving the youngster a chance to sit in with the likes of Tim Berne and Jim Black. Upon Peter’s return home from college, he joined him in a working duo. Dyads is their first recording, and it is testimony to the merits of giving the kid first-hand experience in the family business. Peter, who plays tenor saxophone and clarinet, has learned the merits of having a bold tone, a flexible improvisational approach and a way with a tune. Their performances unfold with a combination of patience and pith, which permits the listener to savor the elegance with which each musician supports the other. 

Bill Meyer

 Chris Forsyth & the Solar Motel Band — Rare Dreams: Solar Live 2.27.18 (No Quarter)

Rare Dreams: Solar Live 2.27.18 by Chris Forsyth & The Solar Motel Band

Chris Forsyth teams with Sunwatchers Peter Kerlin and Jason Robira at London’s Café OTO for expansive, incendiary jams that will remind you like a physical ache of what you’ve been missing in live music this awful year. “Dream in the Non-Dream” is a wide-horizon, endless vamp, driven ever forward by Kerlin and Robira in lock-sync, while Forsyth ratchets up tension with a car jack, then spins it off in wreckless, fiery abandon. “The First Ten Minutes of Cocksucker Blues” similarly balances rigor and open-ended-ness, marking off the measures with a hammering, repetitive cadence that becomes a mantra over time. There are also two Neil Young covers, both tending towards the electrified, Crazy Horse side of things, a slow by blistering “Don’t Be Denied” and a raucous “Barstool Blues” from Zuma. It’s all great stuff, and it might hold you for a month or two until we can all crowd up to the stage again.

Jennifer Kelly

 Alexander Hawkins — Togetherness Music (Intakt)

Togetherness Music by Alexander Hawkins

Whether you listen to him in duos with Evan Parker or Tomeka Reid, small bands like the Chicago/London Underground or Decoy, or leading his own ensembles, English keyboardist Alexander Hawkins accompanies and improvises with an astute perception of the situation’s requirements. The title Togetherness Music can be taken several ways. The six-part suite combines parts from two different commissioned pieces, and it brings together elements of free and conducted improvisation, scored chamber music, and some discrete electronic interventions. Passages showcasing Evan Parker’s intricate soprano saxophone lines and Mark Sanders’ kinetic percussion contrast and coexist with rich and patiently evolving string passages executed by the Riot Ensemble. This music feels less like a sum of differing approaches than the expression of a cohesive in which all Hawkins’ good ideas fit together. 

Bill Meyer

Russell Hoke — The Melancholy Traveller (Round Bale Recordings)

The Melancholy Traveler by Russell Hoke

This release follows up on the archival compilation A Voice From the Lonesome Playground from 2016 of Hoke’s material from small run releases of the 1980’s. With the new material here, Hoke delves into the unadulterated sound of voice and guitar or banjo, with mainly his own songs of loneliness and also the singularly bittersweet moments of existing as yourself, free and detached from society. Also covering two beautiful takes on Sandy Denny songs, which fit into the UK/US traditional direction of the rest. The album rests in the same delicate territory as other folkies such as Connie Converse, Jackson C. Frank, or even the more sedate songs of Daniel Johnston. What brings the album together is the expressiveness in any given moment of a song. The tact and execution consistently bring the emotion of the songwriting home.

Arthur Krumins  

 In Layers — Pliable (FMR) 

Pliable by In Layers

In Layers puts up a middle finger against anyone who thinks that European unity is a passed fancy. The quartet’s members come from Portugal, Iceland and Holland, and their collective experience encompasses Nordic music theatre, lyric free jazz and the tooth-powderingly loud trio, Cactus Truck. But the music they make doesn’t really sound like any of that. Guitarist Marcelo Dos Reis, drummer Onno Govaert, pianist Kristján Martinsson and trumpeter Luís Vicente improvise music that is spacious enough to frustrate viral transmission, but composed of elements hefty enough to tip a scale. There’s plenty of bravura playing, but the displays are subordinate to the music’s abstract cohesion. You won’t hum it, but you won’t forget it, either. 

