quête:bluster

As a duo they embrace both sides of the coin, drums and guitar, chaos and order, male and female, ying and yang, the angel and the devil. They are more than the sum of both counterparts though, making for a maximalist auditory experience. PIKA brings her skills of mystifying performance to the table, all free-drum bluster and vocals veering between shrine maiden and wild spirit. Kawabata's guitar-work moves from a roar to a whisper, a yell to a sob, he's working on the same canvas of extremes. The aim of their unity is to write truly celestial hymns for the outer world and odes of love for the inner cosmic context.
 
No strangers to one another, the pair have not only gigged together with their respective bands but also recorded together, when these two outfits temporarily fused in 2005 to become Acid Mothers Afrirampo (releasing an album of the same name). Two years later they distilled their collaboration, all other players being stripped away to leave the core of Pikacyu's manic drums and pop vocal, and Makoto's schizoid guitar conjurings. In 2011 they spent five weeks touring the US and their first album, 'OM Sweet Home: We Are Shining Stars From Darkside', which was released by the esteemed UK label of all things heavy and brilliant, Riot Season. Last year they spent two weeks touring through Europe whilst writing a new album suffused with the outreaching sound and message of their impulsive live performances. This new album is entitled 'Galaxilympics' and will be released by Upset The Rhythm on August 4th on LP and CD.
'Galaxilympics' is an album of contrasts, so much colour, so much shade! 'Space Sumo' kicks off the record in explosive style. Pikacyu's drums jitter, crash and stumble, but steadfastly refuse to groove. Makoto attacks his guitar, cloaking himself in reverb to produce a wall-of-sound, alternating between melody and noise. 'Funifunikonefuni' follows with it's frenzied take on pop music, bubbling with energy and PIKA's multiple vocal layers. 'I'll Forgive' is chant-like in its devotion to following the tumbling melody line of the song even to absurd and unpredictable dimensions. 'Pika Mako Hall' is a more serene affair, with whispered echoes and guitar drones swirling amongst bursts of rapid sequencer ambience. 'Castle Of Sand' picks up on this more spacious approach with slowly developing programmed electronics, before the title track erupts with gurgling synths, soaring guitar trails and PIKA's most searching vocal yet.
 
The album concludes in reflective manner with the suitably titled 'Sayonownara', a song as much in the present as it is in the act of saying farewell. It's positively elegiac with washes of cymbal and deep acres of guitar drone for the first five minutes before PIKA's drums take things up a gear and into more psychedelic out-rock terrain. This insurgence eventually peaks and the album melts away to silence. PIKACYU-MAKOTO have made an album that takes you on a trip into your very soul before emerging once more at the edge of another galaxy. 'Galaxilympics' is a triumph of opposites united, it enjoys walking out into the unknown, but it's also a portal into the very real world of two musicians who find peace and semblance through their interaction. Hymns and odes to one side, this is a giant album of future-facing song and noise, where better to find harmony enthroned

"The anger and depression got to me, and I couldn't hold it in anymore
So, I got into a room with my demons and we just hit record," shares indie singersongwriter Leslie Mendelson. The resulting album, playfully titled, ' If You Can't
Say Anything Nice' ,' is viscerally themed, imaginatively arranged, cinematically
dynamic and textured, oozing raw elegance. " I deal with depression and anxiety,
and I've never really sang about it before. It also felt like what was going on with
society was also affecting me, in terms of gun violence, the opioid crisis, and the
all hatred in the news and media. It felt like it was time to speak out," Leslie
explains. Leslie has released two prior albums, including her Grammy Awardnominated debut, 'Swan Feathers,' one EP, and three singles. Her first album
exhibited a production sheen she opted to strip away on her sophomore album, '
Love & Murder.' Her latest, ' If You Can't Say Anything Nice ' ,' is a gutsy album that
splits the difference between her previous albums in terms of production, but
also features some garage- rock bluster. " The best time to make a rock n' roll
record is when you're broke and pissed off, " she says, with a good-natured laugh.
For the album, Leslie worked with longtime co-writer and guitarist Steve McEwan
who co-produced the album alongside bassist and engineer Lorenzo Wolff.

