Insect Factory - Terrastock 7 CDr

i've been wanting to talk about the music of Jeff Barsky, and of my experience at the seventh Terrastock, since the fucker occurred. Procastination and over-speculating on the relevance, prevented me from speaking, until now. But the fact of the matter is that these 3 days in Kentucky were one of the highlights of my young adult life, and Insect Factory's music is a mighty simulacrum of all that is right and holy with the Terrastock; with Psych music; and with what we're trying to do, here at J's Heaven.

I had just gotten the most badass shout-out from Wooden Shjips for being the only person dancing during the whole weekend (Boris, Paik, and Motorpsycho will do that to you), and i got to talking to Barsky at his merch table. He found out i had taken a Greyhound bus from Denver to Louisville, and gave me a copy of this CD, in appreciation. This was back when i was just starting to dream of being a journalist, but still very reluctant to approach musician's. This gesture always meant a lot to me, and endeared me to his cause.

Insect Factory make good drone music; kind of a hard thing to qualify, other than the fact that it is warmly recorded and dreamy in cast. It puts you into a pleasant, kaleidoscopic revelry while listening. When i saw him live, he was performing with the classic noise guitar, pillowy delayed dream guitar set-up, and he was joined by a hammer dulcimer that added a nice world element to the elements. At that time, drone was still a pretty subterranean phenomenon, and i had not had a chance to see it live, much. His performance made a mark, in my mind, and lit a fire to make this kind of music, myself.

Recently, recalling the Terrastock, i thought to peak in on Insect Factory, see if he was still around and playing, and it turns out he was hard at work, touring and releasing a new record, Melodies From A Dead Radio, which he was nice enough to send me a copy of that to review (which i still need to get around to doing). This is the kind of thing that makes the underground tick: i've had skads of musicians send me packages with tapes, records, t shirts, swag galore. These people are dedicated to their art, often times paying out of their own pocket. When i got in touch with him, Jeff remembered who i was and was friendly and approachable, in text. This is the kind of thing that will win you fans. We build connections, one at a time, and here at J's Heaven, i'm at trying to spin vortices and interstices out into the unknown, into the ether.

This CD was made especially for the Terrastock. Its 4 tracks of mesmerizing guitar formations, filligreed with loops and layers of harmonium and bells. This is proper trance music; it lulls you into a theta state, it makes yr head sway like a cobra's. After four years, and about 10000 records later, i STILL say Insect Factory make good drone music. There seems to be a human core here, an emotional element. The visions it conjures seem much more colorful and surreal than a lot of the xeroxed, post-industrial blastitude of much of the genre. It is dreamy, without being narcotic. More LSD than heroin hit. It sounds like the sun, gradually sinking behind a line of Cumulus clouds - all rose and indigo. There's only four tracks, but its over an hour long. This CDr is like a magic carpet ride, and it takes me back to some of my favorite memories.

I am putting this up today because if you happen to live in the greater Portland metropolitan area, Insect Factory is playing a free show at the Kenton Club tonight. He comes from D.C. so he doesn't make it to this side of the sandbox all that often. He's also playing somewhere in the Bay Area, tomorrow night. Don't sleep on this one, here's a talented artist who is still unknown enough to know. A genuine, delightful human being, that is making genuinely delightful music. Take a trip, and tell yr friends.

Terrastock CDr

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Final - Guitar and Bass Improvisations 1

Listening to this record is like floating in a vat of warm gelatin, with occasional seismic reverberations creating ripples on the surface of yr skin. Now stay there 100 years, until yr skeleton drifts away, and you can taste every star, simultaneously.

This is Justin Broadrick's Final project, actually his first musical incarnation, started in 1983. They began as a consumer electronics-like power noise outfit, but have drifted beyond, to make the chillest and most grandiose dark ambient soundscapes. Here, Broadrick is stripped of the tethers of beat and formula, dreamier even than the already somnolent Jesu. Its like Brian Eno producing Skullflower or Stars of the Lid, and it is astounding that these sounds are coaxed from strings. JKB scores vast, inhuman spaces better than any i know, perhaps tied with Brian Williams, aka Lustmord, but more human and with more heart. Its like the humans wrestling with alien presence in Solaris by Stanislaw Lem, which Final also did a score for.

I pick this album almost arbitrarily, as i've enjoyed listening to it a lot in the past few days, and i'm bouncing back into the writing game. I'm a homeless traveller now, with many interesting experiences and revelations, and lots and lots of good music to succor and aid me. I've also been working on 2 other blogs, and hope to have all 3 working together, in tandem, and making some unusual and interesting art and revelations. All the better to eat you with.