Bill Meyer

 Just For the Record: Conversations With and About “Blue” Gene Tyranny

Composer, writer and pianist Robert Sheff, better known as “Blue” Gene Tyranny, collaborator with everyone from Iggy Pop to Robert Ashley, passed away at the end of 2020. Just before that, David Bernabo’s documentary about Tyranny’s life and work, and more generally about the avant garde world Tyranny was a vital part of, how much of it almost vanished and the ways it continues to be vibrant even today, was released. For a while Just For the Record was available to rent, but this year Bernabo made it available for free on UbuWeb Film. It’s a wonderful watch for anyone who’s a fan of “Blue” Gene’s work, for sure. The conversations with him are near the end of his life, but his evident joy in music and art and people shines through, and the conversations with Joan La Barbara, David Grubbs, Kyle Gann and others cast new light on both his history and work and importance and the group of artists that he worked with and around. There’s so much here you almost wish for a miniseries instead (one episode on reissue labels and blogs, one on Robert Ashley’s operas, one on Tyranny’s time as a Stooge…), but given how overlooked artists like “Blue” Gene Tyranny often are, it still feels like a gift to have what’s here.

Ian Mathers

Kariu Kenji — Sekai (Bruit Direct Disques) 

Sekai is a COVID-era exercise in circumstantial lemonade-making. Kariu Kenji’s band, OWKMJ, executes intricate, quick-changing jazz rock with aplomb. Stuck alone at home, he has made a solo record that never betrays his prodigious dexterity as a guitarist. Instead, Kenji has fashioned an album of low-key, keyboard-heavy bedroom pop. It is low key, almost to a fault, since you could easily miss the subtle fault lines between clean and distorted sounds, let alone the moments when he unobtrusively pulls the rhythmic rug out from under a song. The songs poetically render small memories and quietly absurd scenarios, which are considerately translated for the benefit of people who won’t understand Kenji’s all-Japanese crooning. 

Bill Meyer

 Kid Congo and the Pink Monkeybirds — Swing from the Sean Delear (In the Red)

Kid Congo Powers has been in more great bands than anyone I can think of — The Cramps and The Gun Club to start with, but also Nick Cave’s Bad Seeds, Divine Horsemen and, just last year, the Wolfmanhattan Project with Mick Collins and Bob Bert. That’s exalted company all round, and his latest, with Pink Monkeybirds, is no slouch alongside any of them. It begins with a vamping, churning, soul-funk-psychedelic “Sean DeLear,” which commemorates the recently deceased Bay Area punk-fashion icon in exultant, chandelier-swinging style.  All three side one cuts are bangers, spinning out Sam & Dave bass-and-drum foundations into dayglow garage extravaganzas, but the 14-minute b-side “He Walked In” takes things in another direction, slowing the pace down and letting the music smoulder, a trippy hippy flute weaving through heat-shimmered desert psychedelia. Like the opener, it’s an elegy, this time to Gun Club front man, Jeffrey Lee Pierce, a haunted surf rock dreamscape where spirits dwell.

Jennifer Kelly

 Katy Kirby — Cool Dry Place (Keeled Scales)

Cool Dry Place by Katy Kirby

Katy Kirby makes a stripped down, lofi pop that aspires to bigger things. Even low-key, acoustic strummed, bedroom ballads like “Eyelids” are always on the verge of busting out into flute-y, melismatic diva choruses. Even the tender “Cool Dry Place,” dreams of a big pop payoff and gets there in the end. And the single “Traffic!” is strung through with the tension between its muted, all-natural melody and the crescendoing climax that waits at the end. Here Kirby’s plain, wholesome voice gets threaded with fluttering autotune, not because she can’t hit the notes, but because that’s how big pop songs sound. This is the opposite of Katy Perry doing carpool karaoke. It’s acoustic, unadorned versions of songs that long for mainstream gloss and glamor.

Jennifer Kelly

 The Koreatown Oddity — “Breastmilk” b/w “My Name Is Dominique” (Stones Throw)

Breastmilk by The Koreatown Oddity

“I got the hook-up from my baby mama / While you fetish freaks get it off the black market.” If the cover art left any room for doubt, the lyrics soon make it clear that Dominique Purdy’s approach to the subject of his latest single is every bit as literal as it is cartoonish. While albums like last year’s Little Dominiques Nosebleed put the Koreatown Oddity’s powers as a storyteller on full display, the rapper’s rhetorical mode here is ostensibly argumentative, with appeals to the all-naturalness — and deliciousness — of his preferred “regimen”:“You looking at me like I’m a strange human / But you drinking cow’s milk — fuck is you doing?” In the space of just two and a half minutes, he also achieves a hilarious upending of a range of hip-hop tropes, from the objectification of women to the glorification of illicit substances, not to mention MC braggadocio. There may even be a comment on fatherhood in there, too, for anyone who really wants to go looking.  