Second Sub Pop album by acclaimed UK act TV Priest finds them building on the
post-punk of their early material and maturing into a powerhouse of tense, politically
caustic, and thoughtful rock music.
Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made
their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were
established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their
political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy
on its wearer’s shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. “A lot of it did feel
like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length,” says vocalist Charlie
Drinkwater. “I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take
a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the
opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest.”
Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued
press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous
outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single ‘House of York’
followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to
Sub Pop for their debut album. When ‘Uppers’ arrived in the height of a global
pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its “dystopian doublespeak,”
but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic
Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of
tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the
personal and professional landmark of its release felt “both colossal and minuscule”
dampened by the inability to share it live. “It was a real gratification and really
cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental
health,” admits Drinkwater. “I wasn’t prepared, and I hadn’t necessarily expected it to
reach as many people as it did.”
As such, ‘My Other People’ maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking
advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using ‘Saintless’ (the closing
song from ‘Uppers’) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting
lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as
a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health.
“Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would
say, particularly well,” he says. “There was a lot of things that had happened to
myself and my family that were quite troubling moments. Despite that I do think the
record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders
for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in.”
“It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something
that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful,” agrees Bueth. “Brutality and frustration are
only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the
time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening.”
This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and
an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to ‘My Other People’, a
record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you’re
welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is
a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or
any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Without a brutal evaluation of their own becoming, TV Priest might have never made their second album. Heralded as the next big thing in post-punk, they were established as a bolshy, sharp-witted outfit, the kind that starts movements with their political ire. There was of course truth in that, but it was a suit that quickly felt heavy on its wearer's shoulders, leaving little room for true vulnerability. "A lot of it did feel like I was being really careful and a bit at arm's length," says vocalist Charlie Drinkwater. "I think maybe I was not fully aware of the role I was taking. I had to take a step back and realize that what we were presenting was quite far away from the opinion of myself that I had. Now, I just want to be honest." Having made music together since their teenage years, the London four-piece piqued press attention in late 2019 with their first gig as a newly solidified group, a raucous outing in the warehouse district of Hackney Wick. Debut single "House of York" followed with a blistering critique of monarchist patriotism, and they were signed to Sub Pop for their debut album. When Uppers arrived in the height of a global pandemic, it reaped praise from critics and fans alike for its "dystopian doublespeak," but the band - Drinkwater, guitarist Alex Sprogis, producer, bass and keys player Nic Bueth and drummer Ed Kelland - were at home like the rest of us, drinking cups of tea and marking time via government-sanctioned daily exercise. As such, the personal and professional landmark of its release felt "both colossal and minuscule" dampened by the inability to share it live. "It was a real gratification and really cathartic, but on the other hand, it was really strange, and not great for my mental health" admits Drinkwater. "I wasn't prepared, and I hadn't necessarily expected it to reach as many people as it did." As such, My Other People maintains a strong sense of earth-rooted emotion, taking advantage of the opportunity to physically connect. Using "Saintless" (the closing song from Uppers) as something of a starting point, Drinkwater set about crafting lyrics that allowed him to articulate a deeper sense of personal truth, using music as a vessel to communicate with his bandmates about his depleting mental health. "Speaking very candidly, it was written at a time and a place where I was not, I would say, particularly well," he says. "There was a lot of things that had happened to myself and my family that were quite troubling moments.Despite that I do think the record has our most hopeful moments too; a lot of me trying to set myself reminders for living, just everyday sentiments to try and get myself out of the space I was in." "It was a bit of a moment for all of us where we realised that we can make something that, to us at least, feels truly beautiful," agrees Bueth. "Brutality and frustration are only a part of that puzzle, and despite a lot of us feeling quite disconnected at the time, overwhelmingly beautiful things were also still happening." This tension between existential fear born from the constant uncertainties of life, and an affirmative, cathartic urge to seize the moment, is central to My Other People, a record that heals by providing space for recognition, a ground zero in which you're welcome to stay awhile but which ultimately only leads up and out. For TV Priest, it is a follow-up that feels truly, properly them; free of bravado, unnecessary bluster or any audience pressure to commit solely to their original sound.