Final - Guitar and Bass Improvisations 1

Owl Splinters

When i was a young man, my friends & i used to like to drive out to the frozen beaches of Lake Michigan, during the winter. We would play on the treacherous shelf-ice, staying well after dark, watching nuclear sunsets over frozen waves, suspended in time. It felt dangerous, sure, but also exhilirating; wild, but also quiet and contemplative. Most of all, it seemed as if we had stepped into another reality, pulling back the purple velvet curtain of twilight; that we were the only people, anywhere.
I've heard Deaf Center's music described as 'desolate'. To me, it definitely has the feeling of examining something vast, something immense, but it does not strike me as empty nor malevolent. Erik Skodvin, one half of the Norwegian duo, is adept at evoking cinematic moods, whether in Deaf Center, or his myriad of solo ventures, such as Svarte Greiner. But where Svarte Greiner is dipped in pitch-black menace, Owl Splinters seems more Solaris than Fri. the 13th.
The pieces, as a whole, tend to flow into another, making a cohesive album, without a stand-out single, per se, although a listener new to their world might start with Time Spent, with its light, minor-key piano lament, or I Would Never Have with its swells of cello feedback, to get a sense of what these two are on about. Overall, the mood is one of a 70s kodachrome saturated thriller, like Satie furniture music observed through thin walls, something ominous, something sad. Most of the album consists of cello and piano, and perhaps it is the organic source of their sounds, and their classical backgrounds, that make Deaf Center stand head and shoulders above their stony, drony brethren. Great care is obviously taken with the placement of each note, the gaps filled with ambience, like reverbs and surface crackle; and musically, they are more adept than yr average bedroom-composer, with slight, masterful dissonances, creating even more mood and texture.
Everything i've ever heard by either of these guys has seemed wholly realized, a world unto itself. I was ecstatic when i realized that they had a new full-length out, as its been over 5 years since their debut, Pale Ravine. I fell in love, instantly, with the new record, and looked forward to listening to it over and over again, to write this review. I designate the status of Instant Classic, and i don't say these things lightly. Its like something just seems right, like you just found the record yr going to be sleeping to for the next 3 months. Most tellingly, for me, is that Deaf Center seems to manifest things from my subconscious, things i don't know that i know, or never quite knew how to say. Its like we're neighbors, in the same haunted hotel. No matter how many times i encounter this with music or art in general, it never ceases to amaze me, or fill me with gratitude.

This is a perfect 10. Check it, now! Then buy 5 copies. Give 'em away as Valentines.



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Skullflower - Orange Canyon Mind

In 2005, the wire magazine described Matthew Bower's intimidatingly huge discography as "map co-ordinates for much of what passed for a post-punk UK underground during most of the '80s and '90s". I mean, seriously, this guy has done it all, he has done LOTS of it, he has done it 20 years ahead of his time, and has done and is still doing it better than those that are doing it today. There's something about those that had their tentacles in the UK '80s Industrial/Noise scene that is just so vital and immediate. Perhaps it was the sense of exploration, and of overcoming adversity, in spite of public opinion, that just made them rabidly hardcore.

I feel like Skullflower, Bower's incarnation after he hung up the
Total moniker, is the missing link between the '80s Broken Flag, power-electronics scene, with the likes of Ramleh and Whitehouse, and the noisy-drone rock brought on by the Dead C and Sonic Youth and a million offshoots operating today. Perhaps it is straddling numerous traditions that makes Skullflower's work some much more engaging than the host of imitators. A wider pallette to draw from, more chartreuse and ochre than the monochromatic seriousness of much of the noise underground.

This was probably the first drone rock record i heard, and it maintains a special place in my heart and record collection. I was dumb struck by the magnitude of the sound, the monolithic guitars and pummeling machine rhythms. It became a favorite past-time of mine to walk around, ensconced in headphones, letting Skullflower, the dead c, or black boned angel eradicate all thought. I also discovered that i liked to paint and draw, listening to this music, and it is this atmospheric quality which continually compels me towards such impressionistic, abstract works of art and music. Like a force of nature, constantly shifting and evolving, impossible to pin-down, and different every time. It will erode yr mental barricades, and irradiate you with the divine source. It will change you, inexplicably, if you let it.

Highly Recommended

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Birchville Cat Motel - Cranes are Sleeping

As requested, here's Cranes are Sleeping, released in 2000 on LP via Thurston Moore's exquisite Ecstatic Peace label. First time i've heard this, but seems to be more focused on squealing feedback, tension and release than on six string rumblings, verging on power-noise oscillator fondling. Possibly along the lines of a very restrained Merzbow or Kevin Drumm.
The opener, Airlike Metal Web, is almost unbearably tense, like a Bernard Hermann string crescendo drawn out nigh on 9 minutes long, only to unleash An Emperor's Second Ascent, which sounds like a swarm of robotic bats swooping down to pick out yr eyeballs. No respite there. Sex Layer Cake sounds like a cyborg mammoth emerging from a tarpit; hypnotic, chugging, powerful, distraught. Some vintage power-squealing going on here. So far, this is the most Power-Electronics record i've heard Campbell Kneale do yet, who tends to focus on syrupy codeine-infused guitar washes. Sort of cool to see him get down, and who doesn't like to make a power noise record, now and again? One interesting thing, is without the entire bass-frequency range spoken for with viscous ooze, there's more room for subliminal rattlings and shakings, giving the impression of live electro-improv jams going on in his fabled shed, after the fam's gone to bed.
The title track seems a bit more organic, with some seemingly string manipulation going on, and is more mournful than the rest. Gives the sensation of a chorus of sirens crying out warning, beating, phasing and distorting in the early morning ear, occasionally interspersed with garbled loudspeaker admonitions. The final track, Love, Lies, Bleeding, is short and sweet, a mere 2 and a half minutes, and sounds like a nursery rhyme, if you were lying in a kiddy pool full of jello. Serene and sort of creepy. Overall, this record is more concise than other BCM albums, 5 tracks most around 8 to ten minutes long. No 40 minute long burners here. This is definitely a unique addition to Campbell Kneale's staggeringly huge ouevre, and shows that he's no one-trick pony. So one final note, is that i will be on the road the next couple of days, going to explore the mighty prehistoric landscapes of Utah's Zion National Park, but i've got several items queued up to explore on the road. So, in the meantime, explore some of the back catalog here, have a nice work week, and i'll see you this weekend!