The b-side of the 7” offers something different altogether, a stiff-legged but hypnotic beat beset by periodic electronic splatters and the somewhat manic refrain: “My name is Dominique and I’m a fresh musician.” Indeed.  

Eric McDowell

Bobby Lee — Origin Myths (Tompkins Square)

Origin Myths by Bobby Lee

A swamp-gassed shimmer hangs over Bobby Lee’s electric blues, as notes bloom and waver and subside like ghostly lights in a humid dusk. Bobby Lee, the man, lives in Sheffield, England, but his music dwells in some lysergic delta, in the south but not entirely of it or anywhere else. Listen to the way that notes flicker in the steady runs of “Broken Prayer Stick,” a regular cadence of them left to warp and wander in steamy sunshine. Or the way that sustained tones drift like seaweed in “Looking for Pine and Obsidian,” losing themselves in thickets of overtone and echo. Bobby Lee would likely find a kindred spirit in Tarotplane’s PJ Dorsey or in William Tyler in a transcendental mood. Like them, his blues drift towards revelation but very, very slowly.

Jennifer Kelly  

 Nashville Ambient Ensemble — Cerulean (Centripetal Force)

Thinking of Nashville doesn't typically bring to mind ambient music, nor does the image of pedal steel guitar typically suggest the work of an electronic composer. Nashville Ambient Ensemble, though, mixes those elements. What makes the group's debut album Cerulean feel special isn't its oddness — other acts, of course, do this sort of dreamy work — but that the Nashville elements remain so present. Pedal steel player Luke Schneider does much of the work to create that feel. The instrument itself has long since moved out of its traditional settings (a quick dip into the music of Susan Alcorn, for example, can prompt a fun rabbit trail of the guitar far removed from Western swing), but composer Michael Hix and this group enjoyably maintain the country signifiers even while moving into far spacier terrain. Some of the album pushes toward psychedelic swirls, but the ensemble restrains these gestures. As they head west out of Nashville, they resist simply playing a given genre with a gimmick. Cerulean isn't spaced out country, and it isn't twanged-up ambient. Instead, the group develops its own curious space.

Justin Cober-Lake

 Neutrals — "Personal Computing” b/w “In the Future” (Slumberland)

Personal Computing by neutrals

The clever punk lifers in Neutrals upload two incisive songs about technology here. The a-side, “Personal Technology,” bashes antically through a tale of a young man with an, ahem, very committed relationship with computer paraphernalia, amid crashing, Clash-like chords and rumbling bass and drums. As noted when Neutrals’ 2020 EP Rent/Your House pried Dusted’s Jonathan Shaw away from black metal mid-last year, the front-person Allan McNaughton retains a Glaswegian accent, despite decades stateside, which gives these two cuts a rough Northern post-punk glamor. But the obsession with last year’s state-of-the-art, the excruciating torture of “loading,” is all Silicon Valley, enjoying BDSM with its peripherals. The b-side takes a somewhat more expansive view of technology, asking a la Dan Melchior what happened to the flying cars we were promised. Both are sharp and stinging and utterly catchy. I’d call it old school except for its fascination with the new.

Jennifer Kelly

 Nun Gun — Mondo Decay (Algiers Recordings/Witty Books)

Mondo Decay is the audio component of a recent collaboration between Algiers’ multi-instrumentalist Lee Tesche and visual artist Brad Feuerheim (who drums on four of the tracks). The two bonded over a mutual love of 1970s Italian cannibal zombie films and their soundtracks. Joined by fellow Algiers member Ryan Mahan and a roster of guest vocalists including Mark Stewart (The Pop Group), ONO and Mourning [A] BLKstar, Tesche reconfigures the soundtracks to make explicit the connections between present conditions and the socio-political turmoil that informed the original films. Musically that means claustrophobic dub inflected industrial grind, hip-hop influenced cut-ups, mutant disco and plenty of noirish saxophone. Nun Gun emphasizes atmospheric atrophy and deliberate decay with great and pointed effect to create a terrifically dark soundtrack to accompany the book of Feuerheim’s bleak photographs of post-industrial malaise.