Dirk Dresselhaus (Die Angel, Schneider TM), John Duncan, Ilpo Väisänen (Die Angel, Pan Sonic), Zappi (Faust) LP + CD released by Improved Sequence. Strange attractors. Zappi's subtle tribal rhythms. Powerdrone electronics by Dresselhaus and Väisänen. Duncan's lyrics and vocals. Sublime and daunting. Tanzcandid stumbling wobbling shuffling muddling wallowing careening blundering toppling faltering unravelling bungling entangled snarling blustering bullying wrecking butchering mangling

Etui welcomes Tim Kossmann. With Lockdown Loops the Westfalia dub techno mastermind presents a very personal EP with 3 deep, loop based tunes recorded in extreme isolation during lockdown. The situation created a feeling of lonesome remoteness and uncertainty, transcended by putting in more man hours in the studio.

The EP starts with Loop A, a dreamy dub techno riddim that has nice distant echoes and mint chords. The 2nd track Loop B has a more noisy, warped chord progression topped with atmospheric piano riffs.

Loop C on the b-side consists probably of the most heavenly sounding melancholic chord loop he has recorded so far. Expect a tune composed of atmospheric bluster combined with a banging deep mono bass and different layers of noise. It is simply an epic lofi sound anthem.

Tim Kossmann is a Germany based producer who focuses mainly on dub techno and ambient. Since 2016 he has been releasing on a constant basis on labels like Telrae, Greyscale and Superordinate Dub Waves among many others.

He loves to explore the deep side of techno, with the aim of creating deep, lush chords and soundscapes filled with echo and spaced out delays, where deeply banging bass and moving whitenoise are combined with sophisticated harmonics in order to push the boundaries of the genre.

Since the demise of his previous band, Ultimate
Painting, Jack Cooper - under his Modern Nature
guise - has never stopped looking ahead,
exploring and reaching for something further.
Since 2019, he’s released an EP, mini album
‘Annual’, one full length LP, one 7” and three live
cassettes - in the process mapping out astonishing
new terrain. ‘Island Of Noise’ presents an obvious
new peak in his discography.
 180g recycled vinyl in 3mm spined sleeve printed
on recycled board.
 “Mesmerising... A treasure trove of interesting
musical ideas, as well as a source of restorative
solace.” - The Guardian (****)
 “On ‘Island Of Noise’ Modern Nature’s Jack
Cooper folds together much of what he’s already
done - illuminated pop, exploratory improvisations,
post-Canterbury prog - and locates a common
thread, expanding outwards with the help of freemusic pioneers saxophonist Evan Parker and
bassist John Edwards.” - Uncut (9/10)
 “Jack Cooper captures a sense of mystery and
magic on his second album as Modern Nature,
using gentle folk rock as the base for a subtle
evocation of peacefulness.” - The Times (****)

A true psychedelic masterpiece!
Black vinyl LP in black and white jacket with miniature two color booklet. Limited second pressing.
Blind Owl Wilson was a truly great guitarist and vocalist whose deep well of psychedelic blues songs were buried amongst the catalog of major label rockin’ blues band Canned Heat. Blind Owl served as Canned Heat’s guitarist and would chip in a song here and there as a front man. A couple of those songs became huge hits in the 60’s – “Going Up The Country” and “On The Road Again”.
Blind Owl’s songs for Canned Heat stood in stark contrast to the bands blustery blues rock – his was a gentle and nuanced voice and the themes of his song were all about personal heartbreak, grasp- ing for cosmic understanding, and ecological justice.
Here we have an LP of Blind Owl’s songs from Canned Heat’s records – left to sit alone and take you somewhere unexpected. Blind Owl’s personal vision quest can be heard throughout these songs. “Poor Moon’ tells the tale of Alan’s heartbreak as he watches the moon being misguidedly bombed by man, ‘My time ain’t long’ confronts death, “Parthenogen in 3 Blind Owls’ and ‘Parthenogen childs end’ take you to the psychedelic limits, and oh yes, we have the hit tunes on here too. Co-release with Sutro Park records.

