Suche:powel cloud city

Over 19 tracks, Wayfaring Strangers: Cosmic American Music mines gold from dollar bin country-rock detritus to reconstruct events as seen from the genre's wild west - Americana's vast private press substructure. As progenitor and contemptuous poster boy for the music that came to be Cosmic American, Gram Parsons found himself mired in a recording career spent mostly in scouting the perimeters of chart success. "He hated country-rock," Parsons collaborator Emmylou Harris would later reflect. "He thought that bands like the Eagles were pretty much missing the point." Parsons had been orbiting the idea of Cosmic American Music for some time. In 1968 he'd parted ways with the Byrds and was looking to take air with a new project. "It's basically a Southern soul group playing country and gospel-oriented music with a steel guitar" he told Melody Maker, on the subject of The Flying Burrito Brothers. So it was that when A&M's Burrito Brothers debut The Gilded Palace of Sin made it to shelves in February of 1969, early adherents to the Cosmic American gospel were already echoing its message from areas flanking Gram Parsons' Southern California hills and canyons. There was F.J. McMahon in coastal Santa Barbara, Mistress Mary further inland in Hacienda Heights, and Plain Jane of Albuquerque, New Mexico, each responding by committing their own private readings to tape before day one of the 1970s. Parsons himself might've disdained them, had he even been aware of such minor ripples, shimmering at the edges of his desert oasis. But these were true believers all the same, given over fully to his roots music concept, each filling vinyl grooves with non-rock instrumentation like fiddle, banjo, and pedal steel guitar, the last undoubtedly Cosmic American Music's most distinguishing stringed signifier. Only too predictably, big labels did the grunt work of confining and defining the movement, as ABC, United Artists, RCA, and more played catch-up with Asylum's raptor rock juggernaut, via backwoods crossover also-rans with names like Gladstone, American Flyer, and Silverado. Twang reigned, the shitkickers kicked shit, and the vaguely western-sounding guitar records piled up. Country-rock became "the dominant American rock style of the 1970s," as Peter Doggett's comprehensive Are You Ready for the Country put it much later. Wayfaring Strangers: Cosmic American Music picks up and dusts off golden ingots from the dollar-bin detritus of that domination, to reconstruct events as seen from the genre's real Wild West-America's one-off private press label substructure.

Appearing on Echovolt for the very first time, Vancouver-based producer Wolfey offers up a four-track excursion that draws direct inspiration from the often-rainy climate of his sleepy home city.

"Powell St. Blues" E.P. is a dance record of rare emotional depth that sees the Canadian bring out an impressive amount of warmth and soul from the machines he uses to make music. Drawing inspiration from early house and techno producers out of Chicago, NY and Detroit, Wolfey likes to work with a small selection of synthesizers, drum machines and outboard effects processors - only using the computer to record, edit and mix-down long multi-track takes and improvised jams. The resultant tracks bristle with vivid detail and texture while evoking distinctly hypnotic and alluring atmospheres.

Side A opener “Powell St. Blues” is a bittersweet melancholic chunk of deep house with spacey chords and subtle acid style motifs slowly undulating over dusty drum machine rhythms. Wolfey’s deep and emotive electro influences come to the fore on “No Fun City”, where tech-jazz style electric piano motifs, bleeping lead lines and dubby rhythmic delays dance around a tactile 808 groove. On languid B-side opener “Overcast”, aural storm clouds gather menacingly above a moody bassline and the crunchiest of machine rhythms. S.M.P (Slim Media Player) guests on the EP’s lusciously loved-up conclusion, “Southlands Transmission”, where morphing synth arpeggios, rich sunrise-ready chords and swinging skittering hi-hats recall the pitter-patter of rain on the windows of Wolfey’s Vancouver studio. It’s a fitting conclusion to an atmospheric, mood-enhancing EP.