Andrew Forell  

 Oui Ennui — Virga​/​Recrudescence (self-released)

Virga/Recrudescence by Oui Ennui

In the words that accompany the release of Jonn Wallen’s second album of 2021, he says that “when rationalizing yet another synthesizer purchase, I've often remarked to myself, ‘Well why wouldn't I want that color? I'll have it.’” It’s that attachment to messing around with new toys, a mass of streaks of rain appearing to hang under a cloud and evaporating before reaching the ground (“Virga”), the recurrence of an undesirable condition (“Recrudescence”), and what seems to be a whole lot of Brian Eno (“Oblique Strategies”) that informs these two extended avant-garde digressions. “Virga” is a roaring 24-minute star birth that veers into plinking helicopter rotaries without warning at one point, while “Recrudescence” covers more ground both literal (it’s 39 minutes) and figurative (woodland creatures, Space Age percolations and various rhythms sprout up throughout). Likely better experienced at high volume in a small club setting, we’ll have to settle instead for our headphones barely handling another intriguing development in the ongoing Oui Ennui experiment. How long before DFA co-founder Jonathan Galkin stops lurking in his Bandcamp buys and starts offering him a deal, I wonder? 

Patrick Masterson 

 Payroll Giovanni \ Cardo — Another Day Another Dollar (BYLUG Entertainment)

At some point in his career, Payroll Giovanni switched from worker to boss. His new album with the producer Cardo is another chapter in the Boss of All Bosses saga. Songs on the CD approximate the language of business manuals and the cheap sloganeering of workers union reps. Work harder, save more, invest, save again — the usual tips handed down to the unfortunate few who didn’t make it like Payroll did. By the middle of the album, you start to feel like you are at a stakeholders meeting where the CEO went for rapping instead of a PowerPoint presentation. When the rapper fails, it’s hardly the producer’s fault, so Cardo just plays up to Payroll with lazy, muzak-ish beats. 

Ray Garraty

 Rio da Yung Og \ Nuez — Life of a Yung Og (Southern Giants/Ghetto Boyz)

Rio da Yung Og has been working with a lot of producers (and quite a few of them later got their fame because of it), but up until now he hasn’t released a collaboration with a single producer. His EP with Nuez came out of nowhere but it is a nice change of beats. Up to now, Rio has mostly recorded his raps with very bassy beats. Nuez provides a Southern vibe, more relaxed and less heavy on the bass, which allows to Rio shine. At this point it’s evident that Rio da Yung Og saves his best lines for his solo work (just compare this EP with simultaneously released Heatcheck EP, a collaborative work with artists of varying degrees of talent). In fact, the whole 21 minutes seem to be recorded in one single sleepless studio session with Rio freestyling his way through under the heavy influence of lean. This is Rio at his most desperate, just before his five-year bid in the federal pen. On “Whatchu Need” and “Last Call” (thanks to Nuez’s production) he sounds close to the early Scarface in a paranoid mode. 

Ray Garraty 

 Ben Roidl-Ward and Zachary Good — arb (Carrier) 

arb by Zachary Good and Ben Roidl-Ward

A decade back, bassoonist Ben Roidl-Ward and clarinetist Zachary Good were students at Oberlin College. The two friends formed a duo, The Arboretum, which performed new works. Nowadays they teach and perform separately, but share an apartment in Chicago. When the city got locked down and their gigs dried up, they revived the band, after a fashion. The six pieces on arb (named after that first project), which clocks in at just under half an hour, focus on a single musical phenomenon. Each musician plays sustained multiphonics (a technique whereby a horn player sings or hums a note while playing another) that are pitched close enough that their sounds interfere as well as blend with one another. The interactions can be dramatic; on “Guby,” the clarinet sounds like it is keying morse code into the fabric of the bassoon’s timbres. Listening to this music is a bit like staring at a heat mirage; the harder and longer you focus, the less certain you are of your own perceptions. 

Bill Meyer.

 Rotura — Estamos Fracasando (Self-released)

Estamos fracasando by Rotura

This new EP of melodic anarcho-punk from Barcelona is deceptively breezy stuff. Rotura’s guitars have some crunch and the rhythm section is tight — think Subhumans c. Rats meets Orange County in 1982. But the alto vocals of Silvia (no last names provided) are clean and tuneful, and there are seductive hooks galore. All the musical excitements and pleasures contrast with the intense reports of misery and struggle in the lyrics. “Pisadas (Confinament)” sounds like a COVID-period song, documenting the sound of footsteps resounding through a network of deserted streets and abandoned shops; “Sobrevivir”engages the manifold alienations and inhumanities that attend the refugee crisis in Europe’s Mediterranean nations. Upbeats subjects, those ain’t. But the music keeps your hips shaking and your head nodding. Rotura constructs lively sonic spaces in which to encounter some sharply political punk discourse. One of the EP’s best songs is “Palabras,” which sets to music a poem included in Svetlana Alexandrovna Alexievich’s The Unwomanly Face of War (1987); like much of that book, “Palabras” speaks in the voice of a female combat veteran of the Soviet Army, one who served in World War II. It’s a terrific song, from a very good punk record.