Thalia Zedek is an artist of immutable stature and
unceasing vitality. The legendary songwriter’s fiery voice
and frank lyricism give her songs emotional potency and
stark beauty. Zedek is able to distill complex events into
simple, clear and, at times, monumentally weighty
moments with a singular grace. Through ballads or bluster,
Zedek imbues her music with unguarded honesty. ‘Perfect
Vision’ examines the anxiety and pain of rising divisions
between people both physical and ideological. Zedek
transmutes fervour and resilience into sobering laments,
while her lush arrangements wrap the listener in an often
complex emotional message.
‘Perfect Vision’ follows the 2018 ‘Fighting Season’, created
in the midst of growing tensions across the US. On
‘Fighting Season’ Zedek sought resistance, where on
‘Perfect Vision’ she searches for clarity during a time of
exponential isolation and doubt. Every challenge and
sadness Zedek forces us to see is met in equal measure
by her defiant guitar and dissenting voice, a torch
illuminating a path for the listener to navigate through the
darkness.
Features Winston Braman, Gavin McCarthy (E, Karate)
and guests Brian Carpenter (Beat Circus, Ghost Train
Orchestra), Alison Chesley (Helen Money), David Michael
Curry (Boxhead Ensemble, Dinosaur Annex Music
Ensemble, Willard Grant Conspiracy), Mel Lederman
(Victory at Sea) and Karen Sarkisian.
CD in gatefold packaging with lyrics. LP in full colour jacket
and inner sleeve with lyrics. Vinyl packaged with digital
download card.

Granny13 opens with Nicola Ratti's 'Odd Doubt'. With the use of a modular system and tape loops, a broken rhythm is obtained by parallelism between single sound signals as LFO one or processed tapes.On the second side, Giovanni Lami's 'Johnny Leech' is made with a small bunch of equipment, just a chaotic hand-made synth (cacophonator) and a memoryman, working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply.

Reviews

The Wire
''Two Italian mucisians share a split single of glitchy fun and everyone goes some happy. Lami s piece uses a defective unplugged synthesizer to make huzzing chitters that have a kind of rhythm in spots. Ratti s contribution is a bit more structured it sounds like a record of accordion miniatures broken into pieces, then glued back together with little pieces of felt stuck onto it. Which would definitely be a pretty hep thing to hear.''

Textura
''Some releases qualify as art objects as much as musical collections, a case in point this recent seven-inch vinyl outing featuring material by Nicola Ratti on one side and Giovanni Lami on the other. That shouldn't be interpreted to mean that the musical content isn't worthy of one's time, as it assuredly is, but more to emphasize how striking the sleeve artwork by Opora is and how effectively it complements the musical content.Mastered by Giuseppe Ielasi and issued in an edition of 150 copies, the release opens with Odd Doubt, a concise experimental setting by the Milan-born Ratti, who's issued material on labels such as Anticipate, Preservation, Die Schachtel, and Entr'acte and who's presently working with Ielasi in the project Bellows, with Attila Faravelli as Faravelliratti, and with Enrico Malatesta and Faravelli in ~Tilde. Though Ratti started out as a guitar player, his current focus is more on beat-analog experimentation and sound installation. In Odd Doubt, Ratti's modular system and tape loops generate broken rhythms that varyingly call to mind dub-techno, even if dub-techno of an extremely wonky variety. Off-beat chords, crackle, and snare strikes add to the dubwise flavour of the material, though ultimately it registers as more of an experimental exploration than straight-up dub exercise.The flip side features Johnny Leech by Lami, a one-time photographer now known as both a field recordist and a musician focusing on soundscaping and sound-ecology. In his contribution to the seven-inch, Lami's chaotic hand-made synth (cacophonator) and memoryman give birth to blustery smears of static electricity that ultimately mutate into an Oval-like array of ripples and scratches. Johnny Leech is so removed from anything conventionally musical, it makes Odd Doubt sound like a Top 40 pop song. Like Ratti's piece, Lami's is short, so short, in fact, it gives the impression of being an excerpt from a larger sound art work. Here's a release where the abstract nature of the musical content matches its visual presentation.December 2014''