Birchville Cat Motel - Cranes are Sleeping

Birchville Cat Motel

i've been listening to New Zealand's Birchville Cat Motel, one of the solo projects of one Campbell Kneale, for about 4 hours now, putting off food and other physical necessities, which is sadly not all that unusual for me, resulting in a form of hypnagogic hyper-lucidity, slightly weak but nerves a-blaze, susceptible to the low-end mantras, pyrochastic-flow guitar, ritualistic percussion and harmonium, and elevating found-sounds. A real drift. Astral travel behind closed eyes.
At first, the pummeling repetition of listening to a noise/drone artist's catalog for extended periods of time can seem grating, boring and repetitive, shrill, piercing, drilling. But once i've settled in, and accepted the sounds as part of the audio environment, it seems perfect, immutable, and i feel BCM's music is best experienced as an immersive experience, a portable temple, slipped into at will. Its like stepping into the inner-world of someone who lives on the other side of the world, and is endlessly badass, in this writer's opinion.
Lately, with the changing of the seasons, and subtle tectonic rumblings going on in my psyche, i've rediscovered my blood-thirsty devotion to ritualistic drone and ambient music, playing records for hours on end as i read or sleep. I'm also psyching myself up to begin releasing solo guitar excursions of my own, so i have been seeking inspiration and guidance. And i'm always struck with extreme gratitude; discovering BCM, Skullflower, Yellow Swans, the list goes on, from the very first moment this music seemed perfect, and something i stumbled upon arbitrarily. It still seems special and holy.
The 3 discs are comprised of a variety of live performances, from all over the globe. A decent microcosm of the Birchville style, and often impressive that they are able to reproduce this cacophany live. Soothing and meditative, at times, but in a sensory overload kind of way. Like bathing in a blood-warm bath of corn syrup, an amniotic sensation that is typical of this type of BLISSdrone. There seems to be a sense of optimism, hopefulness, humanity, imbued in this music, that is one of the things that i really appreciate, and oftentimes go to rather than the more dystopian, bleak/suicidal tone of more of the power-noise/experimental industrial types. Like a ray of light, streaking through smoke. Utterly psychedelic, and there's some destructive tendencies, SURE, we will not turn our faces from the darkness, but we will not fail to see the light, either. Rituals for resurrecting a bruised spirit, for calling up winged godforms from our own subconsciousness, to heal all wounds, to grace limbs and minds and tongues with fire. Music for the struggle. Music for the march.
In short, good shit, that i think more people should hear, and thats why i do this thing.

Birchville Cat Motel - Second Curved Surface Destroy
disc 1
disc 2
disc 3

unexpected. . .

Good things come from weathering stormy seas, or the power of positive thinking...
So this space here has been sadly sleeping for a while. I trust you've all had a good summer? There are a number of pertinent reasons for this:
1. i was having a good summer myself, actually MAKING music, which is why i began this rampage in the first place.
2. For the life of me, i could not upload a single thing, leaving me to gather others' crumbs, like a sneaky ninja mouse.

I wanted to do something unique and personal here, to help expose others to music they may not have encountered, and to share some of my views on life et al. I DO NOT want this project to be another "look at my excellent record collection and adulate me" (although at times i do succumb to that temptation.)
My laptop died a couple of weeks ago. I was forcibly expelled into a wonderful Colorado autumn, forced to rediscover friends, live music, inspiring landscapes. To stop living in abstraction, to take a stand and DO something, in this world. Rediscovering the joy of reading books, and subsequently back to the thrill of spilling language. Not just another daydream, kids, the only life we get.
It is a rainy Sun. night, and the music is chosen almost arbitrarily, a fresh upload to test the connection, Times of Hayfield by Andrew Chalk. I've been grooving on this guys' somnobelent vibes for a couple of years now, something otherworldly, seemingly eternal, but with a more humanistic, dare i say emotional thread, than many new New Age dronesters. This one's full of lulling melodies, 8 tracks of heavenly drift. At times sounding like a warm cat, asleep on the bass keys, at times sounding like a snowy aspen forest; good music for imagination, for quiet conversation. An antidote for hyper-text hyper-speed Modern Information Age.
Slow down, and smell the cedar smoke. Its good to be back.

Time of Hayfield