Jonathan Shaw

 Sahara — The Curse (Regain Records)

The Curse by Sahara

Argentine miscreants Sahara bill themselves as a “stoner doom” band, and one wonders why anybody would willingly self-apply a label so surpassingly stupid to music they made and presumably care about. The middle-schooler-with-a-magic-marker degree of technical polish on the art for the cassette’s j-card doubles down on the crispy-fried semiotics — but sort of lovably so. This reviewer was rather charmed. If you can penetrate the choking layers of weed smoke and unironic hesherdom to press play, you may be pleasantly surprised. Sahara’s songs don’t evoke Kyuss or Acid Witch nearly so much as Blue Cheer, and that’s a really good thing. It’s power-trio, bluesy-boogie music, played by dudes who cut their teeth on Master of Reality and No Sleep ‘til Hammersmith (with just a little Physical Graffiti in the mix, for the boogie). While no wheels are being reinvented (or competently balanced, for that matter), there’s a winning rawker quality to the enterprise, kicked up a notch or three by the unambiguously great time these guys are having playing the tunes. It won’t be for everyone: it sounds like it was recorded in someone’s Dad’s garage, and the songs have titles like “Altar of Sacrifice” and “The Curse (instrumental).” But if you love the fact that they included “(instrumental)” in parens, it could be for you. Buyer beware: when listening, you may find yourself suddenly craving a sheet of brownies. The entire sheet.  

Jonathan Shaw

 Bernard Santacruz / Michael Zerang — Cardinal Point (Fundacja Sluchaj)

Cardinal Point by Bernard Santacruz & Michael Zerang

French bassist Bernard Santacruz and Assyrian-American percussionist Michael Zerang have encountered each other in larger ensembles on either side of the ocean since the turn of the century, but it took them until the autumn of 2019 to record a distillation of their musical concord. Beyond their shared history, they are matched in depth of experience. Both were born in the latter half of the 1950s, and each has passed through a myriad of improvisational settings on their way to developing their respective styles. Santacruz is an economical player with a beautiful, rounded tone. Zerang can supply whatever rhythm you need, but whenever freed from time-keeping requirements, he gravitates to sounds that project the movement and friction required to make them. So, while this is a record made with drums and a double bass, it’s by no means a groove-bound affair; melodic fragments confront seething ruptures, and strings and skins knot together into thickets of texture. Each man maintains his individuality while they jointly solve the problems of collaborative music-making.

Bill Meyer   

 Ignaz Schick & Oliver Steidle — ILOG2 (Zarek)

ILOG2 by Ignaz Schick & Oliver Steidle

 These two German gentlemen lay down a bizarre yet intriguing hybrid of free jazz, hip hop and musique concrète on their sophomore effort as a duo. Schick is a serial collaborator who divides his time between turntablism and saxophone skronk. Steidle, on the other hand, is rooted in the free jazz world as a drummer. Together they conjure two distinct modes: ADHD-inspired percussion-and-noise workouts and atmospheric electronics-forward soundscapes. Between these two disparate personalities, the more aggressive one tends to dominate. It’s in this high-energy state that the duo dwells in the worlds of hip hop, jungle and free jazz. Steidle’s drumming is out in front, as he deftly throws himself around the kit with the enthusiasm of Lightning Bolt’s Brian Chippendale. Schick takes an everything-but-the-kitchen-sink approach to noise-making. His Bomb Squad-meets-Pierre Schaeffer method of weaving snippets of speech, instrumental passages, drones, and blasts of noise is the perfect foil for Steidle’s frenetic skin-pounding. Schick and Steidle tug at the outer limits of beat-making with their unusual blend of electro-acoustic sound, and while they let a slight touch of the ethereal temper their blaze, the sparks still fly. 