Vital Weekly 951
''Granny Records is from Greece, but the two musicians here are from Italy, of which I don't I heard from Giovanni Lami before. His piece is called 'Johnny Leech' and he uses a hand-made synth known as the cacophonator and a memory man (a delay machine), 'working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply'. It makes up for a nice piece of chaotic lo-fi sound, which is put forward through methods of improvisation. Quite a nice piece and it fits the format very well. The crackling of vinyl surely adds an extra layer. Nicola Ratti uses a modular synth and tape loops, of what seems to be percussive material, but the rhythm is broken down and the whole thing has a nice gentle feel to it, even when it bumps, clicks and glides, but the synth makes it more subtle. Here too one could say this perfect for a 7": one doesn't have the idea that this is cut from a longer part as is not unusual with this kind music. Especially Ratti seems to have worked out his music as a composition, which is very nice. (FdW)''Vital Weekly 951''Granny Records is from Greece, but the two musicians here are from Italy, of which I don't I heard from Giovanni Lami before. His piece is called 'Johnny Leech' and he uses a hand-made synth known as the cacophonator and a memory man (a delay machine), 'working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply'. It makes up for a nice piece of chaotic lo-fi sound, which is put forward through methods of improvisation. Quite a nice piece and it fits the format very well. The crackling of vinyl surely adds an extra layer. Nicola Ratti uses a modular synth and tape loops, of what seems to be percussive material, but the rhythm is broken down and the whole thing has a nice gentle feel to it, even when it bumps, clicks and glides, but the synth makes it more subtle. Here too one could say this perfect for a 7": one doesn't have the idea that this is cut from a longer part as is not unusual with this kind music. Especially Ratti seems to have worked out his music as a composition, which is very nice. (FdW)''Vital Weekly 951''Granny Records is from Greece, but the two musicians here are from Italy, of which I don't I heard from Giovanni Lami before. His piece is called 'Johnny Leech' and he uses a hand-made synth known as the cacophonator and a memory man (a delay machine), 'working mainly on static electricity and leakage current in the synth used without any kind of power supply'. It makes up for a nice piece of chaotic lo-fi sound, which is put forward through methods of improvisation. Quite a nice piece and it fits the format very well. The crackling of vinyl surely adds an extra layer. Nicola Ratti uses a modular synth and tape loops, of what seems to be percussive material, but the rhythm is broken down and the whole thing has a nice gentle feel to it, even when it bumps, clicks and glides, but the synth makes it more subtle. Here too one could say this perfect for a 7": one doesn't have the idea that this is cut from a longer part as is not unusual with this kind music. Especially Ratti seems to have worked out his music as a composition, which is very nice. (FdW)''

Following some ear-catching manoeuvres across releases like last year's self-released 'Only' and 'Lagata', which gained her early fans like Bjork and Dev Hynes (who she supported in the USA), 'Tommy' marks Klein's deepest plunge yet into the deep, dark ocean' of her musical imagination on her Hyperdub debut. On 'Tommy' her vocals play with Fifties-esque melodies before switching to familiar tones akin to Brandy and Rodney Jerkins, her live voice and live piano playing filtered through hyper-glitchy and looped production with a loose, internal logic, cutting from angular atonality to pockets of skewered harmony. 'Tommy' also steps things up in conceptual terms. Its eight tracks are broken down into acts that are rooted in themes of vulnerability, sisterhood and death, threading the chaotic sonics with modern operatic undertones and a Shakespearean sense of tragedy. There's a lot of bluster about originality in contemporary UK music and what rises from the noise here is a creative voice who, by her very nature, plays with the construct of what pop is. This is Klein's world ... it's on us to get with it.