Bryon Hayes 

 John Tejada — Year Of The Living Dead (Kompakt)

Year Of The Living Dead by John Tejada

On Year Of The Living Dead, John Tejada chases the human through machines, seeking the traces of connection and shadows of loss blurred by the conditions we continue to live through. His minimal dub-inflected techno is immaculately produced and composed rather than constructed. Suffused with warmth and emotional depth, Tejada employs a sonic palette the elasticity of which makes his music generously expansive and resonant. Melancholy chord progressions, heartbeat percussion, a bottom end in turns ominous and cocooning.  The 4X4 structure provides a framework in which Tejada is free to focus on the granular aspects of tone, pitch, ebb and flow so that while on the surface his brand of microhouse may sound “all the same” there is both plenty of interest for home listeners and danceable beats for the more active. There’s no abrasion here, no confrontation, little to challenge but Tejada’s music moves along with the relentless soft power of molten molasses.

Andrew Forell

 Tree — Soul Trap (self-released)

SOUL TRAP by TREE

Tremaine Johnson is one of those heads who’s been around the block. He’s gotten that MTV airtime, he’s done records with Chris Crack and Vic Spencer, he’s outlasted a car company that sponsored one of his EPs, he’s performed at Pitchfork. But maybe more than anything, the Chicago rapper and producer wants to make sure he doesn’t forget his roots as the father of “soul trap” — and you don’t, either. Following steadily on from 2020’s abbreviated The Blue Tape and nearly two years on from his last proper full-length We Grown Now, Tree has lost none of his step as he rounds 40 years aboard this tainted orb exuding the confidence of a relaxed auteur rowing through verses and songs at his own pace; his sandpaper vocals sound at ease with his beats as he addresses negotiating parenthood, bills, the creation and maintenance of his art. Though these tracks had reportedly been sitting around for years before Soul Trap’s release, listening to this album only goes to serve the greater point that the man has a style out of step and time with his contemporaries. That’s worth more than remembering; it’s worth celebrating.

Patrick Masterson

 Dave Tucker / Pat Thomas / Thurston Moore / Mark Sanders — Educated Guess (577 Records) 

Hale, hearty, and steeped in the lore of a multitude of American underground art movements, Thurston Moore always seemed like a guy who was creatively rooted in his native soil. But he seems to have found solid footing since moving to England. On this record, he fits right into an improvising ensemble that is composed of Café Oto regulars. Keyboardist Pat Thomas, drummer Mark Sanders and guitarist and electronic musician Dave Tucker, who convened the quartet, are all long-standing members of London’s improvised music scene. But Moore, a punk from way back when, was probably quite tickled that Tucker played with the Fall for a brief spell in 1981. The sound they develop over the course of this set is pleasingly unbounded, with fragments of monster movie sound design and some jungle-style drum machine beats that could have been pulled from a pirate radio broadcast in 1994 sharing space with cavernous prepared piano, restless percussive exploration, and Moore sounding just like himself, but respectfully restrained when the moment demands. 

Bill Meyer

 Karima Walker — Waking the Dreaming Body (Keeled Scales)

Waking the Dreaming Body by Karima Walker

Karima Walker’s second album considers the full-ness of empty space. Her songs, if that’s what they are, arise out of soft, slow drones that fluctuate in a natural way, like tides or winds or aurora borealis. They incorporate natural desert sounds captured from near at hand as she locked down in Arizona, and they unfold in a sublimely gradual way as if, like the growth of plants, the movement of continents, the melting of snow, they cannot be rushed but must proceed on their own terms. She sings, a bit, in brief, dream-haunted phrases that seem as distant and unknowable as the organ tones that swell around her. “Reconstellated” best represents her eerie blend of human and electronic sounds, internal dialogue and the wide spaces of the natural world. She murmurs, “Sonoran sky plays a movie/Draw a line to the stars inside of me/Write it down, tell your friends/I know where I am but I can’t tell where I started,” against a blipping, percolating atmosphere. The title track is, by contrast, several orders folkier and more conventional, a gentle conjunction of acoustic guitar and Walker’s clear, trilling soprano, as she considers the way the ineffable intersects with the mundane. “Seems every morning starts the same way, waking the dreaming body,” she croons in this track near the end of the album, coming up into the daylight after a long nocturnal exploration.

Jennifer Kelly

 Whisker — Moon Mood (Husky Pants)

Moon Mood by Whisker

Bassist Andrew Scott Young and multi-instrumentalist Ben Billington are luminaries of Chicago’s experimental jazz and electronic scenes as members of Tiger Hatchery, soloists and collaborators with a range of local groups. In Moon Mood  the duo performs two lengthy improvisations for double bass and electronics. Young’s bass is to the fore, and his bow work is particularly expressive as he explores the registers of his instrument. Billington works a number of patches to interpolate all nature of blips and plinks and squelchy runs that respond to and interrogate the bass. The workouts are as much an investigation of sonic limits as a demonstration of the sympathetic interaction between natural and artificial sounds, if that is even a worthwhile dichotomy these days. Moon Mood is a fascinating conversation well worth eavesdropping on.  

Andrew Forell  

 Wode — Burn in Many Mirrors (20 Buck Spin)

Burn In Many Mirrors by Wode

The guys in Manchester-based band Wode play black metal, but they don’t wear corpsepaint or futz around with severed goat’s heads and candelabras. That’s a good thing, because their music has bombast aplenty. Any additional theatrics might send the project over into a species of irritating kitsch. When Wode’s music works — as it does on “Lunar Madness,” the first track on the band’s latest LP, Burn in Many Mirrors — it’s muscular stuff, with terrific momentum and gut-thudding energy. Throughout the song, vocalist Michael Czerwoniuk does his usual stuff, chewing the sonic scenery, plentiful groans and gurgles punctuating all his shouting. Even in the maximalist context of black metal vocals, he’s a handful. But on “Lunar Madness,” there’s enough interest and excitement generated by the rhythms and riffs to offset his histrionics. A couple songs on the record are shaped by oft-handled forms, and rely overmuch on Czerwoniuk’s outsized presence; upon listening to “Fire in the Hills,” you may find yourself flashing on the self-parodic antics of Jim Dandy Mangrum, or on metal heroics that were already tired on records like Bark at the Moon. That’s too bad. When Wode clicks as a unit, they can make compelling sounds. “Sulphuric Glow” moves at a dead run for nearly the entirety of its five minutes, and while Czerwoniuk’s vocal stylings are still a bit much, the riffs are fluid and furious. If he could just dial stuff back to 11, folks might be able hear the rest of the band. They’re pretty good.  

Feuerstack was one of two singer-songwriter-guitarists in Wooden Stars (along with Julien Beillard), a quirky, sometimes even mathy Montrealean indie pop band best known for its work with Julie Doiron. This solo record runs far more placidly, at least on the surface, than the Wooden Stars’ debut, The Very Same, though there are pockets of eccentricity even within these well-polished grooves.  You just have to look for them.

Indeed, Eternity Mongers’ best trick is lulling you into thinking you’re hearing garden variety indie pop, then pulling you up short. “You’re Mind’s Made Up,” an early single, proceeds with the easiest kind of flow, winding down warm currents of sax and massed vocals like an inner tube-ist on the first hot day. And yet, even here, amid the gentle contours of a song about spring coming and love ending, some existential posers rear their heads. “Am I getting through to you/If I pretend you’re someone else?” asks Feuerstack, and all of the sudden things don’t seem as clear and easy as before.

“Big Sails” likewise slouches deep in the pocket, its verse propped up by the bump of bass, the vibrato trill of organ but just barely; it seems always on the verge of drifting off into a nap. But listen to the way the guitar solo cuts right through it, or how the chorus opens up into an epic resolution. “I’ve got no particular place to go/Floating points in the distance glow/my passage is uneventful/I want to go where the big sails go,” and abruptly the song is no longer about staring off at the ocean, but instead about life and purpose and mortality.

The arrangements are integral to the way these songs pop, with Feuerstack himself singing, playing guitar and synths and occasionally weaving in some pedal steel. His core band—Michael Belyea on kit and other percussion, Kyle Cunjak playing bass and organ—grounds these melodies in an unhurried, unshowy well, while not one but two woodwind-ists blow in on saxophone, flute and clarinet.

Yet even so, the songs feel spare and unfettered, as on “Disenchanted” where the thump of drums, the nod of bass, the eerie flare of organ enhance, rather than dilute, an essential stillness. “You try to get a leg up, mind your inner child” sings Feuerstack, as a woman’s voice wafts up and around him. “You punch the clock and do your time/but the corridor goes on for miles.” It sounds exhausting, dispiriting, discouraging, but the song lifts up into transcendence and it’s hardly sad